the mexican football team has a 17 yrs old player and one of the funniest outcomes of this is that he cannot appear in any ad for gambling or drinking so he only appears in candy and milk advertisements. his first world cup and he's not even legally allowed to drive. his nickname is "morita" (little berry). he's three apples tall.
in the wake of Lindsey Grahamâs death and Mitch McConnellâs sudden revival, I would like to introduce an elite and exclusive category of politicians that have been specially selected based off of my own opinions called:
The Pastry Politicians. Politicians that bear a striking resemblance to bland baked goods.
Oregon Senator Ron Wyden = scone.
Former South Carolina Senator Lindsey Graham = gooey butter cake
Somewhat Alive Kentucky Senator Mitch McConnell = shortbread
I canât find one of my surnames (all Brazilian people have two surnames, one from the father and one from the mother, and they can have more depending on step parents, etc.)
It is Italian, but it isnât on the list
Plus, we need the indigenous ones, people tend to forget about the natives from the america (THE CONTINENT. USAMERICANS, YOUâRE NOT THE ONLY AMERICANS AND USA IS NOT AMERICA), I tend to know some from 1 out of the 300 tribes from Brazil, but if we want to make things who represent our ancestors, we need to do it right
Y'all for real please do these. Even if you're certain your posture doesn't suck. One day you will wake up with impinged shoulder pain like I did and let me tell you it fucking HURTS. Do these exercises even just once a week and it will make such a difference. Especially my fellow creatives out there, stop shrimping over your work and go do these right now. RIGHT NOW.
Also, if youâre even a little concerned about getting a hump or having trouble standing fully upright in your old age, this is how you prevent that. If you want to be up and about when youâre old you have to start when youâre younger. And keep in mind there is no bad time to start and itâs never too late. Starting today is way better than never starting at all.
i love when rando freaky bots follow me because they all think iâm looking to get freaky and iâm like haha no iâm ace but thanks for adding to my follower count! now you can suffer as i mass-post my audhd-fueled delusions
Summary: Reader is Matti's best friend and is brought along to this whole Eurovision mess. His annoying brother is making this trip even messier.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
2.8k words - not proofread
You donât really feel like going out again.
Youâve spent most of the day holed up in your room with headphones on.
Your phone buzzes while youâre curled up on the bed, trying not to think about anything.
Matti: can you come to my room??
Matti: emergency
Your stomach knots.
You donât think twice. You donât ask questions. Youâre already on your feet and halfway out the door, because Matti never texts like that unless somethingâs seriously wrong. You donât even knock when you get to his room. You just push the door open.
âMatti-â
You freeze.
HĂĄlfdĂĄnâs laying on the bed.
Not Matti.
Just him.
He looks up, caught mid-scroll on his phone, hoodie half zipped and one leg bouncing. You blink at him. Then your handâs already reaching back for the door handle.
And right in that moment, it slams shut behind you.
Click.
You whirl around.
âMatti?â you call.
Nothing.
You grab the knob. Yank it. Locked.
Of course it is.
You exhale sharply and turn back toward the room.
Heâs still sitting there, looking just as confused as you feel.
âHe said he wanted to hang out,â HĂĄlfdĂĄn says, slowly.
You glare. âHe told me it was an emergency.â
You fold your arms, backing toward the door. âUnbelievable.â
He raises an eyebrow. âWhy do you look like Iâve personally committed war crimes?â
You stare at him.
Because youâre mad. Because youâre stuck. Because everything has been off since that night in the village and youâve been holding it in so tightly, pretending it doesnât matter, pretending youâre fine, and now youâre trapped in a room with the one person who has made everything harder since the moment you met.
âYouâve been ignoring me,â he says after a beat, tone careful now.
You scoff. âIâve been breathing. Sorry if that offends you.â
He stands. âWhat the fuck is your problem?â
You blink at him, hard. âMy problem?â
âYeah,â he says, louder now. âOne minute youâre acting like weâre fine, like we can actually talk like normal people, and the next youâre freezing me out again like I murdered someone.â
âYouâre so full of yourself.â
âExcuse me?â
âYou think I care?â Your voice cracks around the words. âYou think I give a shit who you talk to?â
He stares at you, something unreadable tightening in his face. âThis is about that girl.â
You donât answer.
âThe one in the purple dress. The one I talked to for five seconds.â
âIt was more than five seconds,â you snap.
âOh my god,â he laughs dryly, stepping toward you, exasperated. âYouâre jealous.â
âIâm not jealous.â
He stops in front of you, eyes searching your face like heâs trying to piece you together from the outside in.
âThen what is it?â he asks. âSeriously.â
You cross your arms so tight it hurts. âMaybe I just remembered why I couldnât stand you in the first place.â
His jaw flexes. âRight. So weâre back to that again.â
âBack to what?â
âYou're such a bitch sometimes, you know that?â
âDonât fucking call me that.â
It comes out sharper than you mean, louder too, echoing off the hotel walls. But you donât care. Not this time.
His eyes flash. âThen stop acting like one.â
You step forward, heat rising in your chest. âIâm acting like someone whoâs sick of being jerked around by you.â
âOh, come on,â he snaps. âWhen have I everâ?â
âYou flirt with me like itâs a game, HĂĄlfdĂĄn. You look at me like Iâm the only person in the room and then you to some random girl when you think I'm not looking, touching her arm like youâre trying to win a prize for it.â
âThatâs what this is about? A fucking arm touch?â
âNo, itâs about you,â you spit. âYou acting like you care one second and then turning around and proving you donât the next.â
He looks stunned. Just for a second. Then he recovers. âI never said I cared.â
âExactly,â you fire back. âThatâs the problem.â
A heavy silence slams down between you. His jaw clenches. Yours does too.
âYouâre impossible,â he mutters.
âYeah, well, I learned from the best.â
He shakes his head, pacing a few steps away, like he needs space before he says something worse. âI donât get it. You treat me like Iâm the villain in your life story and then get mad when I donât act like the hero.â
You stare at him, breath shaking. âBecause part of me thought maybeââ
You stop. Bite it back. Too far.
He turns, eyes locking on yours. âMaybe what?â
You press your lips together, hard.
He exhales sharply, frustrated. âGod, just admit it. Youâre pissed because you like me.â
âI donât like you.â
âBullshit.â
âFuck you.â
âNo,â he says, stepping closer again, voice lower now, cutting through the tension like a knife, âyou donât get to be furious at me for talking to someone else if you donât even like me.â
âIâm mad because you make me feel things I donât want to feel.â
There. Itâs out before you can stop it.
The air goes dead quiet.
He doesnât move.
Neither do you.
The words hang there between you, brittle and loud and dangerous. You wish you could take them back. Bury them somewhere deep and silent and forgotten.
But itâs too late now. Heâs looking at you like you just handed him the last piece of a puzzle he didnât know he was building.
And it makes you want to scream.
âYou think that makes it better?â you say, voice raw. âYou think just because I admitted that, everything youâve done doesnât matter?â
His brows draw together, confusion slicing into the edge of his expression. âWhat have I done?â
You stare at him, furious. âYou made me trust you.â
His breath hitches. âI didnât ask you to.â
âNo. You just made it easy.â
You step back, hitting the wall behind you like it might hold you up. âYou made it so easy to believe that maybe we didnât hate each other anymore. That maybe I wasnât imagining everything between us. The way you looked at me. The way you talked to me. The way youââ You bite the words back before they crumble into something pathetic. âForget it.â
But he doesnât.
Heâs still watching you, face unreadable now, jaw clenched like heâs trying to hold something in.
âYou think I did all of that on purpose?â he asks, voice tight. âYou think I just⊠what? Played with your head for fun?â
âI donât know, HĂĄlfdĂĄn,â you snap. âYou tell me.â
âI was trying to be close to you.â
âThen whyââ
âBecause I donât know what the fuck Iâm doing with you!â he explodes suddenly, hands thrown wide. âEvery time I think I get itâ think weâre fine, you go cold again. You act like Iâm nothing to you. And then the next second youâre looking at me like Iâve broken something.â
You flinch. âMaybe you have.â
That stops him.
Silence again. But this one is heavier, thicker. Charged.
He lets out something between a laugh and a groan, pacing again. âI swear to god, you make me feel like Iâm losing my mind. One minute you hate me, the next youâre jealous, then youâre ignoring me, then youâre in my head every time I blinkââ
âThen why didnât you say something?â
âBecause I was scared youâd do exactly this!â
His voice cracks at the edges. It startles you.
âI knew youâd find a reason to pull away again,â he says. âI knew Iâd mess it up. So I didnât say anything. I just kept it casual, and then I talked to that girl because I didnât know how else to stop thinking about you for five minutes.â
Your heart stutters. âSo you were trying to make me jealous.â
He barks a laugh, but thereâs no humor in it. âNo. But if it worked, maybe I shouldâve.â
Your hands curl into fists. âYouâre such an asshole.â
âOh, come on,â he snaps, stepping toward you. âYouâve been acting like I kicked your dog ever since that night. What do you want me to do? Apologize for talking to someone?â
âNo, I want you to stop pretending you care and then acting like you donât!â
âIâm not pretending anything.â
âYou flirt with me,â you spit, stepping forward too now. âYou tease me. You get in my head and then you act like Iâm crazy for reacting to it.â
His jaw tightens. âI never asked you to react.â
âYou didnât have to!â
Your voice cracks again and you hate that it does. You hate that he sees it.
âI didnât ask for this,â you say, quieter now but sharper. âI didnât ask for you. I didnât come here thinking Iâd have to deal with you.â
He exhales like heâs been holding his breath for hours. âYeah, well, newsflash. I didnât think Iâd have to deal with you either.â
You flinch at that. Just a little. But he sees it, and his face changes, like he regrets it.
You shake your head. âYou win. Iâm mad. You got under my skin. Congratulations.â
âThatâs notââ He steps back, dragging both hands through his hair. âThatâs not what I want.â
âThen what do you want?â
He stares at you like heâs not sure if he should say it. Like the words are already halfway out of him and heâs trying to wrestle them back.
âI want you, okay?â he says, fast, furious, like itâs been building in him forever. âI want you to stop looking at me like you hate me. I want you to stop pretending Iâm nothing when every time you walk into a room, I fucking notice. I want you to stop being everywhere in my head all the goddamn time.â
You just stand there. His chest is rising and falling like heâs just run a mile. His hands clench at his sides. His eyes are wide, angry, desperate.
âI didnât mean for this to happen,â he goes on, voice rough. âI didnât want this. I didnât try to like you. But I do. And I hate it, and I hate you for making me feel like this when you clearly donât want me back.â
Silence drops over you like a trapdoor.
You feel like the floor just disappeared beneath your feet.
He drags a hand through his hair again, muttering under his breath, pacing away like he can undo it now, like if he walks fast enough it wonât have happened.
You donât know what to say. You donât know if you can.
Because he just said the one thing you never thought youâd hear.
He lets out a breath like heâs deflating. His hands fall from his hair, his posture finally caving under the weight of everything heâs been holding in. He turns without looking at you and sits down on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
You stand there for a second, frozen. Your heart is still pounding from the argument, your pulse too loud in your ears, but something about the way heâs sitting, shoulders hunched, jaw tight, eyes fixed anywhere but on you, cuts through the noise.
You shift your weight. Your arms are still crossed tightly over your chest, like youâre trying to hold yourself together, but you can feel the edges of your anger softening. Fraying.
Slowly, you cross the room. Not quite sure why. Not sure what youâre going to say. You just move.
And then youâre sitting down beside him.
Not touching. Not speaking.
Just there.
The silence stretches, but itâs different now. Less explosive, more fragile.
He exhales again, quieter this time. âI didnât mean to yell.â
You glance at him. âNeither did I.â
He nods, like thatâs all he expected. Then adds, even softer, âI didnât mean to call you a bitch, either.â
Thereâs a pause.
âI know,â you whisper.
Another beat of silence.
âI think I was trying to push you away,â he says, still not looking at you. âBecause I didnât know what the hell to do with how I felt.â
You donât answer.
He hasnât looked at you since he sat down. Heâs hunched forward a little, elbows on his knees, jaw clenched like heâs trying to hold something in. Or maybe hold something back.
You watch him for a second. The bounce of his leg. The way his fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans.
And even though your chest still feels tight, even though your heartâs still bruised from everything that just came out of both of you, you find yourself reaching.
Slowly. Carefully.
You place your hand over his.
He tenses at first. Doesnât move.
But he doesnât pull away either.
Your thumb brushes lightly over his knuckles. Itâs not much. Just a small, human thing. But something in him shifts. The tension in his shoulders starts to unravel.
âI didnât mean toâŠâ he starts, but trails off.
You donât make him finish. You donât need him to. The way his fingers curl gently under yours says enough.
âI know,â you say quietly.
He finally glances at you. Not fully. Just out of the corner of his eye. But itâs the first time youâve seen him soften like this. Really soften.
âI donât hate you,â you say, barely audible.
His breath catches a little, but he nods.
âI donât hate you either.â
You both sit with that. Let it settle.
Then, slowly, he turns his palm to face yours. Lets your fingers slide together, your grip firmer this time.
His thumb brushes yours. Tentative at first, then steadier. Neither of you looks away.
Itâs quiet again, but the kind that doesnât feel like itâs about to break. The kind that holds space for something new.
You feel the heat of him next to you, hear the subtle shift in his breath. He still wonât fully meet your eyes, but heâs not pulling back either. If anything, heâs leaning in, just barely. Enough to let you know heâs still here. Still with you.
You glance down at your joined hands.
âThis is so fucking confusing,â you murmur.
A breath of laughter escapes him, quiet and dry. âYou think Iâm not confused?â
Your lips twitch, despite everything. âYouâre always so confident. Like nothing gets to you.â
He exhales. âYou get to me.â
That pulls your gaze to his. His eyes are on you now, fully this time. And theyâre serious. Unflinching.
âIâm not good at this,â he admits. âWhatever this is.â
âI know,â you say. Your voice is soft again. Not bitter this time. Just honest.
He watches you like heâs memorizing your expression, like heâs afraid if he blinks too long, youâll change your mind. âBut I donât want to keep pretending like I donât care.â
You donât say anything.
Instead, you shift a little closer, your thigh brushing his. You squeeze his hand.
Thatâs all he needs. He lets out a slow breath, and some of the sharpness in his face fades.
âIâm still mad at you,â you say, but thereâs no bite in it.
âFair,â he says, a little smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Thereâs a soft knock on the door.
Then a jingle of keys.
Then Mattiâs voice, too casual to be innocent.
âYou guys done screaming at each other or should we wait another twenty minutes?â
You groan, not moving, forehead tipping forward to rest on your knee. HĂĄlfdĂĄn huffs a quiet laugh beside you.
The door clicks open.
Matti pokes his head in, eyes scanning the room, landing on the two of you still seated side by side on the bed. He blinks once. Then again. Then grins.
âHoly shit. Did you guys talk?â he says like he just witnessed a lunar eclipse.
Ălla pushes in behind him, her eyes darting between your faces. âAre we alive? No bruises?â
âNo blood,â HĂĄlfdĂĄn deadpans. âShocking, I know.â
You shoot him a sideways look, and he meets it with something small and warm. Not a smirk this time. Just soft.
Ăllaâs brow arches. She catches the hand still cradled in his, and her mouth pulls into a satisfied smile. âTold you it would work.â
Matti slaps her palm in a smug high-five.
You roll your eyes, but youâre not actually mad. Not really. Not anymore.
âYou locked us in.â
âYou needed it,â Ălla says without a hint of remorse. âWe were losing our minds watching you two walk around like emotionally constipated Sims.â
âShe texted me âI will end them,ââ Matti adds, pointing at Ălla. âAll caps.â
âYouâre lucky I donât end you now,â you mutter, standing slowly.
But you donât drop HĂĄlfdĂĄnâs hand right away.
And he doesnât let go.
He glances at you, and this time you donât look away. You just smile.
Matti groans loudly. âOh god. Theyâre cute now.â
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