#turkish from beginning

[learnturkishprofessionally]

Turkish dialogs with regard to use of “however” in Turkish

[chaiaurchaandni]

it is imp to remember that this is not about religion and the ethnic cleansing of artsakh proves this. all oppressive regimes are connected regardless of religion and that is why azerbaijan and israel have good relations. another example is saudi arabia having good relations with america and israel while also killing other muslims in yemen.

interestingly, like israel, saudi also uses religion to gain credibility (recently got holy mosque imam to give statement condemning boycotts and encouraging muslims to not be involved in the situation in palestine) and recruit muslim supporters from all over the world, while simultaneously killing/imprisoning muslim critics of the kingdom.

similarly, israel sells itself as a safe haven for jews and convinces jews around the world to migrate to israel while also simultaneously criminalizing antizionist jews all over the world, even suggesting that theyre not 'real jews' (reminiscent of takfirism which is a core part of saudi wahabi ideology) [ fun fact: the house of saud came into power in arabia with help from the british, just like the zionists in palestine! ]

oppressive regimes are directly connected and mirror each other in several ways. this is why liberation and resistance movements need to unite and work together across the world

[junpr]

Momo and Ran-chan in buns!!

[lillylunala]

Welcome to the Amazing Animal Circus!

Managed by Caine, this small travelling circus will wow your eyes and melt your hearts! Featuring Ragatha the Turkish Van! Jax the Flemmish Giant! Gangle the pied cornsnake! Kinger the indian stickbug! Zooble the bird of paradise! And adorable newcomer Pomni, the chiweenie!

...Wait, you mean to tell me people have been misteriously dissappearing from the public? Well, that's probably just a coincidence!

MASTERPOST BELOW

Beginning (You're here)

Pomni's welcome

Get king'd

Kaufmo the greyhound

Food time

Food fight

Caine's curse

[tanadrin]

medieval monks and accountants start using Italian millione ("one thousand" + augmentative suffix) to mean 10^6 by the 1200s; this spreads to other languages

Jehan Adam coins bymillion and trimillion to mean 10^12 and 10^18 in 1475

Nicolas Chuquet extends this scale up to nonyllion (10^54), with every step being another six orders of magnitude (million, byllion, tryllion, quadrillion, quyllion, sixlion, septyllion, ottylion, nonyllion) in 1484. Note that in this period, it was common to put the digit separator every six digits instead of every three.

Guillaume Budé refers to 10^9 as milliart in 1516, in a Latin text

But in 1549, Jacques Pelletier du Mans uses milliard to mean 10^12, citing Budé as a source

In the 1600s, people start putting digit separators every three digits. But some scientists and mathematicians define the numerical scale according to how digits are grouped, rather than the actual order of magnitude: thus, one billion becomes 10^9, one trillion becomes 10^12, etc, creating the short scale.

"Milliard" is eventually added to the long scale, meaning 10^9 (in keeping with Budé's usage); the first published example is from 1676

By 1729, the short-scale meaning of "billion" (10^9) has already crept into American usage

This is in keeping with French usage at the time: in 1762, the Académie Française dictionary cites billion as meaning 10^9.

By the early 19th century, France has almost completely converted to the short scale, and U.S. usage follows France; the long scale is referred to in some sources as "obsolete." But Britain is still using the long scale (and I assume Germany and most other European countries)

Over the course of the 20th century, the long scale begins to become more influential in France, presumably due to the influence of continental usage; while the short scale becomes more influential in Britain, presumably due to the influence of American English. Notably the SI system very specifically uses unique prefixes that are the same across languages, to prevent confusion!

In 1961, the French Government confirms that they're going to officially use the long scale from now on; in 1974, Britain officially switches over to the short scale, and many other English-speaking countries follow.

In 1975, the terms "short scale" and "long scale" are actually coined, by mathematician Geneviève Guitel.

One reason large number names could be so unstable for so long is, of course, that outside specialized usage they are rare, and were even more rare before modern science and large modern monetary amounts became commonplace points of discussion. Wikipedia says "milliard" wasn't common in German until 1923, when bank notes had to be overstamped during Weimar-era hyperinflation.

As it currently stands, English, Indonesian, Hebrew, Russian, Turkish, and most varieties of Arabic use the short scale; continental Europe and most varieties of Spanish outside Europe use the long scale. A few countries use both, usually in different languages, like South African English (short scale) and Afrikaans (long scale) or Canadian English (short scale) and Canadian French (long scale) . Puerto Rico uses the short scale in economic and technical usage, but the long scale in publications aimed at export.

Notably some languages use neither, having their own names for large numbers--South Asian languages have the Indian numbering system, and Bhutan, Cambodia, and various East Asian languages also have their own numbering systems. Greek, exceptionally, uses a native calque of the short scale rather than a borrowing.

[rebirthgarments]

TW: Chemical w-rfare, Ab-rtion

Urgent Ask to evacuate Nara, a 🍉 disabled woman with MS who also has pancreatic cancer due to chemical w-rfare.

Support by financially contributing to her @FedUp4Palestine vetted funhnd-raizer (that I personally vetted): givebutter.com/NaraMedicalAid

+ resharing/ reposting this post!

I, Sky Cubacub- a Fed up 4 Palestine team member, have been in direct contact with Nara to get to know her and her story more over the past few days. We have become fast friends due to so many overlapping symptoms of our disabilities. Nara’s story caught my eye because I have post-viral ME/CFS which many times is a precursor to MS. I really want my disability community to show up for her to get this campaign funded that is so close to my heart so that she can continue medical treatment.

We have chatted extensively! During our chats, I found out from Nara that she had not previously had health issues until she was exposed in the white phosphorus attack in 2008. The long lasting damage and effects of phosphorus continue to compound and become more and more disabling to this day, even after 16 years.

Here is her story in her own words (edited for clarity):

“Hi I'm Nara,

I'm a cancer and multiple sclerosis patient. I need treatment, examinations, and follow-up on a regular basis, but the hospitals in which I used to follow up were bombed and the other one was turned into military barracks. All I need now is to leave Gaza for treatment, preserve my life, and live with my family in peace.

We're a family of 4, including my 12 and 7 year old children.

I had been diagnosed with a tumor in the pancreas as a result of inhaling phosphorus in a previous war. A couple years after being exposed to phosphorus, I became pregnant, and the fetus was pressing on the tumor, which drew the doctor’s attention to the cancer. My fetus was emergency aborted, and the spleen, 80% of the pancreas, and part of the small intestine were removed. I complained every now and then of a lot of pain as a result of the removal of part of the pancreas. I was having follow up care in the Turkish Friendship Hospital for hematology and tumors. But since the beginning of October, I have not been able to follow up because the hospital has turned into a military barracks.

The remaining part is talking about multiple sclerosis:

In 2018, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. I had many complications, such as inflammation of the seventh nerve in the eye, the inability to walk with balance, movement with difficulty, and many symptoms. I was then required to take 12 injections every month and many medications and vitamins. I was following up at the Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis, but unfortunately the hospital was out of service due to the war. So for a long time I have not received any injections. MS is truly difficult and it controls my life completely, and the attacks occur in many and varied ways.”

A note about her breathing apparatus:

Because people in displacement have to wait in long queues and pay to use the bathroom, Nara had started to restrict her water intake because of a UTI she never has been able to heal from. This has created a problem with raised levels of potassium, so doctors have placed her on oxygen for fear of the potassium affecting her heart.

Goals

she needs at least $15,000 to evacuate

2 adults at $5,000 each

2 children at $2,500 each

this price is subject to increase due to the cost of registration for evacuation continuing to go up

The other money will go to the cost of treatment and living costs.

Nara chooses to stay anonymous because she has had to mask her disabilities so much that only her family knows about her MS and Cancer, so we have not linked her instagram, but we are in direct contact with her and can verify that she is who she says she is! Because of this, she cannot promote her own fundraiser, so it is our job to collectively do it for her!

[Image Description: a digital illustration by @k8deciccio of Nara, a Pal-eh-stienian woman wearing a black hijab/outfit with purple highlights. She has a breathing apparatus that is bulbous that goes in her nose. Text Reads: Help Narawith Cancer and MS Treatment, She Must Evacuate with her family of 4. $30k goal givebutter.com/NaraMedicalAid . There is a QR code in the bottom right corner that goes to her support link. The @FedUp4Palestine logo is in the top left corner.]

[hansolz-moved]

i am still in awe that israel looked us all in the face and told us they didn’t bomb that hospital — and that many people believed them — when they’ve repeatedly threatened hospitals to force them to evacuate. the hospitals do not get a break from israeli attacks. yesterday, sun oct 29, they bombed the vicinity of al quds hospital in gaza to try to frighten those inside into evacuating, filling hospital corridors with smoke and causing damage to the building. remember, this is the hospital housing tens of thousands of displaced civilians that they’ve threatened to bomb. then, they bombed the areas nearby the turkish hospital. today, mon oct 30, they targeted the vicinity of the indonesian hospital, and just two hours later they hit the 3rd floor of the turkish friendship hospital. like many others, the hospital holds displaced civilians, however what makes this especially heinous is the fact that this hospital is the only hospital in gaza that provides specialized care to patients with cancer. and this isn’t since the beginning of israeli escalation, this is just the past day and a half. hospitals have been under constant threat yet people still manage to turn a blind eye and believe whatever the iof tells them, no matter how easily disproven their lies are or how many times they contradict their own words.

[beansprean]

introducing Katya Zamolodchikova as Nancy the Relentless!!! a concept @vampireshmampire and i braindumped about like a year ago lmao. far before the rumors about Trixie Mattel being in s6 came out owo!

My Familiar’s Ghost part 80

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Small panel, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on a vague grayish-blue background. Nandor has one hand on his hip and the other pointing upwards as he leans toward Guillermo sternly and says 'Now I will show you how to call long distance.' Guillermo looks up at him, rubbing his arm awkwardly, still flushed from the previous page, and responds 'Ok...' 1b. Chest up of Nandor on a brighter blue background with his eyes closed in concentration, palms held up and out. He clears his throat and says, in a wispy bright blue speech bubble, 'I, Nandor the Relentless, am calling out to the etherrrr to inquire about available familiarsssss...' 1c. Shoulders up of Nandor and Guillermo lurching to one side in shock, Nandor's hands flying up, shoulder crashing into Guillermo's, as a glowing blue bubble suddenly shoves into their panel. Inside the bubble is a thin white vampire in drag with long white-blonde hair styled half up in a high ponytail by a sparkly red scrunchie. She is wearing a thin red dress with a black leather corset, a red-violet leopard fur capelet with gold coins dangling from the hem, a red jabot at her neck with a bat shaped gold brooch decorated with rubies, and shoulder length red gloves with ruby-encrusted gold caps shaped like claws on each finger. She lurches into frame with a huge, devious grin, shouting, 'Nandor, babygirl! Is that you?!' 1d. Repeat of Nandor and Guillermo standing side by side, Guillermo now having moved to stand slightly behind. Nandor slumps and scowls, already looking exhausted by this encounter, and greets poisonously 'Hello, Nancy the Relentless.' Guillermo frowns up at Nancy but stays quiet. From offscreen, Nancy coos, 'Heyy, mama! Still shopping in Turkish Cryptkeeper Kohls? I love that for you.' Nandor replies, irritated, 'This kaftan is not coal, it is made of wool from the sheeps of Al Q-' Nancy interrupts and asks, 'So, you're looking for a familiar?'

2a. Waist up of Nancy in her ether bubble, right arm crossed over her chest to rest on her left bicep, left hand reaching up to tap a jaunty claw on her cheek. She raises a brow and grins, tongue curling around one fang, and asks teasingly, 'Does that mean your scrumptious little slayer-boy is finally availableeee? 2b. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo side by side. Glare fixed on Nancy, Nandor throws an arm out in front of Guillermo and shouts, 'No!! I have told you before, he is mine!' Guillermo startles, a green glow beginning to creep up behind him as goosebumps skitter up and down his shoulders. Nancy replies to Nandor, 'And your title is mine, Nandor the Plagiarist!' Nandor snaps back, 'I have been called Relentless since before you were born, Nancy the- the Pretender!' 2c. Repeat. Guillermo blushes and looks away, lips pursing as if attempting to whistle nonchalantly as his hand reaches up to grip the arm Nandor is holding in front of him and move it away from his body. Nandor's eyes flit over to him curiously, color rising to his cheeks. Nancy continues, 'Ooh, baby, you know how I feel about older men yelling at me. You should call more often.' 2d. Close up of Nandor in profile in the foreground, Nancy's bubble beyond. He glares at her and asks sharply, 'Do you know of any familiars looking for work or not?' Nancy, full body visible now as she perches on the edge of a table and leans back on one arm, legs crossed at the knee to reveal the high slit in her dress, fishnets, and thigh high black leather boots. She closes her eyes haughtily and stretches her free arm outward in a clearly rehearsed pose, replying, 'Well, gorgeous, effortless, beloved vampires usually receive applications directly...' 2e. Repeat. Nandor arches his eyebrows and turns his head away from Nancy toward the viewer, muttering, 'Then you must alert me if you find such a vampire.' Nancy wheezes with shocked laughter, kicking her legs wildly and flapping her arms, delighted rather than offended by the dig. Through her laughs, she declares, 'Read!!' 2f. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo, the latter standing just behind and gripping the edge of Nandor's sleeve. Offscreen, Nancy recovers from her fit and says, 'Well, since I'm nice, I'll forward you a few. But- hello! Is that the slayer behind you? Did you turn him?! You bitch!! Guillermo, call m-!' Nandor scowls and interrupts, saying quickly, 'YesthankyouNancygoodbye.' He then flaps his hand in the air, dispersing Nancy's bubble and ending the call. Behind him, Guillermo frowns, flustered and blushing. 2g. Repeat. Nandor lowers his hand and glares where Nancy once appeared, sneering, 'Yeesh, why could you not have slain her?' Guillermo aims an unimpressed glance toward him, still purple in the cheeks. /end ID

[shitsndgiggs]

THE FIRST MATCH - KENAN YILDIZ

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

The stadium filled out in no time, the anticipation for the Euro match between Turkey and Georgia palpable in the air. The stands were a sea of red and white, Turkish flags waving energetically alongside the cheers and chants of dedicated fans.

I found myself in the VIP section, sitting beside Beate, Kenan’s mother. She was as welcoming as ever, her pride in her son evident in every smile and enthusiastic clap.

"He's worked so hard for this,"Beate said with a smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "Tonight will be special, I can feel it."

As the national anthems played, my heart raced with a mix of nerves and excitement. The camera panned across the players, and there he was – Kenan, looking focused and determined. He glanced up at the stands and caught my eye, giving me a quick, flirty wink.

My cheeks flushed, and I quickly looked away, but not before giving him a small, shy waves.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

Turkey took the lead in the 25th minute, with a brilliant goal by Mert Müldür. The stadium erupted in cheers, and the excitement was palpable. Beate and I were on our feet, clapping and celebrating the early lead.

Just two minutes later, in the 27th minute, Kenan made a perfectly timed run, breaking free from his marker. His teammate spotted the move and delivered a precise through ball. Kenan, with his usual finesse, controlled the ball deftly and slotted it past the Georgian goalkeeper into the back of the net.

The crowd erupted in celebration once more, and I jumped to my feet, cheering alongside Beate. Kenan turned to the stands, his eyes finding mine as he flashed a confident, flirtatious smile, making my heart race even faster.

But the jubilation was short-lived. The referee's whistle blew, and the linesman had his flag raised. Offside. The goal was annulled. A collective groan echoed around the stadium, and the scoreboard remained unchanged.

Kenan looked over at me, a mix of frustration and determination in his eyes. I gave him an encouraging smile and mouthed, "You'll get the next one." He nodded, the fire in his gaze unwavering, ready to fight for every chance.

Georgia managed to equalize 13 minutes before halftime, making it 1-1. The tension was high as the second half commenced. Kenan's determination was evident in every move he made, fighting for every ball.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

The sky, which had been overcast since the beginning of the match, suddenly opened up in the 56th minute, and rain began to pour down. The field quickly became slick, and the players struggled to maintain their footing. Passes skidded unpredictably, and the game’s tempo slowed as both teams adjusted to the challenging conditions.

Despite the rain, the Turkish team remained focused. In the 65th minute, Arda Güler seized an opportunity. He danced through the Georgian defense with remarkable skill, keeping the ball close despite the slippery pitch.

With a quick, decisive shot, he sent the ball curling into the top corner of the net. The Turkish fans exploded with joy, their cheers mixing with the sound of the pouring rain.

Beate and I hugged, drenched but ecstatic. "That was brilliant!" I shouted over the noise, my eyes sparkling with excitement.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

In the 85th minute, Kenan, exhausted but proud, was replaced by Kerem Aktürkoğlu. As he walked over to the bench, he looked up at me, his eyes tired yet sparkling with a hint of mischief. He gave me a playful wink, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling my heart race.

"You did amazing," I mouthed to him, and he nodded, a small, tired smile playing on his lips as he took his seat on the bench.

As the game entered extra time, the tension was palpable. In the 90+7 minute, Kerem Aktürkoğlu seized a final opportunity.

With a burst of energy, he maneuvered past the Georgian defense and struck the ball into the net, securing Turkey’s victory at 3-1. The final whistle blew, and the Turkish fans erupted in celebration.

Despite the rain still pouring down, Beate grabbed my hand, and together, we made our way down to the pitch, the security allowing us access due to our VIP passes. We were drenched but the excitement kept us warm.

Kenan spotted us both and ran over, a huge smile on his face. He embraced his mother first, lifting her off her feet in a tight hug.

"You were amazing, Kenan!" Beate exclaimed, tears streaming down her face, mixing with the rain.

Kenan then turned to me, his eyes softening as he wiped the rain from his face. "Did you enjoy the game?" he asked, his tone playful yet tender.

"It was incredible," I replied, feeling a bit shy but overjoyed. "You were incredible."

Kenan chuckled, shaking his head to get the rain out of his hair. "I had a feeling you'd say that. You’re my good luck charm, you know."

I laughed, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks despite the cold rain. "Well, I'll have to come to all your games then."

Kenan took a step closer, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. He reached out and gently tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. "I'd really like that," he said softly, his eyes locking onto mine.

Just then, a photographer snapped a picture of us, capturing the moment. Kenan laughed, pulling me into a spontaneous twirl, my feet leaving the ground briefly before he set me down gently. We were both laughing, soaked but happy.

"I'm holding you to that," he whispered, his face inches from mine, the rain dripping down his cheeks.

"Deal," I whispered back, my heart pounding as we stood there, the world around us celebrating Turkey's victory. As the rain continued to fall, I knew this was a moment I would cherish forever.

Kenan leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my cheek before pulling back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You better, or I'll have to come find you," he teased.

I grinned, feeling a surge of happiness. "I wouldn't make it too hard for you."

With that, Kenan laughed again, pulling me into a tight embrace. As we stood there, drenched but elated, the cheers of the crowd and the rain creating a perfect symphony, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

[metamorphesque]

Monte Melqonyan/Մոնթե Մելքոնյան (1957-1993)

Honestly, I don't even know where to begin. He's one of those extraordinary individuals about whom countless books could be written and numerous movies could be made, yet still, so much would remain untold. You might wonder, "He's a National Armenian Hero—cool, but why should I know about him?" My answer is simple: if the world had more people like him, especially in today's times, it would be a much better place. He fought for justice, embodied culture and education, and radiated a deep love for his people and humanity as a whole. I believe everyone should aspire to have a little bit of Monte's spirit within them, regardless of their nationality.

Now, it's important to note that some things written about him in the Western press can be questionable and inaccurate. So, I would advise taking most of the information from those sources with a grain of salt.

Monte was born on November 25, 1957, into an Armenian family in Visalia, California, that had survived the Armenian Genocide. From 1969 to 1970, his family traveled through Western Armenia, the birthplace of his ancestors. During this journey, Monte, at the age of twelve, began to realize his Armenian identity. While taking Spanish language courses in Spain, his teacher had posed him the question of where he was from. Dissatisfied with Melkonian's answer of "California", the teacher rephrased the question by asking "where did your ancestors come from?" His brother Markar Melqonyan remarked that "her image of us was not at all like our image of ourselves. She did not view us as the Americans we had always assumed we were." From this moment on, for days and months to come, Markar continues, "Monte pondered [their teacher Señorita] Blanca's question Where are you from?"

In high school, he excelled academically and struggled to find new challenges. Instead of graduating early, as suggested by his principal, Monte found an alternative - a study abroad program in East Asia. The decision to go to Japan was not random. He had been attending karate clubs and was the champion of the under-14 category in California. He also studied Japanese culture, including taking Japanese language courses. After completing his studies at a school in Osaka, Japan, he went to South Korea, where he studied under a Buddhist monk. He later traveled to Vietnam, witnessing the war and taking numerous photographs of the conflict. Upon returning to America, he had become proficient in Japanese and karate.

Having graduated from high school, Monte entered the University of California, Berkeley, with a Regents Scholarship, majoring in ancient Asian history and archaeology. In 1978, he helped organize an exhibition of Armenian cultural artifacts at one of the university's libraries. A section of the exhibit dealing with the Armenian Genocide was removed by university authorities at the request of the Turkish consul general in San Francisco, but it was eventually reinstalled following a campus protest movement. Monte completed his undergraduate work in under three years. During his time at the university, he founded the "Armenian Students' Union" and organized an exhibition dedicated to the Armenian Genocide in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in the Ottoman Empire and the Republic of Turkey.

Upon graduating, he was accepted into the archaeology graduate program at the University of Oxford. However, Monte chose to forgo this opportunity and instead began his lifelong struggle for the Armenian Cause.

In the fall of 1978, Monte went to Iran and participated in demonstrations against the Shah. Later that year, he traveled to Lebanon, where the civil war was at its peak. In Beirut, he participated in the defense of the Armenian community. Here, he learned Arabic and, by the age of 22, was fluent in Armenian, English, French, Spanish, Italian, Turkish, Persian, Japanese, and Kurdish.

From 1980, Monte joined the Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA – I promise to tell you more about them later) and quickly became one of its leaders. In 1981, he participated in the planning of the famous Van operation. In 1981, he was arrested at Orly Airport in France for carrying a false passport and a pistol. During his trial, Monte declared, "All Armenians carry false passports—French, American—they will remain false as long as they are not Armenian." Over the following years, he perfected his military skills at an ASALA training camp, eventually becoming one of the group's principal instructors.

Monte with his wife Seda

After being released from a French prison (once again) in 1989, Monte arrived in Armenia in 1991, where armed clashes between Armenians and azerbaijanis had already begun. He founded the "Patriots" unit and spent seven months in Yerevan working at the Academy of Sciences, writing and publishing the book "Armenia and its Neighbors." In September of the same year, he went to the Republic of Artsakh to fight for his fatherland and its people. Due to his military expertise, he was appointed Chief of Staff of the Martuni defense district in 1992. His sincerity and purity quickly won the love and respect of the local population and the Armenian community as a whole.

Throughout his conscious life, Monte fought for the rights of Armenians, recognition of the Armenian Genocide, and the reclamation of Armenian homeland.

There are various versions of Monte Melqonyan's death circulating in both Armenian and azerbaijani media. According to official Armenian information, Monte was killed on June 12, 1993, by fire from an azerbaijani armored vehicle.

Monte remains a lasting testament to the incredible potential unleashed when the Armenian patriotic heart unites with sharp intellect.

In case you'd like to put a voice to the face and hear about the Artsakh struggle directly from Monte, here he is speaking about it in English.

[learnturkishprofessionally]

Personal Pronouns in Turkish

[alizayildiz]

Heyyy! I was thinking about how he will react after losing a match? Like yesterday against portugal. And how does the reader treat him? I think it'll be a good fics well it's up too you wanna make it smut or no... Have a great day!!

I’m sorry for the long wait girl but I’ve had a dozen requests to write!! Anyways have fun readying lovely ;). I had to keep it short because I didn’t knew if you’d like it as a chapter is just as an preference 😭

You looked at the game that was playing in front of you. Portugal VS. Turkey. For some it was clear from the beginning that Portugal will win.

Still your boyfriend Kenan hoped that Turkey would win, but he soon realised, and that was after their own goal against themselves, that Turkey will loose.

You sat in the VIP Box Kenan arranged for you, and even up from there you could see his depressed face. Arda, who sat next to him, didn’t look happy either.

During halftime you heard lots of Turkish fans shouting at Montella, cussing at him.

“HOW COULD HE PUT THIS 11 AGAINST PORTUGAL”

“Why didn’t Kenan and Arda play from the beginning”

“Their own coach is against them”

“If Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning we would have won”

“The score would have been different if Montella had a fucking brain and put Kenan in from minute one on”

And lots of other comments you don’t wanna rewind. As the referee called the game over you immediately got up walking down on the pitch to Kenan.

The thing about Kenan is that he is determined to win, he gives his best and everyone knows and sees that. But if his team won’t cooperate that it gets worse for him. He gets mad at his colleagues and at his Coach, who for once didn’t put him into the first 11 starting lineup.

Although Kenan is a very optimistic person who life lightens up your moods he is the complete opposite when he looses.

As you passed soßen or fans who try to take pictures with you or your Autogramm, some even grab you by your arm, you continue ignoring them all. Knowing very well that if you’re not next to Kenan he will loose it at some point.

Jumping over the fence Kenan immediately walked up to you, the who of you walking faster and faster to reach each other more quickly.

As your arms wrapped around his neck he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Picking you up slightly as his arm wrapped around your waist he took in your scent.

You’re wearing his favourite perfume of yours. The two of you didn’t talk, just stood there.

You noticed that his grip around your waist got harder whether Portugal fans laughed at the Turkish national team. “Booing” them on, and making fun of the team.

Everyone in that stadium knew that if Kenan and Arda had played from the beginning the score would have looked different.

“Deep breaths” You whisper at Kenan.

Trying your best to calm him down you signalled to his Coach that the security should get the stadium cleaned out.

It’s not that Kenan is a weak person who stars crying when he losses it’s rather that he losses his temper when he looses.

He doesn’t allow himself to lose or fail at anything and when opponent fans get on his nerves he quickly jumps at them.

It happens once during a game of Juventus, media still suspects when Kenan will loose it again like a maniac.

After five more minutes standing like that the Stadium was quiet, no fans, no referees, no other players and no coaches in sight.

Kenan’s ears were covered by your arms because of the way you two hugged each other.

You slowly let go of him looking deep into his eyes.

“You did your best Kenan” you say, giving him a lovely smile.

He played just 30 minutes and that with Arda just playing 20 minutes beside him. What is he supposed to do 1 VS. 11 ?

“If I had played better during practice Coach would have put me in from the beginning” he walks towards the bench for substitute players, sitting down on it.

“You know that’s not true, it wasn’t your fault that you hurt yourself during practice even that shows how passionate you are about your sport” You stood on the pitch walking towards a football.

“EM 2024” was written on it.

Kenan looks up at you, smiling for the first time ever that day.

“Common 1 VS. 1” you say before passing the ball to Kenan.

Instantly getting up from the bench he throws you his jersey, you didn’t care if it was covered with sweat you still wore it.

A topless Kenan stood in front of you, abs showing perfectly.

The two of you started playing together. And although Kenan hates losing he loves losing to you.

The evening continues with Kenan teaching you football tricks.

[octuscle]

Full investment

Martin had been very lucky in his life. He founded his first start-up at the right time, sold it at the right time and invested the proceeds wisely. Of course, it wasn't just luck; Martin was clever, hard-working and charismatic. And with this combination, he was bound to succeed. The fact that he was extremely good-looking didn't necessarily hinder him. Martin was at every party, Martin knew everyone and Martin was at least one of the first followers of a new trend. If he didn't set the trend himself. That's why he was very annoyed when he got talking to a cool, masculine and sporty-looking guy at a party at the Turkish Embassy. The young stallion turned out to be a rising star in the mixed martial arts world and ran a gym in one of Stockholm's hipster neighborhoods. And in the course of the conversation, Mete asked Martin why he wasn't investing in the fitness sector. Martin was fascinated by Mete's engaging manner. And they shook hands on Martin's entry into Mete's gym.

The press conference was a date to Martin's liking. He was in his element. Not that Mete was not photogenic, but Martin loved the camera. And the camera loved him. One of the reporters present asked if Martin would now train here too. Martin was taken aback for a moment. He hadn't expected that. Normally, he trained with his personal trainer at his gym at home. But this was the moment Mete had been waiting for. He threw a bag with a pair of sports trousers and a pair of gloves to Martin and said it was time for them to train together. Martin hesitated only briefly. He looked good in a suit. But he also knew that he looked at least as good with his shirt off. The pictures of the sparring session were amazing. The success for the gym was overwhelming. And Martin had to admit: this kind of training was something completely different from training at home.

Martin's daily routine changed soon after he joined Mete. Mete regularly picked him up in the morning to go jogging. Martin and Mete often had breakfast in a Turkish café near the gym, and Mete created Martin's new nutrition plan. Mete provided Martin with food supplements, the contents of which Martin did not question, especially since the green packaging only had Arabic writing on it. Mete created a training plan for Martin that required a lot of time in the gym… But Martin was happy to have a real physical balance to his otherwise very stressful job. And at the moment he was only active as an investor, he didn't have to run his own company. So why not give it everything you've got in sport? And he gave it everything. Running with a lead vest, weight training, sparring, technique training… At some point, Martin was practically living in the gym. And Mete and Martin also spent more and more time together. So much so that Martin moved into the apartment above the gym, which he had originally only intended to use as a second home. So much so that at some point he went with Mete to his Turkish barber. And so much so that, out of curiosity, he went to the mosque with Mete on a Friday for the midday prayer. Mete and the Imam spoke a lot and quickly with each other. The two of them smiled a lot. They said goodbye warmly. Martin hadn't understood a word. But for some reason it felt right to be here.

At the beginning, Martin's short hair was the most obvious sign of his change. His increasingly athletic body was also impossible to miss. Martin grew a beard. Martin started wearing a prayer cap. And more and more Turkish and Arabic words crept into his speech. And while he was only sporadically in the mosque at first, a Friday without the midday prayer and without an exchange with the imam soon became unimaginable for him.

Of course, his change did not go unnoticed. There was unrest in his network of companies. Mete advised him to withdraw from the public eye. His social media accounts were dormant. Martin withdrew from most of the supervisory boards of his holdings. This task was taken over by a few guys he had met at the gym, in cafes or in the mosque and whom he had come to trust. Martin enjoyed the freedom he gained as a result. He had more time to prepare for his next fight, more time to learn Turkish and Arabic, and more time to devote to his prayers. Even though Mete had to spend more and more time managing the prospering gym and the other businesses Martin had entrusted to him, he made sure that Martin, who he increasingly called Mehmet, continued to receive optimal training and nutrition plans. And, above all, with the right nutritional supplements. The side effects of the pills and injections were becoming increasingly obvious: a dark fur was growing on Martin's chest and his beard was getting darker and darker.

MMA shorts and thobes… At some point, there was nothing else left in his wardrobe. At most, when Mehmet helped out at the gym reception or when he was supervising at the gym or training customers, he wore a tracksuit. But basically, he no longer felt comfortable in it. Fortunately, Mete gave him quite a generous allowance after Martin had given him and Iman extensive powers of attorney. This allowed him to get through the month without having to work. However, Mehmet still had to work from time to time as a temp at the gym to pay for the expensive nutritional supplements. He didn't have to overcome any great obstacles to do this: he was at home at the gym and he was proud to be part of this gym. And as a trainer, he had close contact with the hottest guys in the gym. Even though Mete was the only one who was allowed to fuck Mehmet, there were enough holes that Mehmet's cock could fill after the wounds of the circumcision had healed.

Hardly anyone recognized Martin at Mehmet's new appearances on social media. If you looked closely, you could have seen Martin's blue eyes in the otherwise more masculine features of Mehmet's face. But hardly anyone looked at Mehmet's eyes. There were other body parts that attracted the public's attention.

Ole had been following Martin's latest investment closely. Martin's new CEO, Mete, was very active in the Swedish startup scene and Mete and Ole met regularly at various events. Mete needed more capital to finance the planned aggressive growth of the gym chain. And Ole was ready to get on board. The business figures were simply too tempting.

The press event to mark Ole's entry into the gym empire was a great success. It was accompanied by the opening of a new gym in Martin's former house. And by the victory of the Swedish MMA heavyweight title by the star of the gym, Mehmet. At the photo shoot, Ole was surprised at Mehmet's good Swedish. Actually, he would have expected less from such a monkey. But never mind, Mehmet wasn't there to speak. The photo shoot with Ole and Mehmet was followed by a training session in which the two men demonstrated their skills. Mehmet did everything he could to make Ole look good. But at the end of the session, he said that Ole could do a little more to improve his fitness. After all, he was now a figurehead for the gym. Mehmet had already prepared something: a training and nutrition plan. And Mete had also already procured a few dietary supplements.

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First image is a close-up on a plate of small flatbreads topped with ground ‘meat’; second is a cross-section of one of the breads. End ID]

صفيحة فلسطينية / Safiha falastinia (Palestinian topped flatbread)

Etymology and origins

صَفِيحَة (“ṣafīḥa”), also transliterated “sfiha” and “sfeeha,” is a flatbread eaten in Palestine, Lebanon, and Syria, comprising a yeasted dough topped with a filling made from ground lamb or beef, spices, and chopped aromatics and vegetables. It may also be called “اللَحْم بالعَجِين” (“al-laḥm b al-‘ajīn,” “meat with dough”)—this phrase is the source of the Turkish “lahmacun” and the Armenian “Լահմաջո” (“lahmadjo”), which describe a closely related dish.

The word “صَفِيحَة” literally means “thin plate” or “sheet”; it comes from the root ص ف ح‎ (ṣ f ḥ), which produces words related to flatness. Compare for example “صَفَّحَ” (“ṣaffaḥa”) “to flatten,” “صَفْحَة” (“ṣafḥa”) “page,” and “صَافَحَ” (“ṣāfaḥa”) “to shake hands.” This term has been borrowed into Brazilian Portuguese as "esfirra" or "esfiha," when the flatbread was brought to Brazil by Levantine immigrants—mostly Christians—beginning in the 1890s. Today, esfiha has been naturalized as a "'typical' Brazilian bar food"; it is said that the typical resident of São Paulo is a "Japanese who speaks Portuguese with an Italian accent while eating an esfiha."

In English, lahmacun (also transliterated "lahmajoun") is sometimes called "Armenian pizza." Similarly, it may be called "صفيحة الأرمنية" ("safiha al-'armaniyya"), "Armenian safiha," in Palestine, indicating that it is regarded as a borrowing from the local Armenian immigrant community. In Armenia, lahmadjo is a very thin, soft flatbread typically topped with beef or lamb, tomatoes, tomato paste, bell peppers, onion, garlic, parsley, red chili paste, and black pepper. With Palestinian safiha, lamb is the typical choice of meat; the dough may be thicker, and enriched with the addition of milk, milk powder, or yoghurt; bell peppers are ommitted; and fried pine nuts may be added. Palestinian restaurateur Nassar Odeh remembers lahmadjo being served in Jerusalem's Old City decades ago; he says that "Armenian dishes" such as this have become "part of the Palestinian culture."

Though the Arabic-derived "lahmadjo" and related terms may be heard, [1] the most common Armenian-language name for this dish is "լոշմիս" ("loshmis")—presumably from "լոշ" "losh" "lavash, thin bread" + "միս" "mis" "meat." Some Western Armenian variations on the name reverse this order (meat-dough, rather than dough-meat): "մսաշոթ" ("msashot"), from "մսա" "msa" "meat" + "շոթ" "shot" "thin bread"; and "մսալոշ" ("msalosh"), from "մսա" "msa" "meat" + "լոշ" "losh" "thin bread."

The dish

A common part of everyday Palestinian cooking, صَفَائِح‎ ("ṣafā'iḥ"; plural of "ṣafīḥa") are often eaten as a snack or a portable lunch. They may also be served as a مَزَّة ("mazza"; "appetizer") for عِيد ("'īd"; "feast," "holiday"; often transliterated "Eid") or Christmas.

Safa'ih are shaped into pinwheels in the port city of يَافَا ("Yāfā"; often transliterated "Yaffa" or "Jaffa"), stuffed with ground meat or spinach. In the Bethlehem region the topping is often mixed with tahina, as well as vinegar or lemon juice, and perhaps pomegranate molasses. Other versions of the meat topping omit tahina and vinegar, and are more tomato-heavy instead.

This recipe is for Bethlehem mazza-style safa'ih, with thick crust that's crisp on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside. Vinegar and pomegranate molasses provide a bright, slightly fruity lift to the topping, while tahina grounds it with a toasty, nutty aroma. Black pepper, allspice, and a green chili pepper add complexity and heat.

[1] There is a proliferation of possible spellings for "lahmadjo" in Armenian, which would indicate that it is a loanword (probably via Turkish, ultimately from Arabic). These spellings include "լամաջո" ("lamadjo") [common]; "լահմաջո" ("lahmadjo"); "լահմաջու" ("lahmadjou"); "լահմաջոն" ("lahmadjon"); "լահմաջուն" ("lahmadjoun") [literary; uncommon]; "լահմաջին" ("lahmadjīn"); and "լահմաջի" ("lahmadjī") [rare]. The letter "ջ" is pronounced as "dj" (IPA: [d͡ʒ]) in Eastern Armenian and a "tch" (IPA: [t͡ʃʰ]) in Western Armenian (timestamp: 40:33).

Support Palestinian resistance by donating to Palestine Action’s bail fund; buying an e-sim for distribution in Gaza; or donating to help a family leave Gaza.

Ingredients:

Makes 24 small safa'ih. Serves 24 as an appetizer, or 6-7 as a main dish.

For the dough:

5 cups (600g) white flour

1 cup (230g) non-dairy yoghurt (لبن رائب) (I used soy)

1/2 cup (125 ml) olive oil

1 1/2 Tbsp (15g) dry yeast

1/2 Tbsp (4g) kosher salt

1 tsp (5g) sugar

A scant cup (220g) of water

A more "everyday" preparation of this dish might make larger, flatter safa'ih out of a dough without dairy. This holiday variant includes yoghurt and makes smaller, fluffier safa'ih; but the yoghurt may be omitted (or milk or milk powder may be added) without injury, and the flatbreads can be made any shape you like.

Leila al-Haddad writes that, in Gaza, white flour used to be eaten as a treat and for special occasions before it later came to replace whole wheat white flour in many kitchens.

For the topping:

500g ground beef substitute (as a replacement for minced lamb)

1 medium tomato, minced

1 medium onion, minced

1-2 green chili peppers, minced

2 tsp kosher salt (1 tsp table salt)

3/4 tsp black pepper

3/4 tsp allspice; or Palestinian 7-spice / mixed spices (بهار مشكل)

1/4 cup white tahina

2 Tbsp pomegranate molasses

2 Tbsp white vinegar, or lemon juice

For a tomato filling, omit the tahina and vinegar, and instead use 2 Tbsp tomato paste; or 8 diced or puréed tomatoes, cooked down.

Instructions:

For the dough:

1. Combine all dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

2. Make a well in the center and add in the yoghurt, olive oil, and water. Mix them together and then combine them with the rest of the dough. Add water or flour as needed to obtain a soft, slightly tacky dough.

3. Knead the dough on a clean surface for 5-10 minutes, until it bounces back when pressed. Allow to rise, covered, in an oiled bowl for 1-2 hours, until doubled in size.

For the filling:

1. Mince vegetables, or run them through a food processor. Mix all filling ingredients together.

To assemble:

1. Divide dough in half, and then half again; roll out each quarter of the dough into a cylinder and cut it into six equal pieces.

2. Roll each piece of dough into a ball between your hands, and then flatten it into a disc about 1” (2 1/2 cm) high and 3” (8cm) wide. Place on a baking sheet prepared with parchment paper, leaving an inch of space between each circle.

3. Press the center of each dough circle down to create a crust around the edge. Add a few spoonfuls of filling to the center of each safiha and press flat.

4. Bake safa'ih in the middle of an oven at 450 °F (230 °F) for 25-30 minutes, until crust is golden brown.

Serve as an appetizer alongside vegetable salads, pickles, olives, &c.

[featguler]

Arda güler with Georgian gf who's upset abt the game results but so excited for his goal? ty<3

i thought you loved me ?────── you juggle between two worlds.

♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader is a georgian female. her appearance is not specified. this is basically fluff, and the reader is a bit of a tsundere lol. ♡ ────── wordcount : 422 ♡ ────── notes : ANON!! i am a turkish national team fan BEFORE human and today's game... this is what football is. i'm so glad i got this req i love him so much ARDAAAA he was soo goood, best goal of the tournament frrrr (sorry im just gushing abt him). i wrote this literally the moment i saw this req bc i love him soo much plssss... <//3 ♡ masterlist.

“I thought you loved me?”

Arda grins the moment he separates from his teammates, approaching you with a smile you know he’s worked hard for. His arms are sprawled wide open, one hand holding a sports towel, and the moment he’s got a hold of you, he picks you up and spins you around, a loud laugh roaring in his chest.

“I love you most,” he retorts, setting you down after your happy shrieks, lightly hitting the base of his neck to be put down. Without wasting time, he hugs your neck, pulling you close to him while rocking your body back and forth.

“Shut up,” you whine, while wrapping your arm around his body. “You betrayed me, Güler. How could you?”

“Georgia put up a fight, you know,” he mumbles against your hair. Your nose scrunches at the sweat dripping from the strands of his hand, but you decide to rest your head against his chest.

“First time in Euros, and you embarrass us like this,” you mutter with a pout, “I can’t believe you.”

“First time in Euros with a banging debut goal!” He tries cheering you up, still burying his face against the scent of your hair.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you roll your eyes, and shift away only to be greeted with his grin, widening.

“Of course I am,” he gushes before shaking his head. “Sorry.”

Seeing his excitement, the way his eyes glisten with pride, you felt a pang of warmth beginning to spread in your chest.

“You’re so repulsive,” you mumble, gripping the collar of his neck so that he’d be closer to you. Arda purses his lips, though the smile never leaves his eyes. You lean up to press your lips against his. “I’m so proud of you.”

Arda pulls away, putting the towel he holds on his shoulder before placing both hands on your waist. “Told the journalists that I have more dreams to realise,” he muses with a beam, “do you think they’d find me annoying?”

“After a goal like that?” You smile, kissing his cheek. “There’s nowhere for you to go but up.”

The glint in his gaze, for some reason, lights up even more. “You think so?”

You roll your eyes. “I know so.”

He pulls you closer, “I love you.”

You press in a smile, acting disgusted at his sweaty jersey touching more of your skin.

“I love you—” You shriek as he attempts to engulf you in a hug, “Wait— get away from me!”

[xxsycamore]

❝ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬? ❞

╰┈➤ ⁉️ Everyone is acting so strange today, and Sebastian seems to be the only one noticing it.

Sebastian, Comte, Napoleon, Theodorus, Vincent, Mozart, Jean, Arthur, Isaac, Leonardo, Dazai • rating: G • tags: April Fools' Day; Pranks and Practical Jokes; poor sebas; Humor; Crack • wordcount: 1,682 • masterlist

a/n: HAPPY APRIL FOOLS! After Dazai pranking everyone and then everyone pranking Dazai, it seems like this year's target is Sebas…

It's not every day that Sebastian allows himself the indulgence of enjoying a drink with his masters, even when they so generously invite him to the table in the game room. The events of last night are but a blur in his memory now, as he's not the best at holding his liquor and neither has their immunity to hangovers. But a butler must be prim and proper at all times! While he's on duty, that's it. So that's why he allowed himself the fun of last night, but is readily up and out of his bed early in the morning today.

He enters the kitchen, humming the tune to Mozart's Turkish March in this tranquil moment of being the only soul awake in the whole mansion, on his way to begin preparing breakfast-

"Oh, good morning Sebas. I'm already done with some things here, figured I might help you."

"My! What a nice surprise Monsieur Napoleon, thank you."

Huh.

"M-M-M-Monsieur Napoleon what are you doing here????"

"Helping you with breakfast."

"No, gods, I was wondering why are you awake at such an early hour-"

Napoleon looks at him dumbfounded. And so does Sebas, mirroring him. Granted, there are dark circles under his eyes but that hardly does anything about the vigor with which he moves the frying pan and multitasks with the preparation of another ingredient at the same time.

"Is it that strange that I felt like waking up earlier today?"

Well, yes it is! That's what Sebastian wants to shout at the top of his lungs, but he can only blink mesmerized instead. Fearing that he might offend him in some way if he keeps this up, he saves his confusion to himself and gets back on track with his task.

The breakfast preparation goes on swimmingly with Napoleon's help, even if he strangely seems to have forgotten how to cook all of a sudden so he needs some serious memory refreshment... Sebastian blames it on his lack of sleep, of course that would be the reason.

Soon the dining room begins filling with the real early-bird residents that pose no surprises for Sebastian, and the plates are already waiting in front of them like clockwork.

"Pancakes again? I'm starting to get tired of this. You got something else for me, Sebastian?"

The sound of pots and pans falling to the floor greatly concerns the van Gogh brothers at the table after the younger one's question, but soon after the butler emerges from the kitchen with a haphazardly pieced-together English breakfast. He places it in front of Theodorus who asked for the change, waiting. Waiting to see if he's going to eat it at all.

"Here you go, master Theodorus. Do you need extra jam, or-"

"No need, looks more than enough to me. Why are you staring at me like that? Is it poisonous?"

"Gods, no, how could it be! I'm merely...surprised is all."

Vincent chuckles a little at the exchange, preparing to dig in on his portion of...pancakes, fortunately. But he pauses.

"Theo, would you hand me the syrup? I feel like eating something sweeter today!"

"Stand up and take it yourself."

Sebastian's eyes are about to pop out of his eye sockets.

"Messieurs, is everything alright with-"

The door opens with a bang that belongs to no gentlemen living in this household.

And certainly not to Le Comte de Saint-Germain.

"'morning."

"M-monsieur le Comte, what are you wearing?"

Comte's casual walk to his place at the head of the table with hands in his pockets is rivaled only by the even more casual look he sports today, with a halfway-open shirt and a pair of checkered trousers that don't really match. To finish off the look, his hair is a mess. He lands with a thud on his chair, raising his feet to rest crossed on the table.

"What am I wearing? Since when did you start asking so many questions?"

"I'm terribly sorry."

Comte sighs and snaps his fingers repeatedly in the air. "Coffee. Now."

"I already brew a pot of your preferred morning tea-"

"Don't make me repeat myself, butler."

"I got it."

On his way to the kitchen, Sebastian overhears Comte slamming his fist on the table telling everyone that from now on, they'll be paying rent.

Sebastian must be sleeping. This has to be some kind of nightmare. There's no other logical explanation.

When he returns to the dining room the door opens to welcome another couple of residents - Jean and Mozart.

"Good morning Herr Mozart. Good morning to you too, Monsieur Jean, what a surprise!"

Mozart and Jean both turn to Sebastian...and they give him their brightest smiles. Imaginary flowers bloom in the air around them. They greet in a cheerful voice together as one, and it's the most beautiful melody. "Good morning, Sebastian!"

"We decided to grab a bite before our trip to town today."

"Your... your what?"

"That's right, I'll be taking Jean in town with me. The carriage is already waiting at the gate."

Mozart going to...town?? With a carriage?? With Jean??

"Aha! The trace of this bloody delicious smell seems to have led me to this dining room!"

Now what? Sebastian turns in the direction of Arthur's voice albeit it sounds a little different than usual, as if he's playing a role... and there he is, having just entered the dining room... with a looking glass in his hand and a pipe in his mouth.

"Good morning, Master Arthur. Your observation skills are on point as always. What's with the curious accessories?"

Sebastian doesn't know why he asks anymore.

"Why, I'll be going on a Sherlock Homles book fair later today! You know it's all the hype these days, I figured it's the best place to learn something about my beloved character that I don't know. You know my methods, Watson. Haha!"

Thank god, Sebastian is not the only one about to faint right now. Given how normal everything else was taken by his housemates. Theo says the one thing Sebastian couldn't bring himself to say.

"This idiot has reached rock bottom in his search for skirts he hasn't yet fooled around with."

Arthur looks...grossed out. As if he's been made fun of by Dazai, or something similar. Actually, there haven't been a great deal of chances to see Arthur sporting this expression. It's definitely strange.

"Theo, could you not be so foul-mounted, please? You know I hold no interest in the fair sex."

"A-Are you feeling well, Master Arthur? Maybe when you drink your coffee-"

"Ah no please, tea it is for me!"

"Are you feeling well, Master Arthur?????"

"Sebastian seems really uptight today. Are YOU feeling well, Sebastian? Why don't you sit with us for a while?" Jean smiles at him again. It's a smile Sebastian wants to protect. It should be automatically making him feel better but it only serves to increase his confusion. He even sat next to Comte. Comte doesn't deserve this! At least not with his current behavior. Oh how strange of a thought that is.

"I appreciate your concern, but, I just need to know what is happening with all of you today. I can't be calm until I ensure that you, my masters, are alright, and I demand you tell me what is happening this instant!"

A near dozen pairs of eyes blink at Sebastian as if he's indeed the crazy one. He sits down on the offered chair, then quickly stands up again. "No, please tell me what is-"

The door opens yet again and this time it's Leonardo and Isaac who enter. Sebastian paces left and right, trying to spot empty plates to take to the kitchen before he can witness anything weird again-

"Isaac, mio amico, can you please not smoke in here? You know I can't stand the smell..."

"AAAAAAAGH!" Sebastian yells, breaking his professional image and running straight towards the door. He can't do this. It doesn't matter if he escapes now. It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare-

He nearly crashes into the person entering at the same time.

"Hello Sebas-kun~"

Through the DOOR?

Sebastian breaks. Like a stone statue slammed by the pressure of a cataclysm despite the decades of stoicism, even if he thought he'd seen everything...

He falls to his knees in defeat.

...

...

"APRIL FOOLS'!"

Before he has a chance to remove his hands from his eyes where he tried to block the world, a wave of residents quite literally falls over him, each embracing him and laughing.

Okay, NOW he's confused.

"April fools? But- But my calendar said it's-"

"Someone had a little too much to drink last night and had to be carried to his room... let's say we meddled a little with it. Sorry, Sebas." Napoleon pats his shoulder. "Okay, can I go to sleep now?"

Sebastian laughs, and despite what he predicted for himself just a minute ago, it's not out of descending to madness. It's a genuine laughter, one he hasn't had in a while.

"I would never guess you could be capable of doing such a thing! Every one of you! My god, you got me quite well."

"Heh, guess you don't know us well enough then, eh? Remember this well, some of those guys are going to remember it for the rest of their second lives." Leonardo says, finally lighting that cigarillo. Good thing they didn't have to put on the act for longer than that.

"Indeed. I hope we weren't too harsh on you, Sebastian. My residents are always such naughty boys." Comte consoles, suspiciously looking as if it was his idea all along.

Sebastian chuckles some more, then he stands to his feet, dusting off his uniform and letting out a small cough behind his fist.

"My masters, that was indeed too naughty of you! I appreciate seeing you have fun, and I have to admit, you got me well. But that doesn't mean I won't find it fitting to flick some foreheads."

"Sebaaas, can we please have our usual breakfast now?"

"Why yes, coming right away!"

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