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rolangf · 2 months

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—OC QUESTIONNAIRE

tagged by jackie @gwynbleidd i love u so much truly 🫶🏻 i’m doing this interview style tag game for my rockstar girlies (gta, rdr 🤭) cs i do not talk abt them at all ever. if u even care (kidding)

tagging: @ravensgard 🌿 @simply-jason 🌿 @sikoi 🌿 @teamhawkeye 🌿 @jackiesarch 🌿 @corvosattano 🌿 @marazhaiaezyrraesh 🌿 @yrlietlanaevyss 🌿 @rosayoro 🌿 @rvchelking 🌿 and you!! 🩷

NAME: agent jennifer daniels of the federal intelligence bureau, los santos sector 😎.

NICKNAME: jen (do not call her jenny tho she hates that), agent daniels (sarcastically), eye in the sky, various derogatory terms exchanged between her and pretty much everyone she talks to.

GENDER: she’s One Of The Girlies. a girl’s girl in a world of egomaniacal men. “save me, women. save me!”

STAR SIGN: the most sagittarius woman to ever sagittarius.

HEIGHT: 5’10. without the boots.

ORIENTATION: i actually haven’t thought abt it but now that i am, she’s a bisexual queen, leaning towards women.

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: argentinian! born in argentina and has duel citizenship between there and the united states.

FAVORITE FRUIT: pineapple. she eats a metric fuck ton of it, truly. she brings a container of it to work, midnight snack, etc.

FAVORITE SEASON: she’s the most comfortable during a san andreas autumn cs the weather is forgiving towards her wardrobe. —sexy patterned fur coats. knee high boots. she likes the aesthetic and looking expensive and a lot of that is layers and unforgiving textures. summer is good for the other half of her wardrobe tho, being silk button ups. mesh. high heels. low cut blouses.

FAVORITE FLOWER: lupine. she tried to grow a little plot of it at her home in rockford hills but didn’t have the patience to maintain them, so she gets a bouquet delivered once in a while to display.

FAVORITE SCENT: she loves a heady wine scent, like a deep cherry or a gourmand-type. she likes to smell edible.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: coffee and a cigarette on the balcony every morning. and on her way to work. and when she’s briefing with her colleagues. and when she’s flying. and in her office. and when she’s bothering dave. and when she’s beefing with steve cs she’s bored. and on her way home. and with dinner. and before bed.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: like, 10. she needs her beauty sleep or she will be absolutely miserable in the morning, and make it everyone’s problem.

DOGS or CATS: neither. if she’s gonna be around a dog it has to be her size and scary as hell, but not constantly barking— like a mastiff guard dog.

DREAM TRIP: either back to argentina, or somewhere in the southern hemisphere where she can lay in the sun for 18 hours and get absolutely piss drunk in public.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: she has one silk sheet and a massive down duvet.

RANDOM FACT: she drives a really obnoxious lilac purple pegassi vacca. and it’s unreasonably souped up— neon light kit, spoiler, led headlights, sport tires, custom leather interior, all of it. everything. government money baby. 🤑

NAME: lieutenant eileen carlisle to you 🫵🏻.

NICKNAME: lindy, linds, miss carlisle, the desert hum.

GENDER: she/her, the milfiest milf i have.

STAR SIGN: she’s gotta be a virgo i just feel it in my bones.

HEIGHT: a touch above average for the time, 5’4. but she has the attitude of a woman who is 6 feet.

ORIENTATION: she says she’s straight but that will not stop her from being homoerotic towards women.

ETHNICITY/NATIONALITY: american. she was born in new york city and fled before she was even 18.

FAVORITE FRUIT: she loves a good crispy apple and every byproduct in between.

FAVORITE SEASON: spring, when everything is in full bloom and alive.

FAVORITE FLOWER: wildflowers. entire fields of them. she would sleep in a field of wildflowers— the ground to be her bed, the sky her awning.

FAVORITE SCENT: fresh coffee and leather.

COFFEE, TEA, or HOT CHOCOLATE: she hasn’t been able to get her hands on tea in a long time so she settles for coffee.

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: fucking zero genuinely. she can’t sleep on a bedroll, she’s a night owl, coffee keeps her up, she can’t sleep through the gang stirring at the break of dawn, she’s a light sleeper in general. no rest for the wicked, she would say.

DOGS OR CATS: dogs; she was always around them so she welcomes the company.

DREAM TRIP: somewhere cozy and quiet. she’s kinda been sold on the tahiti trip if she’s being honest.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: none. even when she had a bed she would kick it off mid-sleep.

RANDOM FACT: wants to so badly own an orchard and make jams and shit. she wants to be an artisan and make good clean cash :( she thinks it’s too late for her, but she will never not yearn for the fruit.

#oc: lindy carlisle #oc: jen daniels

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qualcosadelgenere · 7 months

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PT. 3

1) Falcão da Silva: "He trained his reflexes in the depths of the Amazon, and puts them to work on the pitch."

2) Lagarto Carlos: "He seems to move to a samba rhythm when he makes a challenge on the pitch."

3) Bagre Antonio: "He's involved in an environmental movement to save the endangered Brazilwood tree."

4) Monstro: "When he drinks coffee, he surges with power. Doesn't do his health much good, though."

5) Formiga Clemens: "He likes to pioneer forms of agriculture that are more rainforest friendly."

6) Presa: "He's really interested in developing engine fuel derived from sugar cane."

7) Borboleta Barbosa: "He wants to look beyond the borders of Brazil and study the playing styles of other nations."

8) Coruja Cerezo: "His powerful physique is down to his arduous training carrying bundles of sugar cane."

9) Leonardo Almeida: "Football's in his blood. He's the fourth generation to represent his country."

10) Mack Ronijo: "Strength, talent, determination-this guy's got the lot. He's the perfect player."

11) Gato: "At the carnival, listen out for the distinctive timbre of his home-made tambourine."

12) Javali Ribeiro: "He's always thinking up spectacular outfits to wear to the carnival."

13) Urso Nogueira: "His cool and calculated style doesn't always mesh with passionate Latin football."

14) Cavalo Oliviera: "His big plan is to start an international biofuel bussiness in Brazil."

15) Tigre Mendes: "He gets more and more pumped as the crowd cheer louder and louder!"

16) Grilo Santos: "His family run a traditional Brazilian eaterie, so he's always cooking for his team-mates."

1) Jorge Ortega: "He's known for his aggressive style. His brutal tackles often lead to melees."

2) Teres Tolue: "Proud of his impregnable defence, he directs the team from the back."

3) Julio Acosta: "He has a fondness for yeba maté tea, and he always packs some when he plays away."

4) Gordo Díaz: "From a family of vineyard owners, he's striving to put Argentinian wine on the map."

5) Ramón Martinez: "He really appreciates the colonial architecture of Buenos Aires."

6) Esteban Carlos: "He does altitude training in the Andes, so there's no escaping his tenacious plays."

7) Sergio Pérez: "He has lofty ambitions of reinventing the Argentinian literary scene."

8) Roberto Torres: "The old legend of El Dorado is an enduring passion for him. He dreams of finding it."

9) Pablo Castillo: "The natural beauty of Argentina inspires his art, and he hopes for recognition."

10) Leone Batigo: "His swooping, powerful plays have earned him the nickname El Cóndor."

11) Diego Oro: "This nutty player sets off fireworks in his bathroom at Christmas and new year."

12) Lionel Cruz: "He makes incredible pork sausages. It's like a hobby for him."

13) Mario Saviola: "His pushy parents said to him, "you'd better win, or else!", which causes him much angst."

14) Hernán Tevez: "Despite his young age, he helps the local radio station, covering football matches."

15) Germán Samuel: "Serve him a steak, sprinkled with sea salt and grilled over an open fire, and he's in heaven."

16) Ricardo Agüero: "The windy regions of Patagonia have been his training ground, so he's an all-weather player."

1) Billy Rapid: "He wants to be a cowboy in a western. He's always practising lines in the mirror."

2) Ted Bryan: "He sees Silicon Valley as a goldmine, and he hopes to make his fortune there."

3) Tony Stridas: "This guy is obsessed with eating steaks. He can't rest unless he eats one a day."

4) Dyke Dynamo: "They say that he once wrestled a buffalo to the ground. I'm not so sure, though."

5) Asuka Domon: "Used to live in the USA. Behaves flippantly, but is deep-hearted."

6) Steve Woodmac: "His ambition is to sit in the Oval Office, but no one takes him seriously."

7) Kazuya Ichinose: "This comeback kid is known as the midfield magician."

8) Sean Pierce: "He's only young, but he has a good grasp of Wall Street's complex financial structures."

9) Mark Kruger: "America's star player. He, together with Ichinose, pulls the team along."

10) Dylan Keith: "Top scorer of the FFI qualifier tournament. He is called "Mister Goal"."

11) Michele Jacks: "Despite his age, he is already a genius child actor who has been 10 years in a Hollywood acting career!"

12) Alex Hawk: "He insists that he can read the signs in nature to predict the weather."

13) Rob Parker: "He wants to live the American dream by taking his country all the way to the top."

14) Bob Bobbins: "He's a real slob. He loves to sprawl on the sofa, swilling cola and chomping chips."

15) Sammy Dempsey: "He's tiny for an American, but within him hides the coiled power of a jungle cat."

16) Eddie Howard: "He didn't care much for American football, but he really took to soccer."

____________ _______ ___ _ _ _

(Btw what kind of an introductory line is this, referring to a 14 year old kid, like??

'He was supposed to have died, but...*🙄🥱*'?? But what?? You wanted Kazuya dead? Hater.)

#inazuma eleven #the kingdom #the empire #unicorn #dylan keith #mark kruger #ichinose kazuya #asuka domon #teres tolue #mac robingo

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askwhatsforlunch · 7 months

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Guiso Carrero (Argentinian Stew)

It's still all for play in Pool D with Argentina and Japan meeting tomorrow, and the winner of that match going through to the quarter finals! I have no particular favourites, but as the nights get much chillier, a warming Guiso Carrero makes a hearty and comforting dinner! Happy Saturday!

Ingredients (serves 4):

2 tablespoons olive oil

725 grams/ 1.60 pound good quality stewing meat (I used veal osso bucco)

1 onion

1 green Garden Bell Pepper, rinsed

1/3 red hot chili pepper

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

1/4 teaspoon Cayenne Pepper

1 large garlic clove, minced

6 tablespoons red wine vinegar

450 grams/1 pound Garden Red Kuri Squash

4 medium or 8 small Garden Potatoes

4 Whole Peeled Tomatoes + 1/2 cup of their juice

1 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt flakes

1/2 teaspoon freshly cracked black pepper

1 1/2 cup Beef Broth, warmed

a dozen fresh Garden Green Beans

1 cup egg noodles

Heat olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add veal osso bucco (or the meat you are using), and brown well, a couple of minutes on each side. Once browned, transfer the meat to a plate; set aside.

Peel and finely chop onion, and stir into the pot. Fry, a couple of minutes, until softening.

Halve and seed Bell Pepper, then chop it and add to the pot. Thinly slice chili pepper, and stir into the pot, as well.

Season with dried oregano and thyme and Cayenne Pepper. Stir in minced garlic, and deglaze with red wine vinegar. Reduce heat to medium.

Peel and seed Red Kuri Squash, and cut it into cubes.

Peel Potatoes and halve (or quarter) them, depending on size.

Add Red Kuri Squash cubes and Potatoes to the pot, stirring well to coat in onion and herbs. Increase heat back to medium-high.

Roughly chop Whole Peeled Tomatoes and stir them, along with their juice into the pot.

Return reserved osso bucco, along with its resting juices, to the pot. Season well with fleur de sel and black pepper. Cover with warmed Beef Broth, and bring to the boil.

Once boiling, reduce heat to medium, cover with a lid, and simmer 45 minutes to an hour.

Rinse Green Beans and top and tail them. Add to the pot and cover with the lid. Cook, about 10 minutes.

Finaly, stir in egg noodles, cover with the lid, and cook 5 minutes more.

Serve Guiso Carrero hot, with a robust red wine like an Argentinian Cabernet or a French Ventoux. Buen provecho!

Argentina vs. Samoa (19-10), Friday 22nd September, Saint-Etienne, France

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old-lorarri · 5 months

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congrats on 4k! i just discovered yourblog and i’m so so obsessed with it omg

could i request a lost cause for f1, male driver?

i’m 5’2, i’m argentinian (mi gente latinoo), i have huge green eyes which are my favorite feature and long brown hair which is always braided. i’m a college student, i’m studying to be a graphic designer and i love love my career so much, it’s what i’ve always dreamed of. that means i’m very creative and i love art.

i love cats so much, i have two and they’re my whole life. i’m very close with my family, my parents and my siblings are my top priority in life. i’m kind of an introvert, i have a few close friends and i’m happy with that, i don’t need to surround myself with a lot of people to be happy. that doesn’t mean that i don’t enjoy going out and getting blackout drunk every once in a while, but i prefer chill plans.

i would have to say i’m a very basic girly girl (and i love that). i love shopping, getting my nails done, my favorite color is pink, and my favorite hobby is to drink wine with my girlfriends while we talk shit about men. i’m obsessed with romcoms and i’m a hopeless romantic. i spend most of my days just watching movies, reading books or listening to music while i do my assignments.

apart from f1, i LOVE watching and sometimes even playing football/soccer, it was my first obsession lol

oh and i also love learning languages, i speak spanish, english, italian and a little bit of portuguese

that’s it sorry if it’s too long😭

PIERRE GASLY

loves when you get your hair braided and your nails done

(he never lets you pay for any of it)

personal photographer

loves how you prioritise family and siblings

loves hearing the tea from you about the latest drama in your friendship circle

VIP passes to whatever event you wanna attend

finds you spanish and Italian sexy af

#⊹₊ ⋆ 4k celly ꜜ

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winemastery · 2 years

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Trivento Private Reserve Malbec (Episode 344)

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coeurdastronaute · 2 years

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Polo 7

Previously on Polo

Oh no, this is not going to end well.

Clarke puffed out her cheeks and blew out a breath after looking away from Lexa being bumped once again, unable to take her shot. The frustration was growing rapidly for the player, and she was certain things were just going to get worse.

It wasn’t often that Lexa lost a game. It certainly wasn’t often that she let her temper get the better of her.

In Clarke’s apartment, maybe sometimes. The woman could rant and rave with the best of them. Don’t get her going about the inefficiency of train travel in America. There was also a very lengthy discussion of a dismissal of fancy wines and the loss experienced by the Argentinian national football team and the supremacy of the pool to the beach. Or really say anything negative about Alejandra Pizarnik, like for instance, she doesn’t rhyme and therefore wasn’t that great. Maybe Clarke just liked to rile her up, she considered.

For a moment, Clarke shivered at the memory of Lexa going on an entire diatribe regarding the wonder that was the poet and then when she tired herself out of anger, decided to teach Clarke how to appreciate the poetry of madness and sex and life and death. Clarke couldn’t remember a single line of her poetry, but she remembered Lexa’s voice and the things she did while reciting it.

“You okay?” Raven nudged her, furrowing her brow.

“Hm? Yeah, just…” Clarke focused back on the game after crossing her legs again. “It’s a little warm, hm?”

“It feels great, except it looks like your girl is getting a little hot under the collar.”

The polo player charged down the field, and after a tussle earned a foul. Clarke couldn’t hear what Lexa was saying, but she could tell it wasn’t anything polite about the umpires wife, more than likely. Maybe his mother, if she was feeling particularly volatile.

“Yeah, she’s… spirited.”

Lexa had lost matches before in front of Clarke. There was no way she could win them all. This wasn’t about losing. Something was off on the field. Something was frustrating Lexa to the point of losing her cool, Clarke just didn’t know what it was.

Thankfully the match ended, finally, and without any bloodshed.

Clarke carefully excused herself from the mingling, one of the worst parts of the entire thing, if she were being honest. Why couldn’t her girlfriend have played a sport that didn’t appeal to the most boring people in the world watching. Hell, she’d take golf over having to spend anymore afternoons with Kane and his friends.

She didn’t mind Kane as much, anymore, but he’d still seen them having sex and ruined her life in that moment. Clarke couldn’t forget or forgive.

It was an arduous task, to reach the stables without being grabbed or thanks or tugged into a conversation. She was Lexa Woods’ girlfriend. She was Jacob Griffin’s daughter. And everyone there was no one she wanted to meet. But still, she bobbed and weaved her way through the landmines, promising to return quickly, lying through her teeth.

She’d expected yelling. Maybe she would have preferred yelling, she realized, as she approached the stables where she knew Lexa would be overseeing and fuming. Everything was quiet though. Just the normal bustle of the hands rubbing down horses and cleaning off equipment.

One of Lexa’s teammates nudged their head, indicating where she was silently rampaging. She smiled and thanked them as they finished their tasks of escaping the locker room as soon as possible.

When Clarke knocked quietly, she was dismissed, told not to bother before she ignored it and pushed inside. The polo player was half undressed, her jersey tossed, her undershirt untucked and still sweaty. But there she sat, angry and smoldering. Somehow, even with the dirt and the streaks of sweat cutting through mud, Lexa looked like a pile of embers in a campfire after the fire had nearly gone away. So pretty, they looked as if they could be held innocently, but still all the more dangerous than the flames themselves.

“Please, Clarke,” Lexa shook her head and looked away after a moment, shaking her head and slumping her shoulders. “Necesito solo un minuto.”

“You can have a few. I just wanted to check on you.”

“Por favor déjame revolcarme solo.”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

“Wallow.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Clarke nodded to herself and leaned against the wall opposite of her girlfriend. It wasn’t easy to trip Lexa’s actual temper, and so she was somewhat out of practice with how to deal with it. She’d certainly never seen it happen during a game. On the pitch, Lexa was composed. She was stone-cold. She was focused. There was something under her skin though.

“What happened?” she tried again, earning a sigh as Lexa stood and stalked toward her own locker.

She paused though and turned back, making her way toward Clarke. In an instant, Clarke was pushed against the wall by a sweaty, frustrated player. Lips moved to her neck as hips pinned her own tightly. Hands clawed at her chest and Lexa moved, harder than necessary.

Though she was concerned, Clarke wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and pulled her closer. Lexa needed the reset. She needed to remember that she was human and allowed to fail, and most importantly she needed to do something right. That thing was Clarke.

But Lexa was gone in an instant with a frustrated growl. She slammed a locker closed and slumped back down on the bench. Clarke tried to catch her breath, but for a while, just the ringing of the metal slamming and her own breathing was all the noise in the room.

“I didn’t want you to seem me fail. It all just… a chain reaction of everything going wrong.”

“You had a bad game. It happens.”

“Not to me.”

“It happens, I promise,” Clarke tried not to smile. “I don’t love you any less.”

That made Lexa look up, her eyes big and hurt. She softened with Clarke’s smile and shook her head.

“You should.”

“I should love you less because you lost a match?” Clarke scoffed. “I’ve literally seen you win every trophy out there. You’re going to the damn Olympics. You lost a friendly match. Why–”

“Because it’s all I have to give you, Clarke,” Lexa sighed. “In front of all of your friends and family, in front of all of your entire world, your stupid, sport-playing, stable hand of a girlfriend failed at doing the one thing that is of any value.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want to go over it,” she shook her head again and waved her hand dismissively.

“I do.”

“Please, Clarke.”

Clarke snorted, indignant at everything her brain was beginning to unravel from her girlfriend’s statements. She shook her head and pushed off the wall, growing a little hot around the collar herself.

“Well, I would like to set the record straight. I’m not with you because you play polo or because you are a published scholar of literature, or because you are a model.” Clarke softened and put her hands on her hips as she approached her girlfriend and tilted her head up. “I’m with you for the obscenely good sex and nothing more.”

With a disgruntled growl, Lexa jerked her head away from her girlfriend’s grasp and slumped deeper into her own melancholy and defeat.

“I’m kidding. And frankly you’re being kind of an idiot if you think any of that matters.”

“Clarke, your stepfather literally owns me. Your father owns everything else. I want to retire to a horse farm and maybe teach. I have some money saved, obviously, but I’m–”

“Have I ever, ever, and I’m being serious here, have I ever indicated that I’m with you for your money?”

“No.”

“Have I ever indicated that your dreams are stupid or invalid?”

“No, but–”

“You are doing what you love. I’m doing what I love. And I don’t much appreciate you deriving your value from what you think you can give me like status or prestige. It’s insulting.”

“It’s hard to not feel a little outside of all of that.”

“You’re just going to have to get over having a very wealthy girlfriend, I don’t know what to tell you, but I can’t change that.”

“If you’re okay with dating a poor stable-hand.”

“Ah, yes,” Clarke rolled her eyes and slid into Lexa’s lap. “My restaurant owning, watch-modeling, Olympian of a girlfriend. How ever will I cope?”

The pair remained there on the bench, quietly hovering around each other. Clarke soothed the worry that creased Lexa’s forehead, running her finger along the ridge that formed there until it melted beneath her fingertips. She wiped the dirt from her cheek after wetting her thumb. Clarke felt Lexa’s eyes following her own, moving along her face lazily. Her body slumped slightly, the tenseness in it leaving for the simple human touches.

“Lexa, I swear, I only want you. If I’ve ever done anything that made you feel like you have to prove why you deserve to be with me…” she shook her head and sighed. Lexa shook her head as well and blushed beneath it all. “I don’t need you to prove anything. If anything, I want to show you why you should keep me around.”

“It’s my own thing,” Lexa waved her hand a bit dismissively before securing it around Clarke’s waist. “I want your dad to think I can take care of you. I want your mom to like me.”

“Oh, and I’m literally a great catch? I can’t even shoe a horse. Your dad is going to hate me.”

Lexa grinned at the different types of things they thought the other valued. The anger she’d been exhibiting had turned dark and twisty, digging deep into her own gut, directed inwardly at her own perceived shortcomings. Now… She had an heiress straddling her in the locker rooms, getting her pretty dress dirty and covered in mud and horse shit, and not minding at all.

“I can teach you.”

“If you think I’m not going to hold you to it,” Clarke decided as she adjusted slightly. “You don’t know me at all.”

She played with the curly, dried hairs on the back of Lexa’s neck until she earned a smile and patted her cheeks before kissing her deeply.

“Want to ditch dinner? I have a few things I’d gladly do to you to cheer you up,” Clarke whispered.

Lexa considered it and how much she’d rather not face everyone after that terrible display. But she couldn’t make a bad impression or allow anyone to think that was her for too long. And as appetizing as the offer was, she couldn’t. But Clarke knew that and bit her neck anyway.

“Tonight,” Lexa promised, gripping hips tightly. She hoped there’d be a bruise. She wanted to look and see it.

“Fine. Dinner with my mother and father and Marcus, who is not my stepfather.”

“Yet.”

“You’re really cruising in the wrong direction from tipsy, lengthy sex that we were just heading toward a minute ago.”

“We’ll see.”

Lexa always thought she was in love with Clarke. She knew it. This moment filled her heart with warmth, chasing away the bitterness she’d held against herself during the match. This moment made her feel more human and alive. It was vital.

“We will.”

“I should go change, too, since I’m filthy now.”

“I like it,” Lexa growled.

Clarke rolled her eyes and stood, looking down at herself, wiping away nothing in particular.

“Go get cleaned up. Remember, I only keep you around for your looks and sex.”

Lexa hung her head.

“This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it?”

“Sorry, I don’t actually hear your words,” Clarke smirked. “You’re strictly ornamental. Arm candy. My bimbo.”

“You can’t even shoe a horse.”

That made Clarke laugh, out loud, a guffaw that Lexa loved because it was uniquely her. They smiled at each other and took a deep breath.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Clarke smiled happily as her father took the seat beside her, grumbling slightly in response. “It means a lot to Lexa.”

“Yeah, well, I like her enough to swallow any feelings I may have to support her.”

“Wow, that’s quite a bit, huh?” she teased.

“Plus, our summer trips are a tradition. Might as well as roll it all into one. Spend as much time getting to know your girlfriend as I can.”

“I’m sorry… again…” Clarke rolled her eyes at his antics. “You found out like a month after Mom. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, well. At least you’re dating someone I like despite her affiliation with–”

“Marcus, hey,” Clarke stood and waved him over, her mother in tow. “Thanks for getting us tickets. This has been amazing.”

“Jake, great to see you,” he shook her father’s hand, and Clarke took her seat between the two of them. “Glad you could make it out.”

Thankfully, there was only time for a little small talk before the teams took the field, and Clarke gratefully leaned forward when she saw her girlfriend. It was weird, to not root for her country, but Clarke couldn’t root for anyone but Lexa. Never in a million years did she think she’d be dating one of the top 10 hotties of the Summer Games from various media sources of questionable reputations, though exquisite taste in her own opinion. But here she was, two years deep and beyond repair, head over heels for that girl.

On the pitch, Lexa was chasing before shooting, her first goal of the game, and Clarke was on her feet cheering, clapping as hard as she could.

She didn’t see her father clapping beside her, or watching her. She didn’t know that he was already preparing to lose his little girl to the polo player forever. Something about having an Olympian to show off made it a little bit easier. The fact that Lexa had made an appointment at his office and shook his hand and personally apologized for how he found out made him trust her.

When she let him ask her any question he wanted, and she told him about her degrees and everything she hoped to accomplish, he liked her ethic. When she spoke about her family, he nodded. When she told him that her favorite part of Clarke was that she was obscenely stubborn and very kind, he knew that she understood.

Lexa had given him a watch. It was a good watch. She shook his hand and thanked him for his time, invited him to the Olympics. They talked basketball. They made dinner plans. They debated love and poetry.

Despite himself, Jacob Griffin liked Lexa Woods. Despite what it would mean, that Clarke would leave and start her life, he liked Lexa.

Even though he was the last to find out, he certain didn’t envy how Marcus did, and that made him smug.

XXXXXXXXXX

“I’m sorry your parents couldn’t make it,” Jake clapped Lexa on the shoulder before hugging her tightly. “They must be obscenely proud. I mean, I’m over the moon proud.”

“Thank you,” Lexa blushed and cleared her throat. “They couldn’t travel after my father’s surgery, but they’ve already called six times to speak with me and keep telling me.”

The restaurant’s back room was private and filled with billions of dollars worth of people, but Lexa stood in the middle as everyone congratulated her, handed her flutes of champagne, and hugged her tightly.

But then Clarke appeared. She was wearing a blue dress. Lexa like her blue dress so much it made her heart stop beating in the ancient restaurant. As soon as Clarke’s eyes met her own, she launched herself and hugged her tightly around the neck. Lexa swung her happily, holding her closer than close was possible.

“I’m so proud of you. You are spectacular. Can I wear your medal later?” Clarke whispered, clutching Lexa’s neck.

It made her a little weak in the knees as she imagined a naked girlfriend spread bare on her hotel bed in nothing but her freshly won gold medal. She suddenly wasn’t hungry. She was suddenly very eager for their vacation through Italy and all it could entail. More than anything, Lexa was excited for yacht sex.

“I love you,” Lexa murmured into Clarke’s neck as she swung her again.

“I feel like I’m dating the most interesting, most amazing woman,” Clarke decided when her feet finally landed on the ground. “And I don’t bring much to the table.”

“We just discussed the whole naked medal thing…” Lexa whispered, earning a nudge in her elbow.

“Everyone!” Clarke cheered above the din of the people who gathered, Lexa’s team and the families and Marcus and her parents. “Lexa fucking Woods!”

The applause rang out and Lexa shook her head, shy at the praise of it.

Throughout the night, Lexa refused to be far from her girlfriend. It’d been a long few months of planning and preparing, of traveling and practicing. And now they had nothing in front of them except for a few weeks along the Italian coast, no work, no playing, no nothing, and Lexa was looking forward to it all.

But she wouldn’t let herself be far from the beautiful girl who seemed to sense it and stick just as close. There was an important moment in their closeness, something quiet and altogether theirs in the midst of the large group.

They ambled back to their room at the end of the night, hand in hand through the lobby of the hotel and stumbling into each other in the elevator. Lexa pressed Clarke against the buttons accidentally and they stopped on every floor, but she didn’t care. She kissed her neck the entire length of the trip while dipping her hand under her dress. Let the tabloids have it, she grinned to herself, though none were found.

When they opened the door, they didn’t turn on a light, just fumbled their way toward the bedroom of the suite. Clarke tugged at Lexa’s clothes while Lexa tugged the dress up until they were tangled and needy.

By the time they fell into the bed, they were nearly naked and still wiggling around to make it happen, but once it did, they stilled and settled languidly into each other’s warmth.

“You are absolutely everything,” Clarke whispered as Lexa kissed her chest.

Hands clenched at her shoulders, and even where there were bruises from the match, but Lexa didn’t stop.

“You’re great motivation.”

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justanamesstuff · 6 months

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Why every night I have to work now there is a show?!?!

#at least matty keeps having Argentinian wines

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elcarloselegante · 2 months

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El Carlos Elegante

El Carlos Elegante is a Mexico City-inspired eatery that is open for dinner service and showcases beloved authentic Latin cooking traditions and cuisine through the chef team’s talent and creativity. Patrons can enjoy large cuts of high-end, Argentinian-style wood-fired meats and fish, a stunning ceviche and crudo selection, house-made tortillas, as well as traditional and indigenous masa-based dishes relevant to the heart of Mexico. The restaurant also features a seasonal craft cocktail menu and a standout Mezcal program, as well as a global list of wines and champagnes.

Address: 1400 N Riverfront Blvd, Dallas, TX 75207, USA Phone: 214-277-1800 Website: https://elcarloselegante.com

#Mexican Food #Private Events #Argentinian Food #Cocktail Menu #Wines And Champagnes

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dweetwise · 7 months

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[Riconti] The Long Con (part 4/6)

Aka the "how far can I push the T rating?" chapter. Rated T | 3.9k words | ao3 link [previous] [next]

When the day started rolling over into the evening, Ace was still chatting with Felix.

They'd moved out of the big tent a couple hours ago. It had gotten pretty crowded as the festival filled up with locals just getting off work, and Felix admitted he struggled with the noise when the chatter got louder and the drinking songs started in earnest. He'd also seemed to have accepted the fact that Lauren and her husband were not, in fact, planning on coming back.

That woman really was the world's best wingman.

They'd stopped by a few of the smaller breweries before Felix led them to an honest to god wine tent that had Ace nearly crying from joy. Ace had never tasted Bavarian wine before and he'd savored his two glasses while Felix downed at least twice that amount at a somewhat alarming pace.

They were currently exploring the rest of the festival at a leisurely pace, walking and talking and enjoying the relative quiet of the outdoor areas compared to the crowded tents.

And the effects of the alcohol were clearly starting to show on Felix.

"Anyway," Ace said, continuing his latest story, "she completely drank me under the table, and—"

“Oh!” Felix exclaimed, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the street.

Ace followed suit, turning on his heel and looking at Felix in question. But rather than pointing out another business associate he wanted to avoid or a beer he wanted to try, Felix unceremoniously reached out and grabbed Ace's hand.

Ace's eyebrows rose in surprise even as a smile spread across his face. Hand-holding wasn't something he'd expected Felix to initiate, but it was a very welcome surprise nonetheless.

…Except Felix proceeded to reach for Ace's elbow with his other hand, tugging down the still rolled up sleeve of his shirt and then just…stared at it. Confused, Ace simply stood there and let him.

“These are card suits?” Felix finally asked, smiling and seeming strangely happy about the discovery. “I only noticed now.”

“Oh, yeah!” Ace said. “I like sneaking aces into my outfits sometimes. Meg thinks it’s the most unfunny thing ever.”

Felix looked up to meet his eyes, still smiling, and then seemed to realize how intimate their position was and dropped Ace’s hand like burned. “Ah, sorry, I—”

“Oh, no, I’m just glad someone appreciates the look,” Ace hurried to defuse. “Especially after spending the entire morning getting sassed for my fashion choices.”

“Why? You’re very good-looking," Felix said, then choked and floundered, "I meant, ähm—your outfit. It looks good. On you."

Felix's face was steadily flushing red, yet his eyes very obviously flicked down to the open buttons of Ace’s shirt (which Ace may or may not have purposefully popped more of as the day progressed).

“Why, thank you," Ace said, stepping closer with a sly smile. He reached up to straighten Felix's pocket square. “I think your 'outfit' is really handsome, too.”

Ace looked up to meet Felix's eye, hands still lingering on his chest and feeling the rapid beating of his heart even through the layers of clothing. Felix was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and his blue eyes looked almost black in the fading sunlight.

Felix swallowed. "Would…do you want to…?"

"Hmm?" Ace tilted his head, giving his best bedroom eyes.

"...Try some Bratwurst?" Felix finished.

Ace blinked. He had a few seconds to wonder whether that was some sort of innuendo until Felix's gaze focused on something over Ace's shoulder.

"There's a booth right there and I'm getting hungry," Felix explained, eyes still on the supposed wiener shop.

Ace forced a smile and stepped back. "Sure thing."

—

Felix insisted on paying and Ace had to admit that it was pretty nice to have a snack after the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed on a near-empty stomach.

Unfortunately, the greasy sausages seemed to awaken Felix's appetite for food rather than Argentinian con men. And because Felix had a foot on Ace in height and probably twenty pounds in muscle, he not only drank a lot, but also ate a lot.

There were fries. Candied apples. More sausage. The chocolate bananas Ace had teased Meg about earlier.

And Ace kept helplessly trailing after a half-drunk Felix, like a lost puppy hoping to go home with the nice human once the day was over.

But the game wasn't lost yet. Felix kept smiling and talking to Ace as they ate and walked around, treating him to anything he wanted—which wasn't much, because Ace was still hoping to get lucky tonight and having massive heartburn from the greasy festival foods would put a real downer on that.

Felix insisted on gifting Ace one of the gingerbread hearts he'd seen people around the festival wear as a necklace. And even if it just said "Greetings from Oktoberfest" rather than the "I love you" ones that were also available, Ace took it as a good sign.

They'd just made their way to stand in line at yet another food stall—pretzels or something, Ace didn't really care—with Ace tactfully trying to hint that it was getting late and Felix staring at his gingerbread necklace like he was contemplating eating that too.

"Felix! Ace!"

At the sound of their names being called, Ace whipped around and saw Daniel and Lauren walking over from one of the nearby tents.

Well; Daniel was walking and a giggling Lauren was being half-dragged after him.

"Oh, hey guys!" Ace greeted them.

Felix said nothing, but out of the corner of his eye, Ace saw him narrowing his eyes at his friends.

Thankfully, Daniel didn't seem bothered. "I see you're getting into the Bavarian spirit," he said, glancing at Ace's necklace.

"Ha! You could say that." Ace grinned. "Someone really wanted to buy—"

"Hey, Felix!" Lauren suddenly exclaimed.

Before anyone got a word in, Lauren stumbled forward and practically tackled Felix. He lost his balance and bumped into Ace—who briefly worried he was going to get flattened into a pancake if they fell—before managing to right himself.

"Lauren!" Felix hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders. "What the fuck?" he demanded in German.

"Just kiss him already!" Lauren slurred. "I saw you chickening out earlier."

"Are you spying on us!?" Felix snapped, the tips of his ears red from embarrassment.

"Schatzi, I think it's time to go home," Daniel said, gently dislodging Lauren from Felix. He looked at Felix and Ace in turn. "I'm so sorry, we really should be going. It was nice to meet you, Ace."

"Very nice," Lauren agreed with a lopsided grin. "See you next time."

"Oh, uh…" Ace faltered, knowing that there wouldn't be a next time. "It was nice meeting you both too. Get home safe."

Felix was glaring at the couple even more now. "Goodnight," he spat.

With that, Daniel and Lauren weaved into the crowd, leaving Felix and Ace standing awkwardly in silence. They weren't even in line for the food anymore, but Felix didn't seem to care; maybe being tackled by a drunk German woman was what he needed to get rid of the munchies.

"So…" Ace spoke up. He knew an opening when he saw one. "I'll admit my German skills are nonexistent, but I'm pretty sure I know what 'Küss' means."

"I, ehm," Felix stammered. "She's… I'm sorry, she gets like this when we're drinking together," he spoke, the words rushed. "She thinks I've been single for too long, but with Klara, it's—it's not easy, and… Sheiße, I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

Felix closed his eyes and huffed a dejected sigh: like he'd already prepared himself for rejection before Ace even got a chance to respond.

So it was only natural for Ace to lay his hand on Felix's bicep and gently squeeze—a gesture that looked innocent enough where any bystanders were concerned, but packed a wholly different meaning with the conversation they were having.

And based on the wide-eyed look of surprise Ace received, Felix knew that too.

"Don't be sorry," Ace said. "I know what it's like: a middle-aged widower isn't exactly dropping any panties. Or boxers." Ace grinned wryly.

Felix's eyes found Ace's and he swallowed. "I wouldn't say that."

"Oh?" Ace's smile widened. "Well, for the record, I happen to find flustered single dads very attractive."

He stepped closer, his chest touching Felix's arm, but Felix immediately tensed.

"I—" Felix said. "It's just… I have Klara, and I don't… I can't—"

"Hey, it's okay. Your little girl comes first, that's a given," Ace said. "I've got my obligations too, and we're leaving the county in a few days anyway."

Felix nodded stiffly, though Ace could see his posture deflating in disappointment. Ace only had one more trick up his sleeve and he could only hope he was still smooth enough to pull it off.

"But…'' Ace stood up on his toes and leaned in, until he could murmur into Felix's ear. "What about just one night?"

A choked sound escaped Felix's throat. When Ace pulled back, Felix was looking at him with wide eyes and his entire face was flushed a pretty shade of pink.

Then, Felix's large hand wrapped around Ace's wrist. "Follow me."

Ace tried not to look too smug as Felix dragged him along. Clearly, he still had it.

—

Ace was pretty sure they weren't supposed to be here.

Felix had led him behind a souvenir booth and weaved between two of the smaller tents, miraculously finding a secluded corner that looked to house construction materials for building the festival.

Or something. Ace didn't exactly get a good look, because Felix immediately pulled him close and shoved a tongue in his mouth, and taking in the scenery was the last thing on Ace's mind.

The quaint little gingerbread necklace didn't survive the force of a pent-up passionate German. As soon as the heart cracked when Felix pressed close, Ace tossed the thing over his shoulder and wrapped his hands around Felix's neck to pull him down and deepen the kiss.

Felix didn't protest.

In fact, Felix kissed like he'd been holding this back for the entire six hours since they met. His hands ran over Ace's shoulders and down his back, occasionally gripping his hips and squeezing. His mouth was absolutely devouring Ace's, hot and a little sloppy from the alcohol, his tongue teasingly pushing against Ace's. And Ace…

Well, it had been a long time since Ace got any action and even longer since he'd been with anyone as attractive as Felix.

So he returned the kiss just as enthusiastically, already half-hard in his pants from simply caressing Felix's firm body and kissing his soft lips. When Ace's wandering hands found Felix's ass and squeezed, there was a loud moan and he couldn't tell which of them the sound came from.

To be fair, it was a very moan-worthy ass.

Felix didn't give him much time to grope, opting instead to step back and tug Ace with him, until his back bumped into a stack of crates or a wall or…fuck, it didn't matter, because Felix's large hands immediately dropped down to cup Ace's ass in revenge, pulling him close until they were pressed together from chest to hip.

Ace hummed his approval against Felix's lips and sneaked a hand under the hem of Felix's shirt to explore the soft skin of his back. Felix moaned from the touch and sucked on Ace's tongue, pressing a thigh between Ace's legs and—

Ace groaned and bowed his head, hiding his face in the crook of Felix's neck as the muscle of the thick thigh provided delicious friction for the throbbing in his groin. He grabbed a fistful of Felix's shirt and panted open-mouthed against the skin of Felix's neck, desperately clinging to his remaining self-control to not grind against that wonderful pressure.

Thankfully, Felix had mercy. He straightened his leg and moved his hands back to Ace's waist, drastically reducing the odds of the night ending much too soon.

Ace chucked breathlessly. "Sorry, it's been a while." He looked up at Felix, a snarky comment ready on his tongue…

And instantly forgot it as soon as he saw the state Felix was in.

Felix's hair was messy and his eyes half-lidded, his kiss-swollen lips panting as he caught his breath. Ace could feel a prominent bulge pressing against his hip and when he curiously shifted against it, Felix's head fell back and his pretty blue eyes slid shut, a soft moan escaping his lips.

Ace barely resisted the urge to drop to his knees on the spot.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Ace said instead, his voice still embarrassingly breathless.

Felix's eyes cracked open just enough to meet Ace's and a small smirk spread over his lips: like after several liters of alcohol, six hours of flirting, and literally having Ace's tongue down his throat, he finally felt confident enough to accept the compliment.

"I could say the same," Felix said, a teasing glint in his eye that made Ace's already high-strung libido do all sorts of funny things.

Then, Felix's expression softened and he straightened to his full height, making Ace have to tilt his head even more to look up at him. Felix's hand brushed against Ace’s temple, over the strands of silver that had grown in over the last few years, his eyes curiously following the movement.

"You're beautiful," Felix simply said.

The words were so earnest that Ace didn't know what to do with them. His mouth opened and closed and his cheeks felt warm with embarrassment and pride alike. Sure, Ace knew he looked good for his age, but you weren't supposed to call another man beautiful.

And yet, Felix didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest. He just kept gently stroking Ace's hair before dropping his gaze to meet Ace's.

Felix's expression could only be described as pure lust as he looked deep into Ace's eyes and murmured, "Come home with me."

The air left Ace's lungs in a shaky breath and his knees went a little weak even as arousal surged through every vein in his body. He couldn't remember when he last felt this shamelessly, undeniably wanted.

"Yeah," Ace immediately agreed.

And just as soon after, he mentally shook himself. This was still business first, pleasure second: Ace was supposed to be the one seducing Felix, not the other way around.

Ace cleared his throat and took half a step back. "I mean, yes, let me just text Meg first so she doesn't worry. Where did you say your place was?"

Felix leaned back against the wall with a small huff. "Coburg. West side," he rattled off, sounding impatient. "It's called the Richter Manor, it has a Wikipedia page if she wants to know the—hnng."

Felix groaned as Ace caressed down the front of his pants to soothe some of that impatience.

"Well, hello." Ace leered. "That's quite the package you've got for me."

Felix took a shuddering breath and ground against Ace's hand just a little, like he couldn't help himself. "Hurry. Please."

Pulling away from a flushed, aroused and begging Felix was much more difficult than it had any right to be, but somehow Ace managed the task. He quickly turned his back to Felix to resist the temptation and instead pulled out his phone.

Ace grimaced while he typed the message. Meg was going to be even angrier that he was putting all his eggs in one basket—he could practically hear her screaming, "Rule five, Ace, dammit!"—but hopefully Ace could grab her something shiny from Felix's supermansion as an apology.

When Ace was mid-message, there was…a noise. A very familiar, horrible noise of someone choking followed by a splatter of liquid on the ground.

Ace's heart sank into his stomach and he quickly turned back to Felix only to have his fears confirmed; Felix was hunched over by a corner, trembling and breathing heavily.

And throwing up. Repeatedly.

"Ugh," Felix groaned once he finished retching. Then he nearly tripped on his feet as he tried to steady himself, clumsily leaning against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut from the nausea.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"You okay?" Ace asked.

"Yes," Felix rasped, then groaned and covered his face with his hand. "No. Sorry. I feel…"

Felix promptly turned back to hurl some more, effectively ruining all of Ace's plans for the evening. Now he'd have nothing to show to Meg, and they wouldn't have enough money to survive—

Unless…

Felix's wallet peeked out from his back pocket and his expensive watch glimmered on his wrist where he was bracing a hand on the wall for support.

Time to improvise.

Ace quickly walked up to stand behind Felix and gently patted his back. "It's okay," Ace said, keeping his voice low and soothing. "That's it, get it all out."

He trailed his hand up and down Felix's bent back in a comforting gesture—and with his other hand, of course, slowly slid the wallet out of Felix's pocket.

"There you go," Ace crooned. He quickly tucked the wallet into his waistcoat's inner pocket. "You'll feel better once all the liquor's gone."

"I'm sorry," Felix managed hoarsely.

"Don't worry about it," Ace said, when what he really meant was “Thanks for at least not throwing up in my mouth earlier.” "Happens to the best of us," he added.

Felix was in no shape to reply; all the alcohol he'd consumed really seemed to have hit him full-force at once. He vomited up one more time before slowly righting himself and then just stood there, trembling and swaying on his feet.

"Come on," Ace said, grabbing Felix's wrist. "Let's get you into a cab."

He led Felix back to the festival area and navigated through the crowd until they reached an exit. Felix stumbled a few times but was thankfully steady enough on his feet that Ace didn't have to support six-feet-something of dead weight by himself.

He also didn't protest the hand-holding, which made it much easier for Ace to unclasp his watch while they walked. And when Ace picked one of the many vacant taxis by the festival exit and gently shoved Felix into it, the watch practically slid into Ace's pocket on its own.

Felix didn’t seem to notice at all; in fact he just groaned and immediately slumped against the leather seat of the car. His eyes were shut and he looked about ten seconds away from passing out.

The cab driver looked at Ace in question.

"Uh, Coburg," Ace told the driver, because apparently Felix wasn't going to. "West side, Richter manor."

Ace was half prepared to look up the damn Wikipedia page for directions. But to his relief, the driver merely nodded and motioned for him to close the door; Ace supposed the prospect of a two-hour cab fare to Coburg was enough to entice him.

Ace shut the door without a goodbye and watched the cab drive off. Hopefully Felix would make it home safely.

Ace groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Rule one, idiot."

Oh, well. That was the last he'd ever see of Felix, so getting a little fond of the guy hardly mattered. Ace got what he came for.

He reached into his pocket and gripped the watch with a smirk. Time to show off his haul to Meg.

—

Back at their hostel, Meg had already lined up her meager spoils on her bed. She'd managed to yoink a couple phones and a smart watch, along with a purse which unfortunately only contained makeup and a few twenties.

They both knew it wasn't anywhere near enough to make up for the cost of the trip. Ace thanked his luck that he'd managed to pull off his own plan, or they'd be in serious trouble.

"I could have easily gotten more stuff," Meg explained, on the defensive before Ace had even said anything. "But the concert tent was filling up and I kinda had a good seat, so…"

"Oh, don't you worry!" Ace said, slapping her on the back with a grin. "It's about time you took a night off. And fortunately for you, you've got the legendary Ace Visconti to cover your back!"

Meg snorted. "You're in a suspiciously good mood. What happened to your boyfriend?"

"Things actually went really well," Ace said. "I completely charmed him and he dragged me behind the tents for a makeout session—"

Meg grimaced. "Eww."

"—And asked me to come home with him," Ace kept going, pretending not to hear her. "But then he unfortunately had a little…puking incident."

"As anyone would, after kissing you," Meg snarked.

"Of course, being the gentleman that I am, I got him into a cab and sent him home,'' Ace said. "Naturally, I also stole some of his personal belongings in the process—completely unnoticed, as always.”

At that, Meg visibly perked up. "For real?"

"Ta-da!" Ace exclaimed, presenting Meg with Felix's leather wallet and luxury watch.

"What the fuck? That's even worse than mine!" Meg said. "A basic-ass steel watch and a credit card that's gonna get shut down in an hour when he notices."

"Steel?" Ace scoffed, then pointed at the watch. "This, my dear Megan, is platinum."

Meg hummed thoughtfully. "If you say so.” She didn’t quite have an eye for appraisal yet, but she’d get there one day. “What's with the fugly keychain?"

"What? There's no—"

Ace looked at the items he was holding and to his horror, realized that Felix's keys were dangling from the wallet, apparently having been wedged inside it sometime during the evening.

And that wasn't a problem—Felix probably owned about twelve spare house keys like every other ridiculous rich person.

But attached to the keys was the stupid, ugly keychain that Felix's daughter made for him.

“Shit,” Ace said, his chest feeling heavy with dread.

Now, make no mistake: anybody who knew Ace would probably agree that he was a bad person. He lied, he stole, and he screwed over anyone without hesitation or remorse as long as it benefited him in some way.

Ace knew Felix would hate him in the morning. Hell, he probably already did, because he'd tried to pay for his cab and realized just what Ace had done. And Ace was okay with being hated—he had to be, because this was what he did to survive. The only way he knew how to survive.

But this? This was too far. Even if everything else on Ace's part had been a lie, the moment they'd shared talking about Meg and Klara had been real. He had no right taking something that had this much sentimental value.

Ace bit back what would have probably been a hysterical laugh. Out of all the immoral things he'd done in his life, it was a dumb, insignificant keychain that suddenly made him have a conscience.

But his mind was already made up. One way or another, Ace was going to return it to its owner.

Meg sighed long and loud. "You're gonna do something stupid again, aren't you?"

Ace smiled. "You know me too well."

#riconti #ace visconti #felix richter #dbd fanfic #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight

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awildtei · 5 months

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the summer day

[this is just a little ficlet I wrote based on my HC that Alvarez is Argentinian. It's also on AO3 here]

Catalina Álvarez has never had a white Christmas. She has never had a winter Christmas, actually.

On the flight to the States when she was fifteen (not her first one, but her first one without a return ticket), she told her dad she was excited about all the Christmas songs and paraphernalia (the pinetree, the Santas with their winter hats and gloves, the Disney songs about it being cold outside) aligning with the reality of the holiday for once.

Her mom didn't bother removing her eye mask as she said, “Cata, we’re going to California.”

Since her mom couldn’t see her, Catalina rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah, but we could go somewhere else for the holidays. New York, maybe, kill two birds with one stone: white Christmas and the ball drop on New Year’s.”

“We are going somewhere else for the holidays,” said her dad without putting his book down “Home.”

Home.

—

Summers in Buenos Aires are scorching hot, the pavement, concrete, and bricks of the city’s streets and buildings absorbing the heat and becoming a furnace, slow-roasting its sweaty inhabitants day and night. It’s a humid, heavy heat, one that sits on your skin like a physical weight and becomes the sole topic of small talk for the months it comes to stay.

The holidays are scattered throughout the summer holidays, three long months of school break sprinkled with Christmas, New Year’s, and Reyes Magos. They always celebrated Reyes at home, just the three of them with their gift-full shoes under the tree. When Catalina’s dad still had his mom and wasn’t yet estranged from his only brother, they spent New Year’s with them and Christmas with her mom’s side of the family.

Hebe Rodríguez’s house was squat and painted a soft blue, halfway down a quiet residential street where stray cats could still be spotted. Inside, it was teeming with plants (which Catalina loved) and pictures of her late husband, Roberto Álvarez (which Catalina found creepy as fuck).

(Two months before she died and five months before most of the remaining Álvarezes moved to the northern hemisphere, Hebe pulled Catalina aside. “Promise me this, Cata,” she asked. “Don’t do like the yankees and take your husband’s surname when you get married, okay? Just because they’re stuck in the Dark Ages doesn’t mean you have to put up with it. You are Catalina Álvarez, remember that.”

“I’m a lesbian, grandma,” she reminded her with a smile.

Her grandma blinked at her. “Oh. Right, I forgot. Alright, carry on, then,” and she patted her only grandchild on the shoulder with a decisive nod.)

Her uncle Luis would spend most of New Year’s Eve stuck to the TV screen. Some years, he would pop his head into the kitchen and grimly inform them, “Blackout tonight,” and they would all sigh, resigned. Better announced than unannounced, they supposed.

No blackout is welcome in 35°C temperatures, though. When the dark wave swept through the neighborhood, drowning out the lights of each house one by one like in the apocalyptic movies Catalina’s dad liked, they would have flashlights and candles ready, but the click of the ceiling fan and air-con turning off felt final and ominous.

Those years (blackout-in-the-middle-of-New-Year’s-Eve-dinner years), they would sit out on the small patio in their white clothes to watch the stars and sip chilled wine. Conversation was hard to keep going when the humid air made breathing laborious, but the silence wasn’t bad. The electricity would usually return before midnight, and they would turn the TV on to a news channel and chant along to the countdown: cinco, cuatro, tres, dos, uno, ¡FELIZ AÑO NUEVO! before eating twelve raisins (which Catalina replaced with chocolate-covered cereal because she found raisins disgusting), one for each month, and running outside to see the fireworks.

Christmases, however, were always Catalina’s favorite. Her mom’s side of the family was a very different story from her dad’s: loud where they were quiet, numerous where they were sparse, posh where they were normal (her dad’s words, the ‘chetos’ said with undisguised derision, ignoring his mom’s resulting elbow to the ribs).

Catalina and her parents would make the forty-minute drive to Santa Bárbara, the definition of a swank gated community. Once past the guard booths, they would make the slow fifteen-minute drive down winding streets with their “Children Playing” signs to the big house at the end of the lane where Aunt Soledad and Uncle Tomás lived with their 2.5 kids and golden retriever. It was always lavishly decorated, with a life-size nativity scene on the front lawn and unseasonable snowflake cutouts and colorful strings of lights on the windowsills.

The afternoon before Christmas Eve was for riding bikes and swimming in the wide backyard pool and roller skating up and down the long wooden bridge over the expansive pond that was Santa Bárbara’s hallmark. Cousins Marcos, Agustín, Lara and Constanza were older than Catalina; Milagros, Sebastián and Santiago were younger. Then there were the babies, Benjamín and Pilar, but they stayed home with their respective parents, doing whatever babies did while kids played, so Catalina barely registered them for a few years.

At noon, they would run back to the house, Catalina and her cousins, and sit down for lunch under big striped patio umbrellas with minimal eye-rolling at their mothers’ fussing that they would get heatstroke and would they please play inside where it was cool? Uncle Tomás would serve the asado, delicious, juicy meat that was as much cultural ritual as it was meal, an excuse for the men to hover around the grill as though the whole thing would go up in flames without their combined expertise.

After lunch (an hours-long affair that included lengthy, inescapable post-lunch conversation), some of the adults would retreat to guest rooms to nap, others would lounge around on plastic chairs to sip mate and keep talking, and the kids would run again. Christmas Eve Eve always felt endless to Catalina, lovely and sweltering and carefree. Playing in the street was out of the question back in the city, had stopped being safe when her parents were children, but here it was fine, and she felt that freedom coursing through her veins with every running step she took down quiet streets lined with Aguaribay, American Ash, and Plane trees.

When the sun began to set, they would all, parents and children, slowly amble down to the pond to watch the orange-pink-red spectacle play on the water’s surface. Besides the two weeks she and her parents spent on the coast in Mar del Plata each February, it was the only time Catalina saw the horizon, the perfect straight line usually hidden by towering buildings.

Back at the house, the adults would start setting everything up for Christmas dinner, and the kids would banish the heat that still hung heavy in the air by playing mermaids and Marco Polo in the pool. When they were called inside, they would climb the pool ladder, grass sticking to their feet, trailing water all the way back into the house, and get changed into white dresses and shorts, airy and fresh, wet patches immediately appearing from their dripping hair.

Barefoot, smelling of chlorine, and worn from a day spent playing in the sun, they would sit at the table set with the good cutlery and linen napkins, jittery with the looming promise of Papá Noel’s visit (Catalina would never get used to the way U.S. Americans open presents on Christmas day instead of Christmas Eve, couldn’t fathom asking a child to go to sleep with that anticipation hanging over them). Dinner would be light due to the heat, salads and cold cuts, chilled wine and champagne for the adults, lemonade and Coke for the children, dessert for all.

When the excitement got to be too much for the youngest members of the family, one of the adults would say, “Hey, why don’t we go outside to wait for Papá Noel?” and guide a band of eager children to the backyard to search the stars for signs of an approaching reindeer-pulled sleigh. They were brighter here than in the city, and Catalina thought any one of them could be him.

Somehow, Santa always arrived when they were outside looking for him, and they would run back in to find a towering pile of presents waiting for them underneath the huge plastic Christmas tree. The rest of the evening usually unraveled in a loud mess of bright, noisy toys and sugar-high kids wanting to play with them even as the day caught up with them and made their jaws crack with their lion yawns.

The ones left standing by midnight were welcome to a glass of champagne to toast with the adults. Catalina always fought tooth and nail against her tiredness because she refused to miss out. After a sip or two of the bitter, bubbly liquid, she would kiss her parents goodnight and drag herself into the guest room she shared with her female cousins. The sheets smelled clean, the fan droned its merciful reprieve from the heat, and her heart felt full as she fell asleep.

On Christmas day, the boys would go to the fútbol field by the restaurant and wouldn’t let the girls join them, so Lara, Constanza, Catalina and Milagros would claim the backyard and invite the neighbors’ girls to play Exy with them. For years, that’s what Exy meant to Catalina: running with a pack of fierce girls under a furious summer sun, sweaty and happy and in charge. They would take pool breaks now and then, a quick dip and a pit stop for sunscreen reinforcement before resuming their game.

Lunch would consist of assorted leftovers and a dozen empanadas ordered from the restaurant two streets down. The knowledge that the day was about to end made it a less ebullient affair than the previous day, even the wildest of her cousins subdued by their impending departure.

After lunch, Aunt Soledad and Uncle Tomás would dress their kids up and walk down to the chapel five minutes away for Christmas Mass. Everyone else was allowed to join them, but only Aunt Carolina would sometimes go.

When the day slowly trickled down into night, the guest families would leave one by one, causing tantrums and loud protests as playmates were forced to say their goodbyes.

Catalina would get in the boiling car with her hair still dripping wet and an inevitable sunburn where she neglected to put on sunscreen. She would watch the trees pass them by on their slow crawl to the gates. Somewhere between the house and the highway, she would fall asleep. On the ride home, she would dream of grass and swimming pools and laughter and Exy and family.

—

The holidays are inevitably different now that she’s an adult. She goes from USC straight to LAX and meets her parents there. She sleeps most of the flight.

Buenos Aires is always the same, except for the ever-changing billboards and many old houses in her neighborhood being demolished to make room for mammoth apartment complexes. The summers are still scorching hot, only getting hotter with global warming.

Grandma Hebe is gone. Uncle Luis kept her house, but he and Catalina’s dad haven’t spoken in years, so she doesn’t know what became of that blue jungle, whether her grandad’s pictures still sprout among the plants like weeds.

Catalina and her parents spend both Christmas and New Year’s in Santa Bárbara with her aunt and uncle now. She and her cousins don’t run around all day anymore, but they do still sometimes play Exy in the backyard, with racquets they’ve outgrown and complaints from her opponents that being a college Exy player gives her an unfair advantage, which she gleefully ignores.

There are still long evenings spent floating on her back in the swimming pool until her fingers prune and her skin smells of chlorine. There are still asados, even if Uncle Román isn’t part of the grill committee anymore since Aunt Carolina divorced him.

There is no searching for Santa among the stars, but presents are still exchanged, toasts still made. There are new guests, Agustín’s girlfriend, Marcos’s best friend, Milagros’s girlfriend. Their junior year of college, Catalina brings along Laila.

There are long lunches that stretch into longer conversations. There is sunscreen and chilled champagne and the sun setting over the pond.

And on the plane ride back to California, where she will exchange gifts with Jeremy and Jean and the other Trojans, where she will train and study and keep growing up, Catalina dreams of grass and swimming pools and laughter and Exy and family.

#aftg #all for the game #alvarez #catalina alvarez #usc trojans

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