#fort Portuguese

[inthewaytoamultilinguallife]

#exactly!#and then all the romance languages blend together in a romance language soup and you start saying things like#una pregunta. di dove sei porque eu sunt... aspetto#disculpa; possi terza feira? merci. bonne appetite.#anyways sorry for that but as someone who did a lot of italian; a bunch of french mostly forgotten; some portuguese and some spanish;#and a little bit of esperanto even#my brain is all soup#idk if i'll ever be able to untangle it

DIOS SII

Learning to speak more than one romance language feels like experiencing the world just a little bit different each time. So you have the world a little bit to the left, and the world with a yellow filter, and the world upside down, and the world a tad bigger, etc.

Is the same world, but it isn't at the same time

[caesium-55]

—seven days [ epilogue ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

warnings: mentions of death and suicide.

author's note: here's the epilogue and the end end of the seven days series. thank you everyone for showing love to this fic! i was honestly so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of all of you. also, i apologize for all the broken hearts i caused after posting chapters 4-7. stay safe yall! i'll rest my fingers for real now. my doctor wasn't very happy with me. NOT BETA READ. NOT EDITED.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal @landorris @onecojg @leclercdream @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @spookystitchery @0710khj @strollnstroll @justab-eautifulmess @ssrcsm @seasonswinter @kravitzwhore @mycure156 i hope i didn't forget anyone

masterlist.

Julio [Name] was not an ambitious person. He didn't have dreams or concrete plans in life. But in 1985, his first dream was born. He wanted to be an F1 racer after reading about the Portuguese Grand Prix in a local newspaper where he saw a Brazilian racer even younger than him participate in it and winning it. Ayrton Senna was the racer’s name, twenty-five years old. At that time, Julio [Name] was the same age.

He immediately searched for the nearest karting track. He brought his then girlfriend, Sally Kingston, a dental student in USC, to the kart zone for their date. It was safe to say that driving was not exactly his forte. He crashed his rental kart and had to pay the damages. He was afraid that he made himself a loser in front of the Sally Kingston, the richest, prettiest, and nicest girl from L.A., and that she wouldn't wanna go out with a bumpkin like him anymore, but she had only laughed at him—her eyes turning into little crescents, showing too much teeth and gums—and from then and there, he knows he’s going to marry Sally Kingston one day. He might not have become a F1 driver, but he ended up marrying the girl of his dreams.

Him and Sally welcomed a son in 1991. They named him Damiano and he turned out to be a carbon copy of his beloved wife, not that Julio was complaining. When Damiano turned five, Julio brought him in the kart zone and let him try driving the kart. Damiano adored it so Julio signed him up for racing school. Three weekends later, Damiano got sick of driving around in circles so he stopped. Sally gave birth to a daughter in the same year—1996.

Five years later, he brings [Name], his mija, into the kart zone. He expected that you’ll be like Damiano, too, getting sick of the thing after three weekends or so. You didn't. You loved karting and going fast, almost dangerously so. You lasted five weekends so Julio signed you up for the kart zone’s junior racing school and you were their first female member. You won your first race when you were six, only seven months after you officially joined.

“She was born to race,” the team head told Julio. Julio then decided that he’d do whatever it takes so you could become a F1 driver.

Like his initial dream, his dream for you couldn't be brought to reality. When you were nine, you had to stop karting for financial reasons. Damiano was in high school, Rafael had leukemia, and Dominic had just been born. When Julio told you the news, you were sad but you understood why the decision was made so you never complained. You learned how to play billiards instead and your Abuelo was the one who taught you. It's cheaper than karting so Sally and Julio gave you their full support.

Julio [Name] was pleasantly surprised when you told him that you got accepted in USC’s engineering department years later. He half expected that you’d be like Damiano, who took an interest in dentistry, and was attending dental school. He was going to be a dentist like his mother. He was a perfect copy of Sally.

“If I can't be a racer, I’ll become a mechanical engineer,” you declared, head held high. Julio couldn't be anymore proud. You were living his dream.

If you asked Julio [Name] if he had lived a happy life despite not reaching his dreams, he would say yes without hesitation. He married the love of his life, Sally Kingston, now Sally [Last Name]. His first son, Damiano, had topped dental school and followed in his mother’s footsteps. His daughter, [Name], graduated with flying colors, a mechanical engineering degree under her belt and entered the motorsports industry, the first in the family to do so. (You even got him Fernando Alonso’s autograph! That's his second favorite driver!) Not only that, she volunteered at the LAFD during her college years and competed in a billiards tournament in Vegas, Australia, and the UK. You had the potential to be an international-level pool player but you didn't pursue the sport because you wanted to be an engineer. Rafael didn't let leukemia beat him and now, he’s finishing up his last year in CalTech, pursuing mechanical engineering like his older sister. A research team in Sweden had been eyeing him for a while now. Dominic, on the other hand, is steadily building a career for himself in volleyball. He was offered a sports scholarship in Harvard so, despite the fact that he’s going even farther than his siblings with no relatives near him like in L.A., Julio pushed him to pursue what he wanted. His children are his pride and joy. He spent every single day bragging about his children to his colleagues. The others had expressed their envy to him. Did Julio save a country in his last life to have such great children?

Furthermore, he’d been promoted to be the captain of Station 131 in Austin. Julio may not have driven an F1 car but he wouldn't even trade this family over anything in this world, not even the life of luxury and thrill of a Formula One Driver.

(What Julio didn't know was that Damiano had serious depression in dental school that he carried even after graduating, that you weren't accepted as an engineer in F1 and was stuck in a managerial position for the last five years, that Sweden found a better researcher than Rafael so he’s stuck suffering physically and mentally in a degree with his future unclear and cloudy, and Dominic was slowly losing passion in volleyball but it's the only thing putting him through college right now so he grits his teeth and put himself on court. No one told Julio. Julio got enough of his dreams broken already.)

Truthfully, despite working for Red Bull for half a decade, you never liked its taste. You were always the Monster Energy type of girl. It's the one drink that kept you functioning through all the all-nighters you pulled in engineering school. However, you kind of lost the palate for Monster Energy so now, here you are, standing outside a gas station mini mart in the middle of the dusty highway that leads to El Paso. You hold the chilled can of Red Bull against the side of your neck, satisfied with the feeling of something cool pressing against your skin. The temperature in Texas is going absolutely crazy this time of the year. In your other hand, two cigarette sticks balance in between your fingers. You crave the deadly nicotine. Desperately. But you're not stupid enough to smoke at a gas station because of your cravings.

Your phone vibrates and you pull it out of your pocket to see who messaged you. You snicker when you view the barrage of pictures from the Austin Grand Prix that Leo sent. A stolen shot of Logan, meme faces of Alex, the air show, a selfie with THE Fernando Alonso, and a Tiktok video with the other Williams mechanics.

You watched the race from the stands today and truthfully, you prefer watching the race in the garage than on the stands. It's unbelievably boring to be there. People pay thousands of dollars to sit under the excruciating heat of the sun and catch a glimpse of very fast cars for a nanosecond. You wouldn't even catch sight of if you blink. Nevertheless, you're happy that Leo is having the time of his life. You wish you share the same shoes.

leo: so so sad that u have to go

you: id be flattered if u actually mean it

leo: *rolling eyes emoji*

leo: i hope you choke on your beer

you: i hope you choke on the celebratory champagne

you: and i dont drink and drive

leo: good to know ur not stupid

leo: on a serious note make sure to drive to el paso safely

you: aight aight

leo: u know i have something to confess

you: if it's something stupid, don't bother

leo: ur stupid

you: fuck u

leo: shut up

leo: just wanna say i didn't break up with u bc u gave max too much attention

leo: i know that's what i said but i only said that bc i knew that u needed max to achieve ur dreams

leo: and idk i just thought max wouldn't give it to u not when im still dating u

you: that's stupid

you: max isn't like that

leo: hes in love with u

Your heart stutters. You ignore it.

you: liar

leo: i could tell u lil shit

leo: idk he looked like someone who’d hold a grudge

you: he does hold grudges

leo: and i cant allow myself to stand in between you and the one person who can give you your dream you know?

leo: i loved you enough to let you go to him

You choke on your saliva. You don't love Leo romantically anymore and you are sure that the feelings are mutual but his abrupt confession is enough to bring back the pain of loving him and letting him go all over again.

leo: u sure u won’t stay to see him?

leo: he’s the one who wants to see you the most

you: his ig messages makes me think otherwise

You're a fucking coward. A pussy.

leo: you didn't see the man [name]

leo: you don't know how empty he looks now

A shadow of guilt darkens your eyes. You quickly shove your phone into the pocket of your jacket. You open the Red Bull and take a large swig, almost draining the entire can. You exhale loudly after drinking, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You stare at the vast expanse of the dry earth before you, starting to understand the appeal of aimless road trips in the southern roads.

The world seems to be turning in slow motion now.

Ever since your father died, time feels like it was moving too fast. You arrived at the hospital half an hour after Julio was officially pronounced dead. At that time, you felt like the world was ending. Your knees gave out in the middle of the hospital hallway. Your mother’s wail echoed in your ears. Damiano and Dominic were trying to console her, both of whom were crying terribly. You stare at them, face empty despite the hurricane brewing within you. Rafael wrapped his arms around you and you held onto him as he cried uncontrollably.

Your mother possessed a weak heart. She’d grown weaker and weaker day by day after your father passed. Your father’s station held a ceremony for him to pay tribute to their fallen captain. You were the one who carried his helmet all throughout the ceremony because the entire station knew you were his most prized child. When you flipped the helmet, there was a photo taped on it. A photo of the entire family at your graduation ceremony in USC. You maintained that tired and empty stare during the entire procession. In the middle of the ceremony, your mother collapsed.

Your father’s death was the first domino to be tipped. Your mother’s collapse during the funeral was the second. From then on, everything turned to shit. Your mother had always been frail and prone to sickness so it didn’t surprise you when she had grown so weak in a matter of days. She couldn't sleep. She didn't want to eat. She lost her will to do anything else. You took her to the hospital after a week because you were afraid she was beginning to become malnourished. Damiano suggested moving your mother to El Paso, to your Abuelo and Abuela’s farm, so your mother could recuperate there, and you agreed. The entire family moved to El Paso quickly, leaving the house in Vista Del Pueblo empty and celebrated the New Year there.

You opened your phone for the first time since you landed in ATX on the 30th and a barrage of messages had been sent to you. From Daniel, Logan, Leo, Kendall, Julia. You freeze when you see Max’s name. Your finger hovers above it, hesitating. Your mind trailed back to the five years you spent in Red Bull, to all the memories with Max in it, to what happened inside his penthouse in Monaco, the jet, the night you spent in his sheets, the shoes and—

Fuck.

“Kelly,” you mumbled to yourself, typing her username in the search box. You began typing up a message. You're not mentally equipped to write a long message of apology. Your mental dictionary was not ready to use so you decided to half ass the entire message and hope for the best.

you: sorry about the breakup

you: i didn't know about the shoes

you: i didn't take it

you: im so sorry

you: i hope you're not too hurt

In truth, you loved Kelly for Max. You never had problems with her. At first, you were concerned about the great age gap between her and Max as she was even older than Danny but then you figured that you did not have a say because Leo was also younger than you, born in the same year as Max. Then, you saw how she was so caring to Max, so patient in dealing with his misplaced anger, so supportive. You saw how Max transformed into a better version of himself, something you are not even capable of doing, because of Penelope and Kelly. How he became the world's most massive girl dad without trying. You ignored every bitter feeling that sprouted on your chest because you saw Max was happy and his happiness always came first. And now, you’re here, apologizing to Kelly for taking Max away from her.

kelly: i think i’m the one who’s been taking him from you

kelly: take care of him for me

you: thank you for loving him

You can't imagine how hurt Kelly was. Imagine dating and preparing a man so he could be perfect for another girl.

you: but i can’t do what you're asking

you: not anymore

“Not anymore,” you whisper to yourself, as if uttering it to the wind would cement it as the truth.

Not anymore, Max. I’m sorry.

Rafael and Dominic told you that they want to drop out of college to help you out with Mama a few days after New Year’s. You quickly told them no, to finish college and that you could handle taking care of two senior citizens and your sickly mother and help out on the farm since you’re essentially jobless at the moment.

The third domino is Damiano. You were always aware he’d been clinically depressed, taking medications to help him get better. Whatever he went through in dental school, he carried it with him until he was working. You believed he was getting better. He was seeing a therapist for years now and you were checking up on him every day. Then, like Mama, he just…. became worse. Rafael found him submerged in the bathtub in his apartment, red painting his wrists. Had Rafael not been there at the right time, Damiano would have followed Papa Julio.

The fourth domino is Dominic. He ruined his hand in March. The doctor told him it was dangerous for him to continue playing volleyball competitively. It was either he learned how to set with only his non-dominant hand because his dominant hand is partially crippled or he stopped playing all together. He’d choose the second option with no hesitation as he had lost his passion for the sport but if he’s not playing for Harvard anymore, no one would be able to pay his fees until graduation. Not when Julio died, not when Sally was too sick to continue working, not when Damiano was currently unstable, not when you’re the only one who had been supporting the entire family through your entire savings account. Red Bull must have paid you a lot of money because you’ve been keeping the entire family afloat for months now.

The fifth domino is Rafael, who got his entire thesis overhauled so now, his graduation was out of the picture. It sucked. He’d always been expected to follow his older siblings’ footsteps, both of whom are academically excelling individuals and Rafael had been studying and studying and studying. So why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to his family?

The sixth domino was yet to be tipped over.

You refuse to fall.

You blink, suddenly back in reality when you hear a loud caw of a bird flying above your head. You shake your head, tossing the Red Bull in a nearby trash can and returning inside the mini mart. The amount of caffeine in a Red Bull isn’t enough. You need more. You need fucking coffee.

Gas station coffee sucks but you’re never the type who complains. El Paso is still eight hours away and you’re sure you're going to be driving your motorcycle the entire night just to reach the farm the next morning.

You walked towards the Yamaha XSR 155 parked in front of the mini-mart, a styro cup of coffee that’s as black as your soul and as bitter as your life in your hand. Hypnotizing swirls of steam rise from the cup. In each step you take, the key that is attached to your hip jingles.

It's a little past four in the afternoon but the darkness of the sky makes you think it's around six PM. You pocket your cigarettes and stand beside your motorcycle, hand on your hip while the other brings the cup of coffee to your mouth. A car suddenly arrives, coming to a screeching halt in front of you. You flinch in surprise, almost spilling your coffee in your hands. You hiss loudly, brows furrowing, a curse sitting on the tip of your tongue. You hear the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut and when you look up—

“Max.”

He’s still in his Red Bull overalls, drenched in sweat as if he ran to the gas station instead of driving. His hair is windswept, sticking out in multiple directions almost attractively so. He looks simultaneously distraught and relieved when your eyes met. The longing in his eyes. God. You unconsciously take a step back and turn around—a flight response—when he charges in your direction.

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, stopping you from your tracks and causing your coffee to spill and fall down pathetically on the floor. You avoided the puddle, hands reaching behind you to guide Max away from the steaming liquid. But it’s too late. You saw the hot coffee touch his skin.

“Max!” you exclaim, eyes going wide. Your hand wraps around his forearm, pulling it but his grip on you tightens so you resort to tapping his arm in hopes that he’ll let go and you can inspect his injured hand and make a quick run for the mini mart for first-aid supplies.

“Max, let go,” you say, panicking. “Your hand—”

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracks.

“I won't go, okay? Let go and I’ll—”

“No,” the hug tightens and you suck in a breath. “You’ll leave again. I know you’ll leave again.”

“I’ll fix your hand. You can’t burn your hand—”

“I can endure it. Let me have this please,” he pleads. You pull his hand but Max remains stubborn. Resigned, you sigh. It turns out that you’re still the same, giving whatever Max wanted.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for stopping you from going to Renault. I’m sorry for promising that I’d talk to Christian. I’m sorry that I didn't. I’m sorry that you had to break up with Leo because of me. I’m sorry that I realized that I fell in love with you while dating Kelly. I’m sorry for the shoes. I’m sorry for getting drunk. I’m sorry for being so selfish. I’m sorry for not considering you. I’m sorry for loving you. I’m so, so sorry, [Name]. For everything.”

His words come rapidly and frankly, you don't want to hear Max like this. Max rarely apologizes. You're not used to hearing him apologize.

“Max—”

“I called, [Name].”

You freeze.

“I called so many times. Not once have you answered. Not once—” a loud sob erupts from his mouth, interrupting him. “You always come when I call.”

You close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I sent you a message,” he continues. “To wait for me. I know I’m selfish but can I have five minutes please? Just….five?”

A pause.

“Okay,” you whisper. Max’s body trembles against yours and you stand still for a few minutes,

“Hey,” you say gently, suddenly reminded that you're standing in an open space and Max is still in his Red Bull overalls and he doesn't even have his usual cap on and this compromising situation you're both in was going to be bad for Max’s online reputation once the wrong pair of eyes manage to catch sight of you. You can already imagine what the headlines would be.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND HIS FORMER MANAGER CAUGHT HUGGING IN A GASOLINE STATION AFTER AUSTIN GP.

MAX VERSTAPPEN AND FORMER RED BULL MANAGER IN A RELATIONSHIP?

FORMER RED BULL MANAGER POTENTIAL REASON FOR BREAKUP BETWEEN KELLY PIQUET AND MAX VERSTAPPEN?

MAX VERSTAPPEN CHEATED ON KELLY PIQUET WITH FORMER MANAGER?

MAX VERSTAPPEN, FULL-TIME WORLD TIME CHAMPION, PART-TIME CHEATING ASSHOLE.

God. You can already imagine the headache splitting the entire PR team’s skulls. The world already hates Max because of how good he was at his sport. You can’t allow people to shit on him more because of you.

“Max,” you try again, tapping his forearm so he can loosen his hold on you and you can turn around. “Max, baby, cooperate with me for a bit, yeah?”

You tug on his wrist and you can't help but sigh in relief when his arms loosen a little. He’s beginning to choke you a little bit. With his arms still around you, you pivot on your heels so you’re face-to-face with his broad chest.

When you look up to Max’s face, your heart shatters into a million pieces. His tears continue to flow and violent sobs wrack his entire body, robbing him of the ability to speak and barely allowing a breath to be drawn. He’s going to hyperventilate. Fucking dammit.

“Max,” how many times have you said his name in the last few minutes? “Hey, breathe with me.”

Your hand cradles his jaw and your eyes focused on his blue ones and fuck, they’re as insanely beautiful as you remembered.

“Breathe.”

You perform exaggerated inhales and exhales so Max can match your breaths, his hands settling on your shoulders. His palms feel heavy against your shoulders and his fingers dig deep into your skin.

“I’m here, Champ. I’m here,” you assure him. “I’m here now.”

You wait until he calms down a little and when he does, your right hand searches for his, intertwining your fingers together to assure him that you’re not going anywhere just yet. Your other hand comes up to hold the area below his neck and you slowly guide him back to his car. It’s a little difficult, Max obviously has no intention to let you go, but you know how to make things work.

Max sits on the driver's seat with you standing outside of the car. He's still clinging onto your hand and you use the other hand to hold the roof of the car for support. Max stopped crying now, staring blankly at you with a sad pout on his face. His tears are now dry, staining his cheeks.

“You okay now, Champ?” you ask, never failing to sound gentle. That's what Max needs now. Gentleness. God forbid you pull a Jos Verstappen.

Max shakes his hand, making you sigh deeply. Your eyes trail to the hands, the pale skin now an angry red.

“Max,” you call his attention. He looks up at you and you have to avoid his gaze because if you look at his face, your heart hurts. “I’ll get something from the mini-mart for your burn, aight?”

He shakes his head and his grip on your hand impossibly tightens. If he keeps this up, he’s going to break your bones.

“No.”

If you were the same person that you were in 2023, you would have let Max do what he wanted. What Max wanted, what Max shall get—that’s the philosophy you lived by. But things are different now. Leo told you that you’re allowing Max to take too much from you and Max needs to learn to actually listen to you.

You’ve been taught to treat even the most minor of burns as if it’s a major burn. That's what you are planning to do right now.

“Max,” you say, a little firmer now. “Gonna grab somethin’ in the mart real quick, you stay here, aight?”

“No—”

“Not askin’, Champ,” you interrupt him. “I'm not leavin’ yet, not goin’ anywhere until I make sure you’re okay. So stay here and wait.”

You swiftly remove the key attached to your belt and force it into his palm, “Here are my keys. I’m not goin’ to drive off and leave you here, aight? Do you trust me?”

You have a feeling that this anxiety of his might have stemmed from that one incident in his childhood where Jos left him at a gas station. Fucking son of a bitch that man was.

Hesitantly, Max says, “I do.”

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, dampening your palm.

You can see he does not like what you're doing now but he does not have any choice so he sits in the car, looking as pitiful as ever. You jog up to the mini-mart, immediately going to the beverage section to grab a bottle of water and passing by the hygiene shelf to snatch a handkerchief. You go to the counter and the middle aged guy manning the register obviously does not look impressed that you’re in his shop for the third time in the same hour, which is stupid because he should be glad that he has a customer. You put everything on the counter, pulling out some bills from your back pocket.

“You happen to have neosporin?” you ask.

“Do we look like a drug store?” he retorts. You roll your eyes, toss the bills to the cashier, and grab your items without even waiting for the guy to wrap them all up in a paper bag. You jog back to Max’s car.

“Excuse me,” you lean inside the car, opening the compartment to search for a burn cream you left inside there last year. Your eyes land on his keys, stiffening when you notice that Max kept every single gift you gave him. The bead keychain from 2020, the bottle opener keychain from 2021, the clay figure keychain from 2022, and the bracelet from 2023 sway slightly, staring back at you. You shake your head and resume doing your original mission. You find the burn cream and you immediately search for the expiration date. January 2025; it’s still good to use.

You straighten, take hold of Max’s wrist gently, and roll up his long sleeves up to his elbows. You open the water bottle and tug Max’s hand towards you so he won't get water on his car as you pour water on his burn. Once the bottle is nearly empty, you apply the cream on the reddened area of his skin. Then, you use the handkerchief, which you dampen using the leftover water, to dress it.

Max is silent the entire ordeal, watching you work your way meticulously and carefully around his hand. The same meticulousness one can expect from a former firefighter paramedic volunteer.

You step back to inspect your work, but Max’s hand stretches out towards you, grabbing the hem of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he says and yet you see his knuckles slowly turning white, which makes you unsure if he truly is apologetic or not. “Just…yeah, sorry. Can you stay for a while please?”

“Have to leave soon,” you say. “El Paso’s still hours away. I have to be there by morning.”

He nods, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, “Okay.”

“Thirty minutes, Max,” you decide. “Thirty minutes.”

You pull out your phone from your pocket to check the time and see the multiple notification bars. You type the password and direct to the message app to see the flurry of messages Max sent earlier. You have not noticed them.

max: i heard you came

max: where are you

max: please

max: can you give me ten minutes

max: just

max: please

max: wait for me

max: i’m not angry anymore

max: im begging you

max: or five minutes [name] im okay with just five

max: or even less

max: i just need to see you

“Who told you I was here?” you question, brows knitting together. There are currently two names in your head. They both start with the letter L and they both work at Williams.

“Leo called me and told me you were here.”

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes. Logan will never dare betray you like this. You made Leo promise not to tell Max where you were in El Paso and the bitch told him where you were the moment you stepped out of El Paso. He didn't break his promise technically, but it's still a very bitch move for him to pull. You're going to have a lengthy conversation with him later.

“So you’ve been in El Paso?” he asks.

You nod.

“My grandparents’ place.”

He nods.

“Sorry about Julio, by the way.”

You sigh. God, you want to cry.

It's truly unfair how God decided to take away Julio [Last Name]. Death should happen to assholes and shitty people. To people who abuse their children every day. To people who waste years of their lifespan on nicotine and alcohol. To people who kill people. Death shouldn't happen to heroes, who risk every single day of their lives to save other people. Death shouldn't happen to Julio [Last Name], a firefighter who died saving a kid in a burning building. At least, not this early. Not until you fulfilled his dream for him.

(His last words: I don't regret doing what I did. I have kids, too. I want someone to save them the same way I did that kid if they ever get stuck in a situation like this.)

“Did Leo tell you that, too?” you hope that he didn't notice that your voice slightly wobbled.

“No,” Max shakes his head. “We—Logan and I came to Vista Del Pueblo in December. Your neighbor told us that…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence for you to know what he’s trying to say.

You nod, “So that's why there was an article that day…”

You remember Damiano showing you the news article in his phone—AN UNLIKELY FRIENDSHIP: MAX VERSTAPPEN OF RED BULL RACING AND LOGAN SARGEANT OF WILLIAMS RACING SPOTTED DRIVING AROUND AUSTIN. You shrugged it off at that time.

“How are you?”

You turn to Max, raising a brow at his question.

“How am I?” you echo, sounding a little bewildered.

You see, Max has never asked this question. You're used to “Are you okay?” but not this. Not this question. You can easily lie to an are-you-okay. You can say yes even if you’re not, and you won't give yourself away because you only uttered one word. But with how-are-you, it’s different. It's not a question that is not answerable by yes or no. You actually have to explain how you feel. That's why Papa Julio only asked, “How are you, mija?” rather than “Are you okay, mija?” Papa Julio wants to know how your day went even if you're okay or not.

Yeah. You're definitely going to cry at this rate.

“How have you been after Julio?”

“You really wanna know?”

“I wanted to be there for you at that time,” Max confesses. “When I learned that Julio was gone, I wanted to go to you. But Leo stopped me. He said I was not what you needed at that time and I agree. I was too angry at you for leaving me. I’m glad he didn't tell me where you are, despite how painful it was. I was selfish and immature that I cared about my grief and forgot to consider yours. I reflected on my actions a lot. I am not sure how different I am now from that version of me but I think I changed a bit. So yes, [Name], I want to know, because I want to know how you felt and help you in any way I can.”

You stand there, stunned at what Max has said. And perhaps it was his sincerity or the way his determined blue eyes stare into your soul that caused the sixth domino to tip. You break into tears, a raw cry escaping your mouth. You are so fucking tired of carrying everything on your shoulders.

Max is quick to engulf you in a hug and you don't hesitate to pull him into you, pressing your face against his shoulders as you let everything out. You claw his back as if you're trying to mold himself into you. Your nose turns red, snot drips out of your nose. You sob too loud and too heavily that you can hardly draw a breath. You don't cry pretty and this is the first time you allowed yourself to cry with another person bearing witness to your fragility.

When you calmed down, you found yourself sitting beside Max, shoulder to shoulder, in the backseat of his car, playing with the drawstrings of your jacket.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Sorry, I was just so tired,” you tip your head upwards. You can feel Max’s eyes on you. “Things have been hard since Papa died.”

“Do you want to talk? I’ll listen.”

You chuckle humorlessly.

Jesus, what did Leo feed this guy?

It feels like the roles are reversed now.

“Everybody's been takin’ it pretty hard so I'm trynna to be strong for them, you know? But I’m not that strong,” you begin. “I’m just as lost as everyone else and it's hard pretendin’ like I’m not. I’m not really sure what will happen with my life now so I wander around and do car repairs for a few folks in El Paso.”

“What happened to your dream? The job?”

“Well, it's gone,” you say, making Max’s eyes widen. “Not my time yet, I suppose. Or rather, I’m never supposed to have time. I guess I’m just not meant to be an engineer.”

“No,” Max turns to you, clasping your hands in desperation. “No, no, no. You always wanted to become an engineer. You can't just—I’ll think of something. I’ll ask Christian. I’ll ask the other teams. Renault isn't in Formula One right now but I can—”

“Max,” you smile sadly. “Let it go.”

“But—”

“Do you know what my Papa’s dream was?” you interrupt. “It’s to be a Formula One racer.”

You smile, remembering all the times you’ve seen your father watch the races on the television since you were younger. He’d wake up even in the ass crack of dawn just to watch them live. He’d be so tired after a 24-hour shift at the fire station but he’d refuse to even catch a wink of sleep until the Grand Prix broadcast is done. He always received a beating from your Mama because of it.

“He saw Senna in the newspaper and decided that he wanted to be like him, too. Sadly, Papa never vibed with a steering wheel so there was no future in that industry. He's always so disappointed in himself, sayin’ he can do the most unhinge shit at work but can't even drive a car. When Damiano and I turned five, he brought us karting. I could tell he was disappointed that Damiano didn't share his love for racing and I hated seein’ him sad so I learned to love karting. He signed me up and I did my best to win. I think I was good. Good enough to make him proud of me. Papa looked so happy when I won my first trophy. He cleaned it every week.”

You smile fondly at the memory.

“Then, shit happened and I have to stop. Papa looked even more disappointed than me that I had to stop. It hurts. Disappointment from your parents, I mean, even if I know that it's somethin’ beyond my control. I figured that if I can't be a racer, I’ll work in a pit stop. That's close enough. When I told him that I got accepted into USC and how I wanted to be an engineer, it was the proudest I have ever seen him since I won my trophy. I was livin’ his dream. I applied for Red Bull and Renault because those are Papa’s favorite teams and the rest is history.”

You pause.

“He’s never got to see me become an engineer,” you choke out, wiping the stray tear that fell from your eye with the back of your hand. “It was his dream. He always had his dreams broken and I was gonna reach his dreams for him but he’s gone before I can do so. Now, I’m so lost because I realized that I was shapin’ myself to become an extension of Papa and now that he's gone, I am an extension of no one. I was reaching for dreams that I don't own. I’m so tired and I’m so lost, Max.”

Max stares at you sadly.

“I should have talked to Christian sooner. Fuck, I hate myself for not talking to Christian. Fuck, why was I so selfish?” he presses the ball of his palms against his eyes in frustration. You chuckle, shaking your head.

“That’s okay,” you say. “I’ll find my way.”

You look at the scenery outside of the window. Night has fallen. You should have left for El Paso by now.

“I need to go,” you say, heart heavy.

“So soon?”

Max is panicking again.

“Jesus, Champ, calm down,” you pat his shoulders.

“Will I see you again?” Desperation laces his question.

“Dunno really,” you shrug.

“Can you wait for me?”

Your brows furrow.

“I’ll retire by 2028. No, that's still long. 2027. Ah no—2026? Can you wait for me? I—” Max’s hand trembles. “I love you. I love you, [Name]. I—I love you even before Kelly. I can’t. I can't lose you.”

The world stops.

“I am stupid, I am selfish, and I think I’m asking too much. If you can just wait for me, I’ll—I can even retire next year if you think it's too long—”

“Hold up right there, Champ,” you stop him. “You're not retirin’ early.”

“If you want me to, I will.”

You sigh in exasperation.

“Max,” your voice is low. “That’s your career. I’m not gonna—Jesus, Max don’t retire, okay? Not even for me. Retire only when you want to.”

This man is just…

You don't know if you want to choke him or kiss him.

“I want you to have me, [Name]. I… I want to be with you, to love you, and if retiring is the only way I can do that then I will,” he says. “I love you.”

You purse your lips.

“I love you, too, Max,” you confess and now, your chest feels lighter now that you've said it out loud. “But not now, I can't love you like this. I’m too… I can't pursue a relationship with you right now. Not when…”

“It's not our time,” Max nods. “I understand.”

He really did change.

“I want to find my way through life first," you tell him.

Max smiles and he pulls you again in a hug. He has tears in his eyes again and he sniffles, chuckling at himself for crying again. He pulls away from the hug slowly and hands you your keys.

“See you around?"

“See you around.”

You exit the car and you notice that your heart feels lighter now compared to the time you left Monaco even though you are doing the same exact thing—leaving Max to go home.

At the end of 2023, you grace the paddock with your presence—your signature YSL heels is back on the tracks. You wear pants now, instead of the corporate pencil skirts, matched with a Prema Racing polo shirt. The label at the back indicates: AERODYNAMIC ENGINEER. By the end of 2024, you are promoted to the strategy team. By 2025, you become a race engineer of an up-and-coming racing superstar and you kept the job position until now.

The world didn't end just because your Dad died. It took you a while to realize that your Papa didn't own your dreams. It was always yours to begin with. He just played a part in inspiring them.

Max Verstappen became the 2024, 2025, 2026, 2027, and 2028 WDC, marking history as an eight-time consecutive champion. He retired after the 2028 season and disappeared from the face of the Earth. He had stopped going home to his penthouse in Monaco, had put his private jet on sale, and had cut ties to his father, Jos, who was very disappointed that his son had retired too early in the sport. Max retired willingly—he had achieved more awards than most of his seniors and it's time to give room to the younger ones. Rumors say that he had established a racing program somewhere in Belgium. Charles Leclerc, Max's friend, refuses to update the media regarding Max's whereabouts and only says: "He's happy. Don't worry."

Years later, a thirteen-almost-fourteen year-old girl named Emiliana Julia Verstappen, racing under the American flag, become the youngest driver in history to join the ranks of the F1 academy and later, she becomes the youngest driver to ever drive a Formula One car, racing for Scuderia Ferrari as second driver, at only seventeen and a hundred and fifty days old, overthrowing Max Emilian Verstappen, retired eight-time F1 WDC, whom the world has not seen since his retirement, from the list.

[amirasainz]

What about George x Carmen x Hamilton!reader. She shows them the beauty of Brasil, and they all enjoy their time together, being in love with each other. Can you please make her fluent in Portuguese?🇧🇷💚

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💚

Brasil, o quanto eu amo (Brasil, how much I love you)

The Brazilian sun poured golden light over the sands of Praia do Forte, casting a warm glow over the ocean waves. George stretched out on a beach towel, Carmen nestled beside him, and Yn lying on his other side. Carmen’s arm was securely wrapped around Yn’s waist, and George’s hand occasionally brushed over her shoulder, holding her close. They were a perfect picture of relaxation—yet just beneath that was a bubbling excitement, the thrill of experiencing something entirely new together.

"Can you believe this place?" George murmured, his blue eyes scanning the beach before settling on Yn. “You know, I thought Monaco was paradise, but Brazil might just have it beat.”

Yn laughed, the sound bright and infectious. "That’s what I’ve been telling you both! Brazil has its own kind of magic." She shifted, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on George's arm. “And this is only the beginning. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Carmen leaned in, pressing a kiss to Yn’s cheek. "Then we’re in for an unforgettable trip," she whispered, her fingers curling around Yn’s waist just a little tighter. "You always know the best places to take us."

Yn’s cheeks flushed under Carmen’s touch and George’s gaze. She felt her heart skip, warmth blooming in her chest. This vacation had already been wonderful, but getting to show George and Carmen her favorite places in Brazil—her home—was something else entirely.

“Alright, so what’s next on the itinerary, love?” George asked, grinning. “You’ve got us hooked.”

Yn smiled, pulling away just enough to look at them both, her eyes dancing with excitement. “How about a bit of adventure? There’s a hidden waterfall not too far from here that barely anyone knows about. The hike there is through the rainforest—sound good?”

“Absolutely,” Carmen replied eagerly. “Anything you want to show us, we’re game.”

“Then let’s go!” Yn jumped to her feet, holding out her hands for George and Carmen, helping them up as they laughed and gathered their things.

---

The rainforest was alive with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling leaves, every step taking them deeper into the lush greenery. Yn led the way, effortlessly translating the occasional signs and pointing out the different plants and animals they encountered.

“Do you hear that?” Yn asked, pausing and tilting her head. Faintly, the sound of rushing water echoed through the trees. “We’re close.”

George slipped his hand into Yn’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Lead on, princess,” he said softly, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

Yn felt her heart flutter, glancing at Carmen, who had fallen in step on her other side, her hand resting on Yn’s waist as they walked. Carmen gave her a soft, knowing smile before leaning in and pressing a kiss to Yn’s lips.

They emerged from the trail to a breathtaking view. A secluded waterfall tumbled down into a crystal-clear pool surrounded by thick jungle. Sunlight streamed through the canopy above, casting dappled light over everything.

“It’s incredible,” Carmen breathed, her gaze sweeping over the scene before settling on Yn. “Thank you for bringing us here, Yn. I can’t imagine seeing this with anyone else.”

“Yeah,” George agreed, wrapping an arm around Yn’s shoulders. He bent down, brushing his lips against hers in a lingering kiss. “Thank you for sharing this with us. You really know how to make everything feel special.”

Yn smiled between them, feeling the weight of their words and their love all around her. “You’re both so easy to impress,” she teased, her voice soft. “But there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you two.”

Carmen leaned in, resting her forehead against Yn’s, her fingers tracing Yn’s jaw as she murmured, “Then let’s enjoy every moment of it together.”

---

As the afternoon wore on, the three of them lounged beside the pool beneath the waterfall, dipping their feet in the cool water and soaking up the sun. Yn showed them how to greet others in Portuguese, taught them phrases to navigate the markets, and laughed as George tried—and failed—to imitate her accent.

“Como vai, George?” Yn asked, grinning as she tested him on the simple Portuguese phrase for “how are you?”

George furrowed his brows in concentration, repeating, “Como vai?” as he attempted to match her tone.

Yn giggled. “You’re getting better! By the end of this trip, you’ll be speaking like a Brazilian.”

“Only because I have the best teacher,” he replied, leaning forward to brush his lips over hers.

Carmen clapped her hands together. “Alright, my turn!” She smiled at Yn, eager to impress her. “How do you say, ‘I’m falling more in love with you every day’?”

Yn’s heart melted at the request. She took a breath and repeated softly, “Estou me apaixonando mais por você a cada dia.”

Carmen whispered the phrase back, her voice low, and kissed Yn again, sealing her words with her touch. George watched them with a tender smile, his hand resting over Yn’s on the warm rock where they sat.

As they lingered by the waterfall, laughter and kisses flowing freely, Yn thought of how much Brazil had always meant to her—and how much it now meant to share it with the people she loved.

[octuscle]

Life-changing cruise experience

Daniel had been warned time and time again: Leaving the ship without a cruise line-licensed guide is dangerous to your wallet and health. Daniel thought that was silly. After all, Salvador de Bahia was not a slum in a civil war-torn country. Yes, Brazil was not without danger. But nothing had happened in Maceio and Recife either. Nevertheless, to be on the safe side, Daniel only packed a little cash, left his wristwatch on board and took an old cell phone with him, which was certainly unattractive to pickpockets. At the pier, he took a cab and was driven directly to the old town.

Salvador de Bahia was incredibly beautiful. Yes, it was full of tourists. But luckily Daniel arrived in the old town before the buses. And in his simple clothes, he didn't look much like a cruise tourist, who were always easy victims. He enjoyed strolling through the alleyways and lost himself deeper and deeper in the labyrinth. The colorful baroque buildings became fewer and fewer, you could hardly hear any English and only what Daniel thought was Portuguese. The attacks from street vendors became more frequent and Daniel began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. And when he saw a knife flash at one of the nasty-looking guys, Daniel intuitively jumped into the nearest doorway. He had ended up in a capoeira school. He looked anxiously at the street where the mugger was looking around. Fearfully, he looked into the school, where a couple of guys were standing, not looking very trusting either. Suddenly one of the capoeiristas started grinning at him, shouted something to him in Portuguese and handed him one of the typical combat pants. Of course, Daniel felt silly putting these on. But returning to the street seemed much less attractive to him. So he put the pants on and joined the other students.

The movements seemed infinitely complicated to him at first. He didn't understand what it was all about. Until he realized that the teacher had obviously switched to English. At least Daniel understood the instructions, but he was still incredibly clumsy. The training was exhausting. Daniel lost track of time. He got better and better. The movements became second nature to him. The drum beats were incredibly familiar to him. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of his opponents. How long had they been training together? For as long as Daniel could remember. Even as a child, he had watched with fascination how elegantly the boys danced and moved their well-trained bodies. He had always wanted to be able to do the same. And with a certain amount of modesty, Danilo could say that he had become one of the best at his school.

Hehehe, he had never been able to say that about his real school. Sitting still and learning had never been for him. Fortunately, in addition to his talent for capoeira, he had dazzling looks and a stunning charm. Even if he could only talk to the tourists in broken English, that was enough to collect plenty of tips at his shows at Santa Maria Fort.

Danilo's specialty, however, was his private shows, which he performed either in the back room of the bar where he danced or in the hotel rooms of the gringos. And it didn't matter whether he was fucking the white ass of an American tourist or getting a blowjob from a German pensioner. His services were in demand. And expensive. Danilo loved his life!

Pic found @xq28-xq28-xq28, inspiration by @curioustoseewhatsup

[house-of-tales]

"Se ignorância é uma bênção, me pergunto o que seria sua burrice em insistir na bebida desse jeito" a empatia de Alhaitham era algo impressionante, pois fez absolutamente nada para segurar o outro quando o mesmo quase caiu.

— Eu só bebi uma taça. — Quis se apoiar na mesa para parecer que estava tudo bem, mas quase caiu. Agora ficou vermelho de vergonha.

[mapsontheweb]

French explorations in Africa in the 19th century

« Nouvel atlas de l'histoire de France », Autrement, 2016

by cartesdhistoire

In the 19th century, a vast movement of exploration of lands unknown to Europeans developed, supported by scientific institutions. The figure of the explorer became familiar to the public, and their stories contributed to the creation of a specific imagination, filled with exoticism and adventure. Perhaps the most evocative name is that of René Caillie, the first Westerner to reach Timbuktu. Another remarkable figure is Pierre Savorgnan de Brazza, a French naval officer born in Italy who explored the Congo (1874-1882).

From the 1880s to the 1890s, European expansion accelerated from sometimes ancient coastal footholds, such as French and British forts in West Africa or Portuguese ones in Angola. The Berlin Conference (1884-1885) set the rules, enforcing effective occupation of land to colonize it. It also guaranteed freedom of movement and trade on major rivers (Niger, Congo). The drawing of colonial boundaries, often complex to define on the ground in densely populated areas, and the colored plaques on the maps should not mask the fact that the appropriation of the territory was progressive and often very loose.

During the conquest, the military consisted of the powers in place (sometimes themselves of European origin, as in the Boer republics of Orange and Transvaal, which eventually became British in 1902). Treaties to share the territories multiplied, which did not avoid crises like the one at Fashoda in 1898, where the French and British clashed for control of the Upper Nile—and more broadly for the completion of their expansion projects: the Dakar-Djibouti link for the French, and the Cairo-to-Cape Town axis for the British. This led to the extension of British influence over the entire Nile basin.

[victusinveritas]

Colonial Portuguese fort. Note that the nearby brush has been cleared, ostensibly to make the fort look bigger.

[whencyclopedia]

Bartholomew Roberts

Bartholomew Roberts, aka 'Black Bart' Roberts (c. 1682-1722), was a Welsh pirate and one of the most successful villains of the Golden Age of Piracy. Roberts plundered over 400 ships on both sides of the Atlantic during his infamous three-year career, far more than any other pirate of the period.

Known for his flashy wardrobe, provocative Jolly Roger flags, and being a stickler for discipline, 'Black Bart' Roberts commanded one of the most powerful of all pirate ships, the Royal Fortune which had at least 40 cannons. Keen to avoid the hangman’s noose so many other pirates had felt tickle their necks, Roberts was shot in the throat resisting capture by the English authorities in 1722.

Early Career

Roberts was born in Pembroke County, Wales, in 1682, his real first name being John. John Roberts went to sea around age 13, and he grew into a tall, deeply-tanned, and weather-worn chap that resulted in his later nickname 'Black Bart' Roberts (or 'Black Barty'). An alternative source of this moniker was that Roberts often tortured his captives - especially French ones - to find out exactly where they kept their valuables. In one notorious episode in October 1720, Roberts ordered his men to cut the ears off a group of Dutch captives, some were hanged and their bodies used for target practice. So, then, either way, 'Black Bart' Roberts certainly lived up to his name.

As a young man, Roberts served as second mate on the Princess of London, a slave ship that plied the route between the coast of West Africa and London. Then, in February 1720, he joined, either by force or voluntarily, the crew of the Welsh pirate Howell Davis who had captured the Princess. It was at this stage that Roberts changed his Christian name to Bartholomew to make it more difficult for the authorities to discover his identity. When Davis died in an engagement with the Portuguese authorities on the Island of Princes (Principe Island) off the West African coast, Roberts was elected by the crew to take over. Captain Roberts swiftly launched a revenge attack on the fort of the Island of Princes and razed it to the ground along with the nearby town.

Continue reading...

[probablyasocialecologist]

Since the Portuguese empire clung to the coasts instead of moving inland to colonize territory, it needed to develop a fluid state for governance of its global archipelago of fortified enclaves. To manage some twenty feitorias on the coast of India alone, the crown appointed a viceroy who, after 1530, would rule that country’s Estado da India (State of India) from a capital at Goa lined with impressive stone structures that had the look of Iberia in Asia. That enclave would also serve as headquarters for a Portuguese community scattered across Asia that eventually grew to some fourteen thousand, half of them Catholic clerics and the rest officials, soldiers, and merchants. This geopolitical array of forts linked by fleets proved reasonably capable of absorbing attacks by massed Asian levies—repelling assaults from stone ramparts, drawing support from nearby ports, and evacuating safely if necessary. The result: an imperial juggernaut that allowed the Portuguese to dominate the vast Indian Ocean with a few dozen ships and several thousand soldiers, neutralizing more powerful Asian monarchs whose enormous land armies were drawn from a vast Indian subcontinent with 150 million people.

Alfred W. McCoy, To Govern the Globe: World Orders and Catastrophic Change

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 3 - Slice of Life

{gavin luke - come spring}

It’s pouring rain and smells like lightning outside. Darker than it usually is this time of day, so that when Marius wakes he’s already missed the last bits of the sunset behind the heavy storm clouds.

He craves it sometimes. Even two millennia in—perhaps because it’s two millennia in—he keeps wondering if he can trick the Blood, even just for a few seconds. He wonders, as he gets older, how much earlier he can wake, how much he can push it. How long before his eyes stop hurting when the sky is still red.

But it’s nice, for now. Soothing to wake to the thunder. 

He leaves the balcony doors open and turns on Rádio CBN as he wanders about, running through his early evening routine. He dresses, and stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a little too long, trying to decide if he should cut off his hair tonight. He has been, recently. It feels lighter when he and Daniel go out. Tonight he thinks he wants to stay inside. Maybe just sit on the balcony and enjoy the rain. He stares at his his hair for a moment, tilts his head to see the way it gleams in the artificial light. 

Sometimes he wonders what Daniel sees in him.

More to do. He shuts the lights off, takes a trip down to the front desk to check their mail. Daniel has been waiting on a book he ordered from the internet, but it’s not here yet. A postcard from Benji, though, and Marius smiles down at it as he rides the elevator back up.

Then he gets the incense lit, checks his emails, tries to remember where he left his new mobile phone. It’s the third one he’s bought this year. Keeps leaving them places. 

Excitable Portuguese spills through the radio speakers, recapping a sporting event from earlier in the afternoon. Marius raises an eyebrow, glances towards the bedroom, listening for clues that Daniel is awake. He’s gotten into the local team and DVR’s the day games. He hates getting spoilers before he can watch. It’s still quiet, though, a little early for him. 

The radio is nice, as he paces the suite. Fills the space a little, the voices blending with the rain. Less lonely, while he waits for Daniel to wake up. He pauses in the doorway of the bedroom, tempted to go wake him, staring at the shining mahogany doors of the walk-in closet. 

Daniel’s made them a little nest in there, where it’s light-tight. Marius had found it silly at first, told him it wasn’t a good solution if they were to live here. Told him they could find another place. Daniel had insisted, though. Called it a pillow fort. 

Marius can survive in the large bed during the day—the heavy curtains are enough for him now—but he finds himself in there more often than not. Sort of cozy. Reminds him of the early years, with Pandora, curled together as the sun pulls him under every morning. It’s been a long time since he woken in another’s arms. 

He considers calling her.

No real reason. Just feels nice to sometimes, now that technology allows for it. But he can’t remember where she’s been lately, isn’t sure about the time zone. 

Can’t remember where he left his phone, either. His eyes sweep across the suite, half-heartedly open to spotting it, but he doesn’t try harder than that. She probably finds him boring, anyway. It’s fine.

Just wait for Daniel.

He shrugs to himself. Shakes the energy out of his hands. 

The room came stocked with a decorative Gisele Bündchen coffee table book, and he picks it up to bring outside. He tucks himself into the loveseat on the terrace, safely beneath the awning where it’s dry. He’s looked through this book every night since they’ve been here.

Something haunting about the photographs, and he keeps studying them. The dramatic lighting, the use of color, the way she steels herself and challenges the camera lens. Marius makes eye contact with the glossy paper, wondering about her, and this character she plays. 

Humans are so strange.

Or, not at all. He supposes it’s the most normal thing in the world, since antiquity, no different from the drama and fantasy of ancient texts. This old play-pretend, as if she’s some ethereal creature, and not a soft mortal child.

He stops on a photo where she’s draped in green fabric, her figure timeless, like the marble statues from when he was alive. Then there’s one taken with a camera flash, quick and messy, where she’s laughing, hair thrown back, color warm and utterly mortal in her face. The next she’s wearing a tiger head, and then painted black, unnatural and dangerous behind a string of barbed wire. Some are high fashion and some are raw human mess. She stands in a garbage pail on one page, then sprawls across the ground with flowers growing from between her legs on the next.

Marius hadn’t wanted to go out tonight, but he wonders if he should go paint. Find someplace quiet and dry, ponder these facets of a human life. 

Too deep in thought to hear the wardrobe open. And he doesn’t hear Daniel’s bare feet, his light steps through he suite. It startles him when Daniel flops into the loveseat.

“Mornin,” he says, and kisses Marius on the cheek.

Marius shuts the book, hugging it to his chest as he looks out over the balcony, towards the ocean. Lightning flickers in the distance, and the bass of a car radio floats up from the avenue below, and he loves the charge of humidity in the air. Loves the tactile embrace of it on his skin. Daniel teases him about it sometimes, keeps saying he’s like having a pet lizard, but he doesn’t comment on it now, just snuggles in where he’s supposed to be. They barely fit on the couch together, and Daniel shifts sideways to drape his legs over Marius’s lap.

“That book again?” he asks. 

Feels silly, for some reason. Marius shrugs. “She’s very interesting to me.”

“There’s one in there that kinda reminds me of Piss Christ.”

Marius rolls his eyes. He won’t admit it, but he knows exactly the one Daniel means.

“It’s a strange book to provide in a hotel,” he says. He taps his nails against it, watching the shape of the clouds over the ocean. “Or. Maybe not. Maybe I’m being old fashioned.”

Daniel shrugs. He’s got his phone out now, face glowing in the electric light as he thumbs through his evening reads. It seems like he isn’t paying attention, isn’t interested in the conversation, absorbed in his phone for a few minutes before he lays a hand on Marius’s thigh and indulges him.

“I mean, it’s like you’re always talking about the value of art. Who gets to call something art, how much is elitist social construct, yada yada. It’s cool that some snooty buyer for the hotel wasn’t afraid to see it as fine art, yeah?” He laughs at his phone, and before Marius can ask he flips it around to show a meme from Imgur. Marius isn’t sure what it means, but Daniel’s laugh is contagious.

“Yes,” Marius says. He drops a hand to Daniel’s shin, strokes it back and forth as he watches the storm, drifting further and further away from them as the time passes. “You’re very right.”

[cherryblogss]

heyyy! i dont see if you specified anywhere wether the requests are closed or not, but if theyre not... could we, pleaseeee, get a fernando x reader with established relationship, smut, where they go roughly at it for too long and she has to use her safe word... and hes all panicked and trying to figure out whats wrong with her and some fluff towards the end??? sorry if its too much :) but im excited

I usually use Google translate for this, but this time it just sounded off even for me and I don’t speak the language so I decided to leave this here in English

hello sweetie😘 im always amazed when people from other languages message me😭 like how do you guys even end up here. I feel sorry but i'll write it in portuguese💀 sorry for taking so long to answer😞

aff to rindo da safeword que eu escolhi

O prazer intenso do vai e vem dos quadris do moreno era uma linha tênue entre satisfação e ser demais para aguentar. Já era o terceiro round e sua pele se sentia quente demais, o rosto encharcado pelas lágrimas e suas costas doendo pelas posições inusitadas que Fernando te colocava. Tudo tinha começado quando em uma crise de ciúmes você acabou por falar coisas que não deveria e seu noivo ficou ainda mais enfurecido com seu escândalo. Mas com a raiva crescia também o tesão que culminou em vocês dois se fodendo no chão da sala e Fernando estapeando sua bunda enquanto te comia de quatro, te dando exatamente o que você pedia.

Entretanto, depois de 4 orgasmo seu corpo já estava quase apagando e a forma como o pau grosso dele se enterrava dentro de ti em um ritmo alucinante te fazia perder a consciência as vezes. Apesar de tentar manter a mente funcionando e focar no prazer, só conseguia pensar como os joelhos a quaquer momento cederiam e sua intimidade ardia de tantas atividades.

"Feer-" Choramingou incoerente em meio aos grunhidos e sons estalados dos seus corpos se chocando.

Fernando completamente imerso em seu próprio êxtase, interpreta seus sons como mais um orgasmo iminente até pela forma como suas paredes internas se contraiam intensamente e os líquidos da sua excitação escorria pelas suas coxas, sujando os pelos pubianos do argentino.

Os quadris aceleraram mais o ritmo, te fazendo soltar um grito esganiçado quando a ponta do membro começa a estimular seu ponto g diretamente a cada estocada.

"cowboy." tenta sussurrar mais só sai uma sentença incoerente. "Cowboy!!!!"

No momento que você fala a palavra um pouco mais alto, seu namorado já para de se movimentar, afrouxando o aperto das mãos e agora te segurando cuidadosamente para te virar de frente para ele.

Seus olhos desfocados só são capazes de ver os olhos escuros arregalados e a cabeleira negra se movimentando conforme ele procurava por qualquer machucado.

"Meu deus, princesa, o que foi? Te machuquei? Vou te levar no hospital agora mesmo." Ele questiona nervoso atropelando as palavras e com a voz tremendo em apreensão.

"Não, não. Calma, Fer, só achei que por um minuto eu ia desmaiar." Fala finalmente juntando as palavras e conseguindo recuperar o fôlego.

Fernando arqueia uma sobrancelha, levando as mãos para o seu rosto e limpando as lágrimas, maquiagem escorrida e saliva da sua pele. Imitando-o, move as mãos para a face do mais velho, acariciando a barba grande e as bochechas avermelhadas na tentativa de acalmá-lo já que parecia que a qualquer momento ele iria enfartar com a forma que o peito dele subia e descia muito rápido e os olhos estavam arregalados em desespero.

"Tem certeza que tá tudo bem?" Ele pergunta quase em um sussurro e segurando seu rosto para manterem o contato visual.

"Sim, amor, só acho que tá bom por hoje." Responde sorrindo fraco e relaxando o corpo para se apoiar nos braços fortes que te cercavam.

"Me perdoa, porfa." Ele pede depois de engolir em seco e checar que seu corpo não tinha nenhum machucado.

"Não tem nada de errado, Fer." Fala se inclinando para dar um beijo no queixo dele, em seguida se deitando no peitoral firme.

"Promete?" Ele pergunta com a voz mais autoritária começando a pentear seus cabelos bagunçados.

"Prometo."

"Agora eu vou cuidar de você, princesa, vem." Fernando fala depois de um tempo em silêncio. O moreno entrelaça os braços ao redor das suas coxas e te ergue com uma certa facilidade ao se encaminhar para o banheiro.

"Você já tava cuidando antes." Responde sorrindo maliciosa ao remexer os quadris e se aninhar no pescoço grosso do maior.

"Para com isso, sua safada." Ele responde te dando um tapinha franco na bunda quando finalmente chegam ao banheiro.

Ele te deixa sentadinha na beirada da banheira enquanto abre o registro e mede temperatura para deixar do jeito que você gosta, até colocando as espumas que memorizou serem suas favoritas.

Quando satisfeito, ele volta a te carregar e te coloca na água morna, depois te acompanhando e sentando atrás de você. Ele começa massageando seus ombros, te fazendo suspirar e fechar os olhos relaxada quando o alívio instantâneo tomou conta dos seus músculos. Em seguida, move os dedos largos para pentear seus cabelos e massagear seu couro cabeludo com o shampoo. Ele era tão cuidadoso que seu estômago se contorcia com as borboletas de ter dado sorte em encontrar alguém tão apaixonante como Fernando.

A situação te dando uma sensação nostálgica de quando o viu pela primeira vez. Tão sério e intimidador, mas nas primeiras palavras que trocaram você já estava caidinha pelo jeito encantador do moreno.

"Que foi, linda?" Fernando pergunta quando escuta uma risada baixinha vinda de você.

"Lembra do dia que a gente se conheceu?"

"Claro que lembro." Ele responde indignado que você talvez pensasse que um dia ele seria capaz de esquecer a primeira vez que te viu.

"Eu acho muito engraçada nossa safeword, porque só me lembro como você ficou emburrado com aquela roupa de cowboy combinando com o Kuku." Fala entre gargalhadas e se deitando sobre o corpo do argentino, mas com a cabeça erguida para encarar a feição envergonhada do seu noivo.

Fernando não consegue se conter, se unindo as suas gargalhadas com uma risada rouca ao recordar como Esteban insistiu que eles fossem combinando fantasiados de algum jogo de faroeste para uma festa de halloween e acabou te conhecendo quando você estava vestida como o par romântico do personagem dele.

"Ele me faz passar por cada coisa... mas nunca vou reclamar, porque senão não teria te conhecido, amor." Fernando fala com as íris castanhas brilhando em paixão e se inclinando para dar um selinho demorado nos seus lábios sorridentes.

Sério galera, se alguem não parar quando vc disser não ou estiver indisposta call the police e corra pelo amor

[blackhistorystoryteller]

Black Americans should visit Ghana

To know more about black slave trade in Ghana

Monuments of shame

Cape Coast Castle - now a World Heritage Site - is one of about forty forts in Ghana where slaves from as far away as Burkina Faso and Niger were imprisoned. This former slave fortress could hold about 1,500 slaves at a time before they were loaded onto ships and sold into slavery in the New World in the Americas and the Caribbean.

Male captives who revolted or were deemed insubordinate ended up in the condemned cells - a pitch-black room where slaves were left to die in the oppressive heat without water, food or daylight.Rebellious women were beaten and chained to cannon balls in the courtyard

Built in 1482, Elmina Castle on Ghana's Cape coast is the earliest European structure erected in sub-Saharan Africa. Originally Portugese, it was later captured by the Dutch, who used it as a base for the Dutch slave trade with Brazil and the Caribbean. Under the flag of the Dutch West Indies Company, around 30,000 slaves a year passed through Elmina until 1814 when the Dutch abolished slavery.

The Portuguese position on the Gold Coast remained secure for almost a century. During that time, Lisbon leased the right to establish trading posts to individuals or companies that sought to align themselves with the local chiefs and to exchange trade goods both for rights to conduct commerce and for slaves whom the chiefs could provide. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, adventurers--first Dutch, and later English, Danish, and Swedish-- were granted licenses by their governments to trade overseas. On the Gold Coast, these European competitors built fortified trading stations and challenged the Portuguese. Sometimes they were also drawn into conflicts with local inhabitants as Europeans developed commercial alliances with local chiefs.

The principal early struggle was between the Dutch and the Portuguese. With the loss of Elmina in 1642 to the Dutch, the Portuguese left the Gold Coast permanently. The next 150 years saw kaleidoscopic change and uncertainty, marked by local conflicts and diplomatic maneuvers, during which various European powers struggled to establish or to maintain a position of dominance in the profitable trade of the Gold Coast littoral. Forts were built, abandoned, attacked, captured, sold, and exchanged, and many sites were selected at one time or another for fortified positions by contending European nations.

Both the Dutch and the British formed companies to advance their African ventures and to protect their coastal establishments. The Dutch West India Company operated throughout most of the eighteenth century. The British African Company of Merchants, founded in 1750, was the successor to several earlier organizations of this type. These enterprises built and manned new installations as the companies pursued their trading activities and defended their respective jurisdictions with varying degrees of government backing. There were short-lived ventures by the Swedes and the Prussians. The Danes remained until 1850, when they withdrew from the Gold Coast. The British gained possession of all Dutch coastal forts by the last quarter of the nineteenth century, thus making them the dominant European power on the Gold Coast.

During the heyday of early European competition, slavery was an accepted social institution, and the slave trade overshadowed all other commercial activities on the West African coast. To be sure, slavery and slave trading were already firmly entrenched in many African societies before their contact with Europe. In most situations, men as well as women captured in local warfare became slaves. In general, however, slaves in African communities were often treated as junior members of the society with specific rights, and many were ultimately absorbed into their masters' families as full members. Given traditional methods of agricultural production in Africa, slavery in Africa was quite different from that which existed in the commercial plantation environments of the New World.

Another aspect of the impact of the trans-Atlantic slave trade on Africa concerns the role of African chiefs, Muslim traders, and merchant princes in the trade. Although there is no doubt that local rulers in West Africa engaged in slaving and received certain advantages from it, some scholars have challenged the premise that traditional chiefs in the vicinity of the Gold Coast engaged in wars of expansion for the sole purpose of acquiring slaves for the export market. In the case of Asante, for example, rulers of that kingdom are known to have supplied slaves to both Muslim traders in the north and to Europeans on the coast. Even so, the Asante waged war for purposes other than simply to secure slaves. They also fought to pacify territories that in theory were under Asante control, to exact tribute payments from subordinate kingdoms, and to secure access to trade routes--particularly those that connected the interior with the coast.

It is important to mention, however, that the supply of slaves to the Gold Coast was entirely in African hands. Although powerful traditional chiefs, such as the rulers of Asante, Fante, and Ahanta, were known to have engaged in the slave trade, individual African merchants such as John Kabes, John Konny, Thomas Ewusi, and a broker known only as Noi commanded large bands of armed men, many of them slaves, and engaged in various forms of commercial activities with the Europeans on the coast.

The volume of the slave trade in West Africa grew rapidly from its inception around 1500 to its peak in the eighteenth century. Philip Curtin, a leading authority on the African slave trade, estimates that roughly 6.3 million slaves were shipped from West Africa to North America and South America, about 4.5 million of that number between 1701 and 1810. Perhaps 5,000 a year were shipped from the Gold Coast alone. The demographic impact of the slave trade on West Africa was probably substantially greater than the number actually enslaved because a significant number of Africans perished during slaving raids or while in captivity awaiting transshipment. All nations with an interest in West Africa participated in the slave trade. Relations between the Europeans and the local populations were often strained, and distrust led to frequent clashes. Disease caused high losses among the Europeans engaged in the slave trade, but the profits realized from the trade continued to attract them.

The growth of anti-slavery sentiment among Europeans made slow progress against vested African and European interests that were reaping profits from the traffic. Although individual clergymen condemned the slave trade as early as the seventeenth century, major Christian denominations did little to further early efforts at abolition. The Quakers, however, publicly declared themselves against slavery as early as 1727. Later in the century, the Danes stopped trading in slaves; Sweden and the Netherlands soon followed.

The importation of slaves into the United States was outlawed in 1807. In the same year, Britain used its naval power and its diplomatic muscle to outlaw trade in slaves by its citizens and to begin a campaign to stop the international trade in slaves. These efforts, however, were not successful until the 1860s because of the continued demand for plantation labor in the New World.

Because it took decades to end the trade in slaves, some historians doubt that the humanitarian impulse inspired the abolitionist movement. According to historian Walter Rodney, for example, Europe abolished the trans-Atlantic slave trade only because its profitability was undermined by the Industrial Revolution. Rodney argues that mass unemployment caused by the new industrial machinery, the need for new raw materials, and European competition for markets for finished goods are the real factors that brought an end to the trade in human cargo and the beginning of competition for colonial territories in Africa. Other scholars, however, disagree with Rodney, arguing that humanitarian concerns as well as social and economic factors were instrumental in ending the African slave trade.

[mel-loly]

🥀

English/Portuguese

🥀 (wilted flower) - How does your character deal with stressful situations? Is their fear response fight, flight, freeze or fawn? / (flor murcha) - Como seu personagem lida com situações estressantes? Sua resposta de medo é lutar, fugir, congelar ou bajular?

(Unofficial!/Não oficial!)

This depends a lot on each character and their specific situation, but I confirm that most of them would choose to fight. In this case, each of them were placed in the group because of this, to further seek their potential in combat, power, strength, and mainly, loyalty to the group. So, they are kind of “forced” to fight, with or without power, whether they are strong or not, they have to do this, as they have the duty to help Diamond Wings and GoldenFlower have a calmer and more peaceful world compared to what it was in their “time”./Isso depende muito de cada personagem e de qual situação em específico, mas confirmo que a maioria deles optaria por lutar. No caso, cada um deles foram colocados no grupo por causa disso, para buscar mais ainda seu potencial em combate, poder, força, e principalmente, fidelidade ao grupo. Então, eles são meio que “obrigados” a lutar, com ou sem poder, sendo fortes ou não, eles tem que fazer isso, pois carregam o dever de ajudar o Diamond Wings e GoldenFlower a ter um mundo mais calmo e tranquilo comparado ao qual era em sua “época”.

“I won't say that running away would be the option for the weak, because I know that none of you are weak and that you would also have your reasons for doing so../Não direi que fugir seria a opção para os fracos, pois eu sei que nenhum de vocês é fraco e que também teriam seus motivos/razões para fazer isso..” -Mel-Loly

“But we need you to just think that while you are here, you will serve to fight and have loyalty, or else, you and the world will die in a great war./Mas que precisamos que vocês só pensem que enquanto estiverem aqui, vão servir pra lutar e ter lealdade, ou senão, vocês e o mundo morreram em grande guerra.” -Primrose

Note: Mel-Loly and Primrose are time travelers, so they know how difficult it is to put on this pressure of having the “world” in complete peace and tranquility, and in order not to bear this alone, they created the MKS group to help them/Obs: Mel-Loly e Primrose são viajantes do tempo, por isso sabem do quanto é preciso colocar essa pressão de ter o “mundo” em completa paz e tranquilidade é difícil, e para não carregar isso sozinhos, fizeram o grupo MKS para ajudá-los com isso.

And.. Yeah, that's it! I hope I answered your question/E.. Enfim, é isso! Espero ter respondido a sua pergunta ^^💛

[elvisomar]

Fort Tolukko in the city of Ternate in Indonesia. Built by the Portuguese in 1522, the fort was a strategic military outpost used to protect the region’s lucrative spice trade, particularly cloves, which were highly sought after in Europe.

[fatalemuse]

◞ ♡  what’s in a name? : strength.

below the cut are 50 names that mean strength in their native languages. i decided not to separate this list by masculine and feminine. feel free to use these names as you’d like. this is part two of my what’s in a name series. if you found this helpful, please like and/or reblog! PT. ONE - beauty.

aaron ( hebrew )

adira ( hebrew )

aila ( gaelic, finnish )

andre ( french, portuguese )

andreas / andrea / anders ( greek, scandinavian )

andrew / drew / dree ( greek )

angus ( celtic )

audrey / audra ( english, lithuanian, german )

aziz ( arabic )

bali ( sanskrit )

barrett ( english )

bernard / bernadette ( french, german )

brian ( celtic )

brianna / bree / briella ( celtic, hebrew, italian )

bridget / brigid ( gaelic )

brycin ( celtic )

chasin ( hebrew )

dustin ( english, scandinavian, norse )

ebba ( german )

ekon ( nigerian )

ethan / etan / etana ( hebrew )

everett / everette ( german, english )

fort ( french )

gabriella / gabriel / gavi ( spanish, italian, hebrew )

gerard ( german, french )

gesine ( german )

griffin / griffith ( welsh )

hardy ( german, french, english )

imala ( ** this name has Indigenous / Native American roots, however there are no reliable sources for the tribe of origin. )

imiza ( german, english )

isa ( arabic )

kenji ( japanese )

kwan ( korean, chinese )

lenna ( german )

liam ( gaelic, german )

limbani ( chewa )

malin ( swedish )

marcella ( latin, italian )

matilda ( german )

mika ( hungarian, japanese, russian )

millicent ( french )

montgomery ( french )

oscar ( gaelic )

oz ( hebrew )

philomena ( greek )

rainey ( gaelic )

takeshi ( japanese )

valencia / valens / valentina ( latin )

valerian / valerie ( latin )

zale ( greek )

** If anyone is aware of a reliable source on the origins of this name, please let me know. I’d be happy to credit you.

[camillasgirl]

King Charles III and Queen Camilla visit Fort Jesus and tour the UNESCO World heritage site to learn about the British, Portuguese and Omani influence on the fort's architecture, Mombasa, Kenya, 03.11.2023