Una probadita de tu conchita - Endless Summer fic
Three facts that are true: 1- In México, “concha” is a type of sweet bread covered in a crunchy topping, typically eaten during breakfast. 2- In Colombia, “concha” means pussy. 3- Varyyn is trying to learn Spanish. No problems whatsoever could arise from this.
Estela was a little jealous of how quickly the Vaanti learnt languages. It had only been a few months since Varyyn started learning Spanish and he could already communicate pretty well - sometimes the way he phrased things was a little awkward, but otherwise he had great grammar and perfect pronunciation. Estela was far from having any problems when it came to grasping other languages, but the remarkable ease the Vaanti as a species had was not something she thought any human could match.
It did work out in her favor, though. Because Varyyn was very eager to train Spanish as much as he could, and that meant that she got to speak Spanish when it was just the two or three of them, which was a relief.
Not that she struggled otherwise - her English was perfect, thank you very much. It was simply more comfortable that way. What did Diego tell her Varyyn had called it… “The language of his heart”. Speaking in Spanish made her settle into a conversation in the same way she settled into her own skin. It just felt right.
All of that is to say - even though they weren’t exactly close, she felt very at ease right then, talking to Varyyn in the kitchen as they prepared to make food for Diego. He had spent the week in California, visiting abuela Claudia and having some last-minute meetings that the editors insisted couldn’t be done remotely. He would be back in La Huerta in just a few hours, and Varyyn, the romantic that he was, wanted to welcome him with homemade food.
The problem, of course, was that Varyyn was not even particularly skilled at making Vaanti food, nevermind Mexican food. But since Estela was the only Catalyst at the island by then and she was well used to cooking for herself, she offered to help. Also, she had been to just about every country in Latin America, aiding in a revolution or another; she might not be an expert in Mexican cuisine, but she was probably the best help Varyyn could get.
(Well, except for Raj. And probably Milagros, who seemed to be able to draw infinite knowledge out of thin air. She still wondered how the hell Vaanu created him with the ability to drive a jet ski. But Milagros wasn’t there anymore and Raj was busy with his TV show, so Estela was the best realistic option.)
So in short - Estela was feeling very at ease, very confident in herself, peaceful even, maybe just a little sad, but mostly alright, when she calmly and unsuspectingly asked Varyyn what he was planning on making. A normal and predictable question that would, in an ideal world, lead to a normal and predictable conversation.
But there were few adjectives that applied less to La Huerta than “normal” and “predictable”, so naturally Varyyn responded by scratching his head and saying, “I was wondering if you knew how to make, ah…” he paused for a bit, as if trying to build the sentence in his head, “los Colombianos también tienen conchas?”
Do Colombian men also have pussies?
As Estela’s soul left her body, she contemplated her options. She would have been more than happy to stick with option one - set something on fire and stage an escape - but there was some merit to the idea that she could be mature and normal. She didn’t have many flammable items at her disposal, and it had been a pain for them to build this house for the Catalysts, anyway.
And anyway, apparently someone had to have this conversation with Varyyn, and better her than- actually, she couldn’t think of anyone worse to handle this conversation. Where was Michelle when you needed her? Estela was sure that she would have been able to handle this remarkably.
“No. I mean, yes. Well, some of them,” this was why she let Tío Nicolas handle the whole talking and motivating part of planning revolutions. “It’s not- okay, so did Diego explain to you what ‘trans’ and ‘cis’ mean?” Varyyn nodded, cocking his head curiously. “Okay, great. So, hm, there are trans and cis people all over the world, anywhere. It doesn’t really have anything to do with where they’re from. There are plenty of cis men in México, and plenty of trans men in Colombia. Diego just happens to be trans and Mexican.”
Varyyn looked at her in confusion. “And only trans men have conchas?” he asked, like he couldn’t wrap his head around the concept.
That… Was a question she didn’t see coming. What else did he think being trans was about? Maybe the Vaanti’s gender system has nothing to do with genitals. Maybe their genitals are completely different from those of a human. Maybe Estela doesn’t want to keep pursuing thoughts of Varyyn’s genitals. “Yes, only trans men.”
“I see,” Varyyn said, nodding thoughtfully. Estela was just about to pat herself in the back for how she handled this conversation. And then he added: “so you don’t have a concha, then?”
Why is this happening to me, Estela wondered. She didn’t believe in god or karma or anything like that, but she still believed that she never did anything so bad that she deserved this. Well, except for all the murder. But that was justified. If anything, surely she had already had her lifetime’s fill of psychological torture, what with her mother being killed and the entire summer of 2017. And yet, this was her terrible reality: standing there alone in a kitchen with Varyyn, being asked about her genitals, too shocked to do something like launch herself through the window and roll down the cliff and into the sea - anything but answering him.
“Uhm, that’s not- I mean, uh. Well I guess I, I do. I am a woman and… That is to say, cis women have them too,” she said, eloquently.
“You look red,” Varyyn noted.
“Yes. It’s the blood.”
Varyyn looked alarmed. “Blood? Where?”
“In my. Mind.” Estela shook her head. “Let’s start this over.”
“But you said there was blood!” Varyyn replies, frantically searching Estela for injuries.
“No. Well, I mean, yes. But that’s normal. We all have blood.”
Varyyn looked at Estela. Estela looked at Varyyn back. They both looked at each other.
“Anyway.” She continued, “I was just, uh, a little taken aback by your question. I mean, the Vaanti blush too, don’t they? Seraxa looked very purple during the whole ‘Grandma’ incident a while back. I thought she was on the verge of death or something, but then I remembered that red and blue equals purple,” she was kind of rambling by then, and suddenly she realized that she probably should change the topic of this conversation. “Anyway, we should get to baking. This is gonna take a few hours, and Diego is going to board the plane soon.”
As always, the mention of Diego successfully distracted Varyyn. “Yes. Of course,” he nodded.
For a few seconds, she thought there would be peace. She should’ve known that concept would remain as foreign as ever to her, because right after-
“Have you ever tried Diego’s concha?” Estela wondered if it was too late to convert back to Catholicism and ask god to come to her aid. Why did Varyyn keep coming back to this?
“I’m a lesbian,” she answered, because she really didn’t know how else to reply to this question.
Varyyn nodded, but he also frowned slightly. “I’m aware,” he replied, like that didn’t mean anything.
Estela just looked at him, stunned. Was Varyyn… Transphobic? That didn’t seem to make sense. She knew the Vaanti had a sex binary, of course, but they didn’t seem to particularly care about gender, and Diego had told her many times that it was a relief to see how no one cared about that. But maybe they didn’t care because they saw only sex. Maybe Varyyn still saw him differently.
“Diego is a man,” she said, her voice like steel.
“...Yes.” Varyyn was looking at her like she was fucking stupid, which was pretty unfair, considering he was the one who wasn’t making any sense.
“Lesbians… Are not attracted to men.”
“Diego has informed me of the human titles regarding one’s sexual preferences,” he even had the gall to act like he was confused.
“So why would you think I would do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” he shrugged, “Diego’s concha is delicious.”
I am dead and this is hell, she thought. That wasn’t true, of course. She wished she was dead. She wished for many things. She wished she had never learnt the Spanish language. A lifetime of cultural displacement would have been worth it if she didn’t get to experience this. She wished it was socially acceptable to shove her head into the sand to avoid awkward conversations. Actually, thinking about it, she didn’t really know how the Vaanti would see that. Maybe they would be perfectly fine with it. Maybe it was time someone put that to the test.
“You look troubled,” Varyyn observed.
God. How could she even begin to explain this to him? “We just, hm, don’t really talk about stuff like this,” she replied, rubbing the back of her neck, “it’s taboo. You know what taboo means, right?” Estela waited until Varyyn nodded. “Right. So it’s best if you don’t go around telling anyone about conchas, or-” she suddenly realized that she really didn’t want to say ‘verga’ to Varyyn, or in front of Varyyn, or within a hundred mile radius of Varyyn, or possibly to anyone ever, “-anything like that.”
Varyyn's eyes looked very wide. “Oh, really?” He said, his voice a bit too awed and vulnerable for this conversation, “I had no idea. It was the first thing Diego showed me.”
Slutshaming is bad, Estela reminded herself, but she really couldn't help but wonder how Diego managed to meet Varyyn pussy first. His clothes were a little torn when they rescued him but it was nothing that bad. Then again, she wasn't exactly checking for crotch tears.
“How taboo is it? You seem like close friends, so is that… Family only?”
She would assume he was doing this on purpose if it weren't for the absolutely wondrous look on his face. “Uh, you probably won't want to show that to your family either. It's more of an intimate partners thing,” seriously, did the Vaanti just show their junk to anybody? Estela thought she would have probably noticed that. Then again, Diego had a 6 months headstart to take the brunt of the cultural shock. Did he get them to cover their stuff before the rest of them were back? Because if so, Estela had a lot to thank him for. Maybe he would appreciate a fruit basket.
“Truly? Did he… Did he really trust me that much, even back then?”
The look on his face was so awed and sweet, Estela even felt her embarrassment ebbing away. As much as she didn't want to know the details of their sex life, the way this obviously meant a lot to Varyyn tugged at her heartstrings. Cultural shock could be awful sometimes, but the two of them always made it look wonderful.
“Well, I can't really speak for the circumstances, but- yes, I do think so. Especially considering that he's trans.”
Varyyn nodded. “If this is a sign of intimacy, I should see to getting Diego some as soon as possible.”
Why
was this happening to her?
“It's not… I mean, I don't think it's about the concha itself. More… The act,” she was pretty sure she'd never been this red before, “that is to say, I'm sure what you've been giving Diego is just as good.”
Varyyn cocked his head curiously, so, in a desperate attempt to avoid further questions, she made a vague gesture towards him that she hoped would convey that dicks were not lesser lovemaking appendages or… Something. Varyyn frowned, then turned towards the counter behind him, still full of ingredients, and she supposed that was at least enough to distract him, because he looked even more concentrated on finishing Diego's meal. He nodded.
“Well, I can see this subject is bothering you, so we shall speak of it no further,” suddenly, Estela understood, clear as day, why Diego fell in love with this man so fast. “Let's focus on what you're comfortable with instead. What kind of desserts do you usually make in Colombia?”
Bit of a non-sequitur, but okay. Desserts were fine, desserts were safe. Estela could work with that. Desserts certainly couldn’t lead to that kind of awkward conversation.
“Well, there’s a lot. Dulce de brevas, postre de natas, flan de coco, enyucada…” Varyyn nodded politely, but he kept glancing at the table, and suddenly she understood. “But I don’t think those will be very familiar to Diego. I was thinking we could make churros.” Not exactly Mexican per se, but popular enough in… All of Latin America, really, that she knew how to make them.
Besides, she was pretty sure Varyyn could give him raw rice and Diego would still be grateful. Emotional even. He was a big fan of single tears running down cheeks and stuff.
So she showed him the steps, and he only mildly fucked it up (a good portion of the first batch was nearly lost because he gripped the piping bag like he was trying to strangle a tiger), and they continued working on Diego’s meal - chilaquiles with frijoles refritos and huevo estallado, nothing fancy but good and simple enough that they have time to fix any mistakes they (Varyyn) might make.
It actually went smoothly.
Until Diego arrived.
Varyyn immediately dropped the last churro into the hot oil, nearly hitting Estela with the skin-melting droplets, and dashed towards the cabin door. “Diego!” he exclaimed in joy, as if he thought he was dead, or something.
Diego laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of reuniting with you.”
“Mhm,” Varyyn replied, sounding suspiciously like he had his face buried in Diego’s hair, “your editor meetings are very long.”
“You have no idea,” Diego sighed, finally making his way inside, before a wooshing sound made him yelp. “Oh, you really missed me, huh?”
“It’s not that. Although I did,” Estela could practically hear his smile, “it’s just, I was talking to Estela…”
“Estela?”
She emerged and waved. She did pride herself on her good entrance timing, and the churro had already been removed from the frying oil. “Hey, Guito.”
“Ohh, is that why it smells like food in here?” He grinned. “You know, as opposed to burning charcoal?”
Varyyn smiled slyly. “Estela has been a great help.” Then his face suddenly turned serious, “but that’s not what I wanted to say. Estela told me that conchas were something you only share with an intimate partner. I just… Thank you, Diego, for trusting me so much.” He sounded way too emotional for such a… Well, she'd have to think of qualifiers later, conversation.
Diego flushed in a way that would make Estela feel vindicated if he didn't look so pleased. “I mean… I never really thought of it that way. Is it for weddings in Colombia?”
Was Diego asking her if Colombians save themselves for after marriage? Did he think they were in the Middle Ages or something? “We're notthat old fashioned, Diego, Jesus.”
“Woah, okay, didn't think this was a sore spot,” he said, raising both hands as if Estela was about to put him in a headlock. “It's just not really like that in México? It's pretty casual. A breakfast thing, mostly.”
“A… Breakfast thing?” What in the actual hell was this conversation? Were Mexicans partial to morning sex? And if so, why must she learn about it?
“Yes?” Diego looked puzzled. “Why do you look so shocked? When exactly do Colombians eat conchas?”
“That's- we don't have a set time for it!” God, please, if you're real, smite me now.
God, once again, proved to not be real. “Alright then. Guess I'll avoid serving you conchas in the near future, just to be sure.”
Estela truly prayed that “serving conchas” meant the same thing in México that it did in English, because if not, then what the hell?
Actually, even in that context, what the hell?
“What the hell?”
“What?” Diego asked, looking like he was the one having a conversation that’s completely insane.
“I just, why is everyone so sure that I'd like to eat your-” God, she could feel the red crawling up her face, “just, yours, of all people?”
“Well, now I can't help but be offended. What's wrong with my-”
“Nothing! I mean, I wouldn't know! I don't want to know! You're handfasted to Varyyn anyway, why would you want me to eat your-”
“Again, it's seriously not that big of a deal for us. You can let anyone have your conchas, it's fine-”
“Diego, my love, I feel you're being culturally insensitive. This is clearly important to Colombians, maybe we should just let her be. More for us, anyway. And your other friends, if they're alright with that.”
What. “Are you guys looking for… Threesome partners?” Her voice sounded a bit squeaky.
“No?”
“What's a threesome?”, asked Varyyn.
“Don't worry about it,” the two of them said in worryingly perfect sync.
“Weird thing to proposition out of nowhere, Estela, Jesus. Like, no offense, but we're happy together. Also, I thought you were a lesbian?”
Estela endured years of training to withstand the worst kinds of conditions, which was the only thing keeping her from falling to her knees in agony. “That's what I've been saying!”
“Okay, I can't help but feel like we're having wildly different conversations. What's the deal with conchas in Colombia?”
“There’s no deal-”
“Then why are you being so weird about sweet bread?”
“What?”
“What?”
They stared at each other.
“I believe we are all lost,” Varyyn said solemnly.
“You know, conchas? Sweet bread with crunchy toppings, usually shaped like shells?”
“...Oh,” Estela said, feeling this moment brand itself into her brain to be revisited every time she tried to sleep for the next thousand years. “Oh, god,” she said, crouching and hugging her knees. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified. Varyyn and Diego weren’t asking her to have oral sex with him in the middle of the kitchen. They wanted to make sweet bread.
They were talking about pastries the whole time.
She buried her face in her knees and willed La Huerta to regain its time-messing properties to propel her to the past and keep this from ever happening, but the universe, as ever, didn’t listen. No gods, energies, or saints had ever come to her aid. She had nothing in this world but herself, and it was up to her to deal with this situation.
“Pussy,” she said, miserable.
“...What?” Diego looked like he was going insane.
“Concha,” she said, in English, gritting her teeth and willing herself to withstand the agonizing embarrassment, “means pussy. In Colombia.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Estela agreed.
“Oh, god.”
“Yeah,” Estela agreed.
Diego also slid into the floor and buried his face in his knees. Faint groaning could be heard from his general direction.
“So when Varyyn said he had my concha, you thought he meant-”
“Yeah.”
“And when I said you should try mine, you thought I meant-”
“Yeah.”
“And when-”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, my god.”
“I believe I’m still lost,” Varyyn said. “What’s a pussy?”
“Varyyn, no,” Diego exclaimed, making exact the same face he did when they found Varyyn in the Observatory, “it’s not too late for you. Save yourself.”
“Vagina,” Estela said immediately afterwards. “Pussy is a crass word for vagina.”
“Oh,” Varyyn said, suddenly turning purple. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Diego agreed.
“Oh,” Estela groaned.
They contemplated the truth of those words, each from their spot on the floor.
*
Varyyn eventually cleared his throat. “So, to be clear, there is nothing special about baking someone conchas? You were talking about making love?”
“Try to look less upset, we're literally married.”
“I was feeling very special,” Varyyn smirked.
“Yeah, I bet you were.”
Estela groaned, mostly to remind them that she was still there. The last thing she needed was to end up… witnessing… something again.
*
The world keeps spinning and waits for no one, and humans (and Vaanti) need to eat. So after making the two of them promise to not tell this to anyone else and double checking that Varyyn was not crossing his fingers, they marched to the table like warriors, intent on finishing the day on a positive note.
Estela was surprised to find that the conversation moved smoothly, mostly thanks to Diego’s unwavering talent at running his mouth, and Varyyn’s appreciation of it. As frustrating as editors' meetings were, he was very proud of his book, and the fact that he already knew it would be a bestseller didn’t hurt either. Estela wasn’t exactly familiarized with most of the media he talked about, but when he talked about it, she suddenly understood how magic stories could be. His excitement was contagious, his insights were unique, and the stories filled the room like they once filled his ever-so-lonely heart.
All of that is to say, Estela was feeling fine, recovered even, maybe still a little embarrassed, but mostly alright, when-
“Wait,” Varyyn said. “When you said that what I was giving Diego was just as good, you meant-”
Estela screamed.
