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honestsycrets · 10 months

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querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qué?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

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hurdygurdywizard · 1 year

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#black sails

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intoxicated-chan · 1 year

Note

Hey so I was wondering if you could do an Valeria x f reader where the reader goes to infiltrate the cartel instead of soap and the reader gets like scared and starts tearing up a lil bit yk?

Anyways thanks if you do it 🫶

Learn and Convince Me

♡o。.✿ฺ Paring // Valeria Garza x F!141!Reader

♡o。.✿ฺ Summary // With the rest of the men being too military, you went instead but what you hoped would be a walk in a park became a fear for your life.

♡o。.✿ฺ (A/n) // Thanks for requesting! Sorry for the errors in the Spanish translations… Yes I did use google translate, please don’t look at me like that. I decided to make this a bit longer since I feel like there wasn’t enough Valeria in it. I hope this is all to your liking and hope you enjoy it!

♡o。.✿ฺ Word Count // 3k

♡o。.✿ฺ Content Warnings // Female reader, violence, murder, profanity, blood, guns, drugs, death, horrible flirting, pet names (cariño, crybaby?), incorrect medical stuff…

“I’ll do it.”

Why the hell did you do it? Like Ghost said, make your presence known and show that you mean no harm. Like it was so easy for him… You peer from the car, with no radio in your ear and no weapon, fear became known when the guard caught sight of you. They shouted, guns aimed. One marched over and dragged you forward and pushed you down to your knees.

“¡¿Quien diablos eres tú?!” (Who the hell are you?!) Feeling the barrel of his gun pushing into your head, and arms held high.

“I’m (Y/n) (L/n).” You spoke, not even attempting to look up from the ground, “I have information that El Sin Nombre would like to hear, I can tell him who attacked them.” One guard stepped aside, speaking into his comms.

“Stand up.” He ordered.

Even with your pace, the other grabbed your arms while the other threw a bag over your head and roughly pushed you forward. You were lucky not to fall on your feet, but you continued your way blindly into the mansion of one of El Sin Nombre’s members.

You could hear whispers of others in the mansion, some in Spanish and some in english. All eyes were on you as two guards held their grip on you, leading you to the elevator. You were too focused on memorizing the path that the two left you alone and another was waiting for you.

Suddenly the bag was pulled off your head and you were faced with a man, “You’re alive.” Alejandro spoke, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Alejandro, thank god it’s you.”

“Listen…” He comes in closer, “Give them good intel, American PMCs, the Shadow Company, Mexican Special Forces, everything.”

“Even you?”

The elevator doors open before he can speak, Alejandro steps to the side to which you are greeted with a new face, Diego, “¿Es esta ella?” (Is this her?) The man asks Alejandro who nods, “¿Cómo se llama ella?” (What is her name?)

“...(Y/n).” You answer.

Diego laughs at the tone of your voice, “¿Trajiste una perra tímida?” (You brought a shy bitch?) It was difficult to tell if he was angry or not. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, “Listen here.” His breath reeks, he smells of gunpowder and men’s body spray, “You give me some good information or I’ll let my boys finally have some fun.” He laughs in your face, finally letting go of your shirt, “Get the fuck out of my elevator.”

Another man pushes you out of the elevator, seeing it close on Alejandro, “This is my house. That means you don’t meet the boss until I say so. You don’t speak unless spoken to. Y lo mas importante (And the most important thing) tell the who fucking truth.” Diego is brought to a halt when one of his men is sniffing cocaine, you don’t need to watch what’s gonna happen, all you need is the sound of Diego’s fist coming into contact with the man, and his shoe stomping on his face.

You open your eyes before Diego can see, “Las Almas is at war. You want to win? Don’t disobey.” The guard following you pushes you again, “That is how the organization survives, and that is why the boss is here tonight.” Diego brings you to a door.

“El Sin Nombre is here?”

“Heh, no... Sin Nombre’s personal sicaria is.” Diego opens the door as he and you enter the room. A woman and another guard with three soldiers tied to their chairs, one is struggling against the bag tied over his head, the other is alive and not harmed, but the third…

“Valeria, il y en a une de plus.” (Valeria, there’s one more.) Diego walks down the steps, leaving you standing there, “A gringa.” He stands next to Valeria who eyes you carefully.

“Come…” Valeria pushes the dead soldier off the chair, “Take a seat.” You’re slow to move down the steps, shaking, “We don’t bite, that’s unless you tell us something we don’t want to hear.” She warns, giving you a push of encouragement.

You sit in the chair, anxiety feeling your stomach as well as worry, was it the right choice to offer yourself up so quickly?

“¿Quién es?” (Who’s this?) Valeria asks Diego.

“Su nombre es (Y/n). Ella vino a nosotros.” (Her name is (Y/n). She came to us.)

Valeria walks behind Diego, “¿En serio? ¿Y la dejaste entrar?” (Really? And you let her in?)

“Ella dijo que tiene información-” (She said she has information-)

Valeria kicks Diego behind and brings him to his knees, then she takes her knife and holds it close to Diego’s face, “¡No la conocemos y ha visto caras!” (We don’t know her and she’s seen our faces!)

“Valeria, necesitamos la información. Ella podría ayudarnos.” (Valeria, we need the intel. She could help us.)

Valeria drags her knife across Diego’s face, “Ella debería o después de que la mate, estarás en la silla.” (She should, or after I kill her, you’ll be in the chair.)

Valeria releases Diego, who gets up and rubs his throat. Valeria unholsters her pistol and walks up to you. With a happy and kind smile spread across her face, she pats your leg when she comes in close.

“¡Niños y niñas! (Boys and girls!) This is simple. I ask questions. You answer truthfully. Do not lie to me.” knowing she meant Nunez, “Recently someone attacked us up in the mountains while we were protecting a friend... Who?” Now looking at Nunez.

Nunez shakes under her glare, “Era un caos... yo no-” (It was chaos… I didn’t-)He stammers before Valeria angrily cuts him off.

“¡En inglés!” (In english!) You could’ve swore you saw him jump the second he heard her shout.

“I-I think it was the Rivals Cartel.” Nunez finally comes up with his answer.

Valeria cocks her head to the side, then turns to you, “Your turn, cariño. Who attacked us?”

You feel your hands start to sweat, feeling your heart beat rapidly, “It… It wasn’t cartel.”

“Then who was it?” Valeria asks, coming in closer.

“...I-It was-” Suddenly you’re pistol whipped.

“¡¿Podrías responder más lenta?!” (Could you answer any slower?!) Valeria growls growing frustrated, “Who attacked us? Or do I need to beat the answer out of you?”

Your vision went hazy for a second before focusing. Your head sting, letting out a hiss which made Valeria more irritated.

She again pistol whips you, “Answer me!”

“Valeria!” Diego shouts, “We need her alive.”

You hear her scoff as a warm feeling falls down your face and onto your lap. You’re beginning to bleed, “I’ll ask one more time, who attacked us?”

“It was Mexican Special Forces.” You finally speak, giving her a satisfying answer. She backs off and you let out a soft groan.

“We found the bodies… Fuerzas Especiales.” She smirks. She now looks back at Nunez, “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?”

“M-Maybe she was there!” Nunez said.

“Tú también estabas allí, imbécil. Tal vez ella también…” (You were there, asshole. Maybe she was too…) Diego offered Valeria another question.

“Were you there?” Valeria asks, her grip tightening around her pistol.

“I-I was.” You spoke before she could even lift her arm threateningly.

“Looks like you’re learning.” Valeria comments, “So then, there were outsiders helping the Mexican Special Forces… Who were they?” Asking another.

“W-We heard them yelling, some in English. They were with the-”

“Enough.” Valeria ordered, “Your turn.” Now looking at you, again her grip tightens on her pistol.

“Shadow Company, private military companies.” You tell her, feeling more of your blood.

Valeria takes a few steps back and confers with Diego, “Los vaqueros están trabajando con mercenarios…” (Los Vaqueros are working with Mercenaries…)

“Esas malditas serpientes.” (Those damn snakes.)

“¡¿Verás?! ¡Yo tenía razón!” (You see?! I was right!)

Valeria scoffs and comes back to her original place, “Can you even prove this ‘Shadow Company’ even exists?” She asks Nunez whose face shows fear.

“H-How can I prove this…?”

She turns to you, “What about you cariño? What proof do you have?” Again ready to whip you.

“My pocket. Left.” You feel her left hand pull the patch out of your pocket.

Valeria hums, observing the insignia, “How did you get this cariño? Come on.”

“Off one of the dead Shadow.” You lie.

“I’ve told you before that I do not like lying.” Valeria hands the insignia to Diego, she comes in closer than she was before, “I’ll give you one more chance, who?” You feel the cold serrated steel against your neck, slowly pressing into your skin, burning…

“I-It was given to me!”

Valeria sighs loudly, dramatically, “You were doing so good.” Shaking her head, pulling the knife back. But she doesn’t move, still too close, “Now, who leads this Shadow Company? Give me a name.”

“Phillip Graves.”

“And is he the one who gave you the proof?”

“...Yes.”

Valeria moves back, “See? That wasn’t that hard.”

“Fill Graves… Me gustan.” (Fill Graves. I like that.) Diego smirks.

“This man… Graves… What does he want?”

“He wants the Iranian you’re protecting, Hassan.”

“¿Cómo sabes eso?” (How do you know that?) Diego asks, getting in Valeria’s way and now the one in your face, “Answer me! How the fuck do you know?!”

You choked on your words, trying to come up with a reason that’ll not blow your cover. But you couldn’t find any, you shook under his glare, his voice scared the ever lasting shit out of you.

Diego is pushed back, “¡Bastardo! No te atrevas a interponerte en mi camino.” (Bastard! Don’t you dare get in my way.) Valeria warns him, she then looks at you, “But like he said, how do you know?” Valeria spoke in a more softer tone but you knew the venom behind it as she was filled with it.

“I-I… um…” You couldn’t say it, you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t risk blowing not only your cover but Alejandro who was still somewhere in the penthouse. Your eyes begin to water as you panic, “I…”

“What? You what?” Valeria asks, “Don’t you lie.” She warns.

You’re tearing up and now head hanging low, you say, “...I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” You don’t respond but you shake your head, refusing to answer. Valeria grabs your hair and pulls your head up, she sees you beginning to tear up, “Oh, now you’re gonna cry? Like a little crybaby.” She growls, she releases your hair, “Go on, cry!”

“¡No puedes confiar en ella, no puedes! ¡Te lo estoy diciendo!” (You can’t trust her, you can’t! I'm telling you!) Nunez shouts.

“¡No nos ha dicho nada!” (You haven’t told us anything!) Valeria retorts, looking at Diego.

“Te pagamos bien, y este llorón sabe más que tú.” (We pay you well, and this crybaby knows more than you.) Diego comes around as Valeria holsters her pistol.

“Es hora de matar a este inútil hijo de puta.” (It’s time to kill this worthless son of a bitch.)

“Con mucho gusto Valeria.” (With pleasure, Valeria.)

Nunez is next to beg and begin to cry, sobbing on his words, he shuts his eyes as he could hear the sound of Diego’s gun before the sound of the gun going off makes you jolt and turn away. Diego comes back to Valeria’s side who is just staring at you.

“Mira a este llorón.” (Look at this crybaby.) Valeria snickers with Diego, “But I do love the ones that cry.” She comes back again, taking your chin into her hand, titling your head to look at her, “I’ll let it slide… For now.”

Again, Valeria unsheathes her knife, and cuts on the zip tie off, “You’re bleeding all over the place, get this llorona fixed up, I’ll have your head if she dies.” Valeria walks out of the room.

“To be clear we are not done with you.” As you walk towards the open door, you take one final glimpse at Nunez’s body, “¡Vamos, llorona! (Come on, crybaby!) We don’t have all day.”

You follow back into the elevator with Diego and you see Valeria waiting, you’re pushed again inside. You feel cornered, maybe because you are cornered, feeling so small and helpless…

It wasn’t long before Diego’s inside, swiping his keycard on the sensor before pushing the three buttons on the elevator wall, “Los Vaqueros se están moviendo rápido.” (Los Vaqueros are moving fast.)

“When can I talk to him?” You ask, quickly regretting your choice of words.

“Valeria is going to speak with the boss, now. You will wait with the others.” Diego tells you.

“I have a feeling El Sin Nombre will be very interested in talking to you.” The elevator doors open to outside where another guard is there waiting, “Fix her up and keep a close eye on her, I have a feeling she’ll try something.” Valeria orders.

“Sí, señora.” (Yes, ma’am.) The guard has a tight grip on your arm, pushing you up against the glass, ready to pat you down.

Alejandro appears, “Lo tengo. Te necesitan afuera.” (I got it. They need you outside.)

“Bueno. Dale una máscara y obsérvala. Haz algo con el sangrado también.” (Okay. Give her a mask and watch her. Do something with the bleeding too.)

Alejandro begins to pat you down until the guard is no longer in view, “¿Qué mierda te hicieron? (What the fuck did they do to you?) He brings you into one of the bathrooms, sitting you down on the toilet.

“Valeria. Pistol. Head.”

“She pistol whipped you?”

“Two times.”

“Two times?”

“Or was it three?”

“Fuck.” Alejandro curses, “Ghost, we have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“(Y/n) my have a concussion, and it looks like a bad one.” Alejandro holds your arm to keep you upright.

“Bloody hell, they must have a good arm. Soap get in there.”

“What about (Y/n)?”

“I’ll leave (Y/n) here, you’ll be taking her place.” Soap appears suddenly, nearly scaring Alejandro.

“El Sin Nombre is on the third floor.”

“We’ll be back.” Alejandro hands you a pistol, “Let’s go Soap.” Handing the mask to Soap, “Comms are hooked in.”

“We’ll need a keycard.”

“Diego has it.” You tell them.

“Just don’t sleep.” Soap warns before following Alejandro out and turning off the lights. You hid from view and from the door, anyone could walk in and that’s what scared you the most. Your head felt heavy and your eyes were ready to shut, it was a struggle to stay awake in a quiet environment.

But you were jolted awake by shouting outside, “¡¿Dónde diablos está ella?!” (Where the hell is she?!) It wasn’t just any guard, Diego… He was marching through the halls of his penthouse looking for you.

“¡Se suponía que debías vigilarla!” (You were supposed to watch her!)

“¡Me dijeron que me necesitabas afuera y cuando regresé ya no estaba!” (They told me you need me outside and when I came back it was gone!) The guard tried explaining, obviously scared.

“¡¿Qué tan estúpido eres?!” (How stupid are you?!)

His voice became louder and louder, and stopped at the bathroom you were in, “¡Lo siento señor! Te prometo que la encontraré.” (I’m sorry sir! I promise I will find her.)

“Será mejor porque él te despellejará vivo.” (You better because he'll skin you alive.) The doors are slammed open, scanning through the room. Did you forget to say that you shoved yourself into the cabinet under the sink, a tiny movement would make a sound but your pistol was aimed right at the doors.

“Señor, Valeria lo está buscando.” (Sir, Valeria is looking for you.)

“Bueno.” (Alright.) He walks away with the guard.

The instant relief washed over and you quickly relaxed, but your eyes were too heavy to stop them from closing on you. All you heard was you dropping your pistol and a thud of your head lightly hitting the cabinet, falling asleep.

“How’s the damage?”

“She received a head injury which caused the bleeding and considering she was hit twice, there was no internal bleeding, only external. We have her hooked up to an IV and she may receive additional transfusions later. I recommend that she physically and mentally rest to recover.”

“For how long?”

“At least two days, limit activities that require thinking and mental concentration.”

“That means she’ll be put on bed rest?”

“Yes.”

How many hours passed since that conversation you overheard. You sneaked out of your room late at night and headed towards one of the buildings, where you found a shipment container. Slowly you opened the door and found Valeria leaned up against the wall.

“I see you’re still walking.”

“And you’re still talking.”

“When I say I’m surprised, I am. I didn’t think you had the nerve to sneak into the penthouse and lie to me. It explains everything.” Valeria now stands.

“Then you understand how I was able to get the insignia for the Shadow Company. I offered myself to get in and Graves gave me the proof I needed.”

“Come on, cariño. Talking to me like I’m a criminal.”

You scoff, “Because you are a criminal, hoarding a terrorist while a narco. You think it’s good for business and I say you are just digging your own grave.”

“You dug yours the second you stepped foot on my grounds.” Valeria gets in your face, “This isn’t what’s good for you cariño. I know it, Alejandro knows it, hell I think that gringo knows it too.”

“I can’t wait to watch you burn.”

“You’ll be burning with me, cariño.” Valeria laughs, “We’ll burn the world together, I can be very convincing.”

“...Then convince me, I don’t have all night.”

#x reader #x female reader #cod mw #cod mw22 #cod alejandro #cod modern warfare #cod valeria #ghost cod #cod ghost #soap cod #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza #valeria x reader #cod x you #cod x reader #cod x y/n

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napoleonic-sexyman-tournament · 2 months

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Compañeros, hermanos, amigos escuchen y regocíjense.

Europa está en caos, el imperio español se está derrumbando, Portugal continúa perdiendo influencia y Francia pelea en demasiados frentes, es hora de unir nuestras fuerzas, nuestros pueblos pelearán por la libertad, por la justicia ¡Por América!

No sólo derrotaremos a los gachupines, portugueses y franceses en el campo de batalla ¡También nos veremos mejor que ellos mientras lo hacemos!

Esta encuesta determinará quién de todas estas sensuales personas latinoamericanas será la que opacará más a los europeos, a la que más gente le encantaría tener en su cama por una noche ¡El mas grande ejemplo de exquisitez latinoamericana!

¿Quieres nominar a alguien para tan aclamado premio? Puedes hacerlo aquí

Reglas:

1. Puedes nominar a todas las personas que quieras, el formulario no tiene un límite

2. Animamos a que manden propaganda (en inglés o español o portugués)

3. Sexy man/hombre sexy es un término sin género, todos, todas y todes son bienvenidos.

4. Serán juzgados en base de las edades que tenían durante las guerras por la independencia y los admins se esforzarán para encontrar los retratos apropiados.

Eng:

Comrades, brothers, friends listen and rejoice.

Europe is in chaos, the Spanish empire is collapsing, Portugal continues to lose influence, and France is fighting on too many fronts. It is time to join forces, our people fight for liberty and for justice. For America!

We will not only defeat the gachupines, the Portuguese and the French on the battlefield. We will also do it while looking better than them!

This contest will determine who among these sexy Latin Americans outshines the Europeans the most, who most people would invite to their bed for a night. The best example of the exquisiteness of Latin America!

Do you want to nominate someone for such an honor? Nominate them here.

Rules:

You can nominate as many people as you want. The form does not have a limit.

Propaganda is encouraged (in English or Spanish or Portuguese)

Sexyman is a gender neutral term.

They will be judged based on the age they were during the wars for independence and the admins will try their best to find appropriate portraits.

La lista hasta ahora/The existing list is here:

Virreinato de Nueva España

México:

1. Agustin de Iturbide

2. Leona Vicario

3. Juan Aldama

4. José Maria Morelos y Pavón x3

5. Vicente Guerrero x2

6. Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna

Virreinato del Nuevo Reino de Granada:

Colombia:

7. Antonio Nariño x3

8. Antonio Morales Galavís

9. Policarpa Salavarrieta x2

10. Francisco de Paula Santander x 2

Venezula:

13. Simón Bolívar x2

14. José Antonio Paez

Virreinato del Perú:

Perú

11. Manuela Sáenz de Vergara y Aizpuru

12. Micaela Bastidas

Ecuador:

15. Manuela a.k.a Manuelita Saenz x4

Bolivia:

16. Antonio José de Sucre x 2

17. María Ana Carcelén de Guevara y Larrea-Zurbano

Chile:

21. Manuel Javier Rodríguez y Erdoíza

22. José Miguel Carrera Verdugo

Virreinato del Río de la Plata:

Argentina:

18. Manuel Belgrano

19. José de San Martín x 3

20. Martín Miguel de Güemes

Uruguay:

23. Manuel Ceferino Oribe y Viana

24. Juan Antonio Lavalleja

25. José Fructuoso Rivera y Toscan

Haití:

26. Toussaint L’Ouverture

Brasil/The Empire of Brazil:

27. Joaquim Pires de Carvalho e Albuquerque

28. Maria Quitéria de Jesus x2

29. Joaquim Gonçalves Ledo

30. Maria Leopoldina

31. Pedro I

32. Hipólito José da Costa Pereira Furtado de Mendonça

33. José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva

34.Francisco Gomes da Silva

35. Domitila de Castro Canto e Melo, Marquesa de Santos

#latam independence sexyman

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kemetic-dreams · 6 months

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1938 - PAULINE JOHNSON and FELICE BOUDREAUX, sisters, were once slaves on the plantation of Dermat Martine, near Opelousas, Louisiana. As their owners were French, they are more inclined to use a Creole patois than English.

"Us was both slaves on de old plantation close to Opelousas," Pauline began. As the elder of the two sisters she carried most of the conversation, although often referring to Felice before making positive statements.

"I was 12 year old when freedom come and Felice was 'bout six. Us belonged to Massa Dermat Martine and the missy's name Mimi. They raise us both in the house and they love us so they spoil us. I never will forget that. The little white chillen was younger than me, 'bout Felice's age. They sho' had pretty li'l curly black hair.

"Us didn't have hard time. Never even knowed hard time. That old massa, he what you call a good man.

"Us daddy was Renee and he work in the field. The old massa give him a mud and log house and a plot of ground for he own. The rain sho' never get in that log house, it so tight. The furniture was homemake, but my daddy make it good and stout.

"Us daddy he work de ground he own on Sunday and sold the things to buy us shoes to put on us feet and clothes. The white folks didn't give us clothes but they let him have all the money he made in his own plot to get them.

"Us mama name Marguerite and she a field hand, too, so us chillen growed up in the white folks house mostly. 'Fore Felice get big enough to leave I stay in the big house and take care of her.

"One day us papa fall sick in the bed, just 'fore freedom, and he kep' callin' for the priest. Old massa call the priest and just 'fore us papa die the priest marry him and my mama. 'fore dat they just married by the massa's word.

"Felice and me, us have two brothers what was born and die in slavery, and one sister still livin' in Bolivar now. Us three uncles, Bruno and Pophrey and Zaphrey, they goes to the war. Them three dies too young. The Yankees stole them and make them boys fight for them.

"I never done much work but wash the dishes. They wasn't poor people and they uses good dishes. The missy real particular 'bout us shinin' them dishes nice, and the silver spoons and knives, too.

"Them white people was good Christian people and they christen us both in the old brick Catholic church in Opelousas. They done torn it down now. Missy give me pretty dress to get christen in. My godmother, she Mileen Nesaseau, but I call her 'Miran'. My godfather called 'Paran.'

"On Sunday mornin' us fix our dress and hair and go up to the missy's looking-glass to see if us pretty enough go to church. Us goes to Mass every Sunday mornin' and church holiday, and when the cullud folks sick massa send for the priest same's for the white folks.

"We wears them things on the strings round the neck for the good of the heart. They's nutmeg.

"The plantation was a big, grand place and they have lots of orange trees. The slaves pick them oranges and pack then down on the barrel with la mosse (Spanish moss) to keep them. They was plenty pecans and figs, too.

"In slavery time most everybody round Opelousas talk Creole. That make the words hard to come sometime. Us both talk that better way than English.

"Durin' the war, it were a sight. Every mornin' Capt. Jenerette Bank and he men go a hoss-back drillin' in the pasture and then have drill on foot. A white lady take all us chillen to the drill ground every mornin'. Us take the lunch food in the basket and stay till they done drill out.

"I can sing for you the song they used to sing:

"O, de Yankee come to put de nigger free,

Says I, says I, pas bonne;

In eighteen-sixty-three,

De Yankee get out they gun and say,

Hurrah! Let's put on the ball.

"When war over none the slaves wants leave the plantation. My mama and us chillen stays on till old massa and missy dies, and then goes live on the old Repridim place for a time.

"Both us get marry in that Catholic church in Opelousas. As for me, it most too long ago to talk about. His name Alfred Johnson and he dead 12 years. Our youngest boy, John, go to the World War. Two my nephews die in that war and one nephew can't walk now from that war.

"Felice marry Joseph Boudreaux and when he die she come here to stay with me. There's more hard time now than in the old day for us, but I hope things get better.

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #afrakans #brown skin #slaves #slave pic #alfred johnson #new orleans #catholic church #PAULINE JOHNSON #FELICE BOUDREAUX

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rosequart · 1 year

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animation is cinema: a primer

there's been recent discussion about animation and how it should be treated as "real" cinema and "real" art for all ages—which is true! but these social media conversations typically only touch on already popular animated films in the U.S.

i've briefly listed what i consider the best international animated films of the past 10 years as a "primer" for people who want to get into more animated movies around the world, beyond well-known directors like miyazki and moore.

there's enough variety in art direction and plot that there's something for everyone: family friendly, war dramas, romantic comedies, horror. anyone is free to add their own recommendations in the reblogs. movies are good! watch them!

boy and the world (o menino e o mundo, 2013)

adventure/family. a boy leaves his small brazilian village and discovers the industrialized city. uses collage alongside traditional animation to tell a story about globalization and capitalism that children can understand. PG.

flee (flugt, 2021)

documentary. follows a boy's escape from afghanistan to denmark, incorporating archival film footage of the time. balances the realities of war and immigration with pockets of levity and warmth. PG-13: warnings for war, human trafficking, implied sexual violence.

josep (2020)

history/drama. a dying military policeman remembers his encounter with catalan artist josep bartolí in a french concentration camp after the spanish civil war. changes art styles depending on the time period. not rated: warnings for war, sexual violence.

loving vincent (2017)

history/drama/mystery. a man retraces vincent van gogh's steps before his death. some truly beautiful art direction, each frame an oil painting. PG-13.

marona's fantastic tale (l'extraordinaire voyage de marona, 2019)

drama/family. follows the life of a little dog and the various people she meets. an eclectic and mesmerizing animation style, paired with a great original score. not rated: warning for animal death.

night is short, walk on girl (夜は短し歩けよ乙女, 2017)

comedy/romance. a college sophomore goes on a series of surreal encounters with the local nightlife, all the while unaware of the romantic longings of her classmate. a unique, simple art style that gets increasingly surreal as the story progresses. PG-13.

the tale of the princess kaguya (かぐや姫の物語, 2013)

drama/historical fantasy. based on the 9th century folktale where an old bamboo cutter discovers a little girl in a stalk of bamboo. beautiful use of watercolor, limited backgrounds, and simple ink strokes to complement a devastating story. PG.

the wolf house (la casa lobo, 2018)

horror/fantasy. a young woman takes refuge in a house in southern chile after escaping from colonia dignidad. surreal use of stop-motion animation that utilizes an entire house: painted walls, moving furniture, paper mâché, and more. not rated: warnings for body horror, general horror elements.

#animation #animated film #world cinema #animation is for everyone #long post

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heidiamalia · 1 month

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2 + 17 for the fic ask meme :)

okay so for some reason as tumblr does i guess i just never got notified you sent me something for this AHH

okay here goes -

2/ a fic you’ve re-read several times

oooooh gosh gotta run it back to my og's like an honorable mention because this one was one of those core memories, but beyond this point the series itself is just ash in my mouth.

the fallout by everythursday

Hermione learns about growing up through the redemption of Draco Malfoy.

i was lucky to download it when we still had access to the sacred texts [rip H&V] - but i'm sure ao3's got some orphan account with the numbers out there if ever the interest arose.

313k of war and smut and figuring shit out and it absolutely changed my life.

as a bonus to this question because now i feel bad its not a solid rec -

His Name is Stede - mercess [@spaceshipkat]

Ed never planned to see Stede Bonnet again, but after he learns Stede has been captured and is on his way to a short drop and a sudden stop, Ed declares no one gets to kill Stede but Ed himself. If that doesn't go as planned, well, Stede is far more wily than many give him credit for.

Or perhaps Ed is just a lying liar who lies.

-----

Ed’s breath caught, like a fist closing around his throat, at the sight of Stede there in the brig, wringing his hands and squinting through the shadows. He looked tired and weak, more like the sickly version of himself Ed had first met after he was cut free of the noose aboard the Spanish ship.

Most unfairly of all, he was still the most beautiful man Ed had ever seen.

if ever at all i can convince a person to witness [or endure, i know who you are, no pressure] this show, this would be the fic to have you be like whoah, okay, maybe. a post-s1 where i gasped when appropriate and shouted when i probably shouldnt have [3am rereads, i mean, yeah.] - reading this one with my heart in my hands gained me a deeply wonderful new friend along with it.

17/ a fic you wish you could read again for the first time

ughhhhh kastle fanfic writers are no fucking J O K E. we knew this.

what is left but a broken man - idekman

He's surprised by the amount of flowers at her grave.

He shouldn't be, really. Although Karen didn't have friends - or at least, not many. Murdock. Nelson. Ellison. And he was her boss before anything else.

He'd thought they'd been friends, too.

I kissed her, he thinks, a little desperately. It had just been on the cheek but he had hesitated, stayed there for a moment with that heat and that floral warmth that somehow radiated from her even in the chill air, and that had meant something. He thought it had. He had thought that, perhaps, she understood – understood that he couldn’t give her everything he wanted to, that he wasn’t ready, but that maybe some day he could be. That if he could ever have an after, he would have –

The thought is too painful to finish.

Karen Page is dead. Frank goes looking for her anyway.

i went into this one feeling like my heart was gonna be broken the whole fucking time but fuuuuuuck.

being able to walk with frank as we saw him discover karen in georgetown, in fagan corners, in his HEART! oh gosh i remember hitting this link and d e v o u r i n g this deep, sharp claw in to my chest with a grateful feeling.

ask me about the fic rec meme!

#heidi answers #it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined #ask games #fic recs #dramione #our flag means death #kastle

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debussyandbooks · 3 months

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16 Sha'bān 1445 \\ 29 february 2024

🇪🇦 B O O K R E V I E W I S H 🇪🇦

yesterday at my library i finished reading george orwell's homage to catalonia.

it was precious and interesting reading how this british man who to me is only known as an author, and an author that is famous for his critique of communism, volunteered and fought in the spanish civil war on the side of marxists. certain parts of the book were straight out funny to read, orwell comes across as a humorous person, and other parts were rather dragged out, about as boring and eventless as i imagine positional war must have felt. i don't feel enticed to rating it higher than 4/10 even if i'm glad to have read it.

#debussyandbooks #book review #bookblr #books #books & libraries #book photography #booklr #george orwell

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starlightbooklove · 4 months

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Ok lets keep going.

Episode 4.

He was so confused with Poseidon saving Percy LMAO, i had to explain him. He was telling me that HE CAN BREATH UNDERWATER and i had to tell them that he didn't know that and he was like BUT HE CAN RIGHT??

He said that the chimera looked like a dog I thought he was referring to before he transformed but he told me no, even transformed he looked like one I asked him since when do dogs have horns lmao

Episode 5.

He really liked the scene of the ride of love

I think it helped him to understand more about the gods things.

He was on the edge with the scene of the chair, again he mentioned Percy's powers

Like HE CAN SAVE HER RIGHT

He was so confused about who Ares was

I told him that he was the god of war and he asked me if he liked to fight

I was like yees, but no at the same time, he creates wars, he went *impressed Pikachu face*

Episode 6

Him: Who's him?

Me: Hermes.

Him: what does he do

Me: dude we literally saw him like two episodes ago, he delivered medusa's head.

Him: aaaa

Wait why are they forgetting? I explained him

He repeated like three times if they forgot anything And I told him yes but that Grover was the one who forgot the most. I had to remind him who Pan was because he completely ignored the chatter on the train.

Episode 7.

He's commenting everything, he's all in now.

Got half scared, half excited for the dog.

He was asking a lot bout the underworld cause he was wondering if it was hell, lol

Also i explained him who was hades

The biggest wtf face when they found the lighting

He was much more confused when the shoes tried to drag him to Tartarus

Why is his mom there?

My sweet child pay attention

Ooooh it was Kronos. He keeps calling Ares, Percy's cousin lmao

OMG they're gonna fight.

Episode 8. (Definetly My favorite reactions of all of the episodes).

OMG THE OCEAN

Is that his house??

He literally remembered Alecto's name as a "teacher" in the first episode that her actual name btw

Him: Why the necklace?

Me: Because it is a lucky necklace

Him: Can you buy a lucky necklace? I had to explain that to him that that's not how it works, he was not very convinced.

What is a forbidden child? OMG 😭

What is Zeus doing on a fliping stone throne? L M A O i fucking died (He said it with such a sass)

Oooh that's his dad right? Why does he say he gives up?

Why are they speaking in English? (we watched the series in Spanish)

Me: that's not english hun.

He's back, to the tree, wait they Made it?? That means he gets the glory right??

Has a theory: the man in Black that has the light and is in his dreams is the thief, and that's his cousin!! (LMAOOO I don't know what made me laugh more, how wrong he was or that he kept calling Ares cousin)

I was like sure Jan.

His mouth went full Open with the revelation of the thief He even laughed at himself for his big mistake about who the thief was.

In shock the whole fight and when Annabeth showed up.

In the last dream of the episode he was half confused but he said ''finally'' when the figure appeared Because he could finally see it properly and he said it was scary

Post credits scene.

As soon as he saw the box he said that's where the head was and he laughed when Gabe turned to stone.

Latest impressions

I asked him what he thinks and he excitedly told me that he loved it and that it was super exciting and good I asked him if he wanted to be like Percy and he told me something like that, without the monsters but with the lightning and the sword hehe

Yes he finished it in less than a day lmao

Proud to introduce him to this, hope that one day he gets to watch the complete adapted series or likes to read so he can read it 🥹

#little brother #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #percy pjo #pjo thoughts #pjo season 1 #pjo tv show #pjo tv series #pjo tv spoilers

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rosesandalfazemas · 1 year

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This is the intro of my longest fic this year and I'm publishing for this amazing week~. The cover is a drawing I prepared before but the story sees the light now~. Hope you like it and Happy EngPort Week!

Spanish version here.

Thanks to the amazing @imdedlikeu for helping me with the translation~

Day 1 (May 8th) ~ Surprise/Gift @engportevents

1 . O presente

At some point in human history, that had seemed an excellent idea; especially considering he had never been able to really see himself as he was, except at the beginning of time, through blurry reflections of lagoons and rivers.

Now, he wasn’t so sure nor happy with the image the mirror reflected.

“Querido, are you okay?”

The voice on the other side of the door, along with the gentle tapping of knuckles against wood, snapped him back to reality. The last couple of nights he was restless; a sensation he hadn’t felt for centuries, when wars awaited him at dawn, or when he’d embark on conquests at sea. The knots in his belly felt just the same.

“Yes, darling. I’ll be out.”

England rolled down the cuffed sleeves of his shirt, slipped into his coat and buttoned it up. He smoothed his hair, and walked out only to face a confused Portugal, who watched him expectantly.

“It’s been half an hour since you stepped into the bathroom, is everything okay?”

“Gabe, you know I like making myself desired“ he half-smiled, dispelling the worry from his own eyes - the other one could read him too easily.

“Are you playing at not telling me? Okay.” He asked with an arched eyebrow. Resigned, he stood with his hands at his waist. “We have some things to do.”

“Of course.” the blonde agreed automatically, he quickened his pace, moving forward.

Their masks slid on as they took a turn around the corridor, they walked side-by-side, a calmness that only kings seemed to own. Smiling with kindness and exquisite courtesy to those present; mortals of both nations working on the celebration of the Anglo-Portuguese alliance.

Many brave folks walked up to meet them and shake their hands; their first time they saw them under the Secret of the State; others were relieved they were there supervising everything, even if it seemed like a trivial tour.

“We’d like for you to see the preliminary inventory senhor Dos Anjos” a woman said speaking in Portuguese and holding a tablet, thin like a lectern.

“The celebration will the whole week with an event per day, Lord Kirkland.'' another man commented to the blonde, showing him on a cellphone with the chosen locations. He was unable to hide his excitement at being able to speak to his Fatherland.

It was a busy month, adding more work to what they usually had as nations. Eternal labor like themselves, navigating between mortal generations; meanwhile, those who show their support for what they were, at the same time, linked the countries together.

It was strange how the universe worked.

The british slowly began to drift from reality; on the one hand, while his consciousness was able to answer with his voice and mouth, registering what was being said to him, the shine in his eyes indicated he was looking at something else, within himself. Movement that the country at his side didn't miss.

“If you’ll excuse us, we must continue with our day,” the Portuguese said in perfect english. “Everything we’ve seen is perfect for us, so please continue as you have. Shall we, Arthur?”

“Of course, Gabriel,” his companion answered following his lead, “Later I will go over the details of the Tower of London. Proceed.”

“Yes, sir.” The small group answered, happy with the partial approval of Kirkland.

Taking it as a sign, the Lusitanian took the other’s arm and took him to one of the private offices he owned at the Portuguese Embassy, those where they met most frequently in London. The Anglo closed the door, leaning against it.

“Please, marido, tell me what’s going on. You’ve been lost all morning.”

Arthur walked quietly towards the other’s desk, sitting on the edge to better look at him.

“I apologize, I know I’ve been out of sorts.”

“Is there something wrong with one of your facets?” Portugal asks, wanting to make sure. “They seem to appear on days like these.”

“No, nothing like that. Everything is alright.” He answers calmly, making the other raise an eyebrow.

“Then?”

“Well… I was wondering, what sort of gift a husband gives on a six-hundred-and-fiftieth wedding anniversary?”

The Lusitaian’s eyes widened, and he laughed.

“All the zoning out and dramatic silence, because of this?” he walked towards him, calmer.

“It’s not just anything…” he defends himself with a childish pout, his cheeks puffed. Gabriel nods, getting closer and adjusting the blonde’s bangs.

“Of course it’s not, amor. But you behaved in a manner that made it much more serious.”

“It is serious. I don't know what to give you.” The brunette smiles more.

“We’ve celebrated many anniversaries at odds or upset with each other; sometimes even with an oceans distance between us.” He lovingly kissed his forehead “You know I’m happily content with your undivided attention and company alone. The privacy of intimacy is something that becomes more and more expensive in these times, especially between us.” He traces the other’s face with his finger, “A nice dinner, some wine, walking hand-in-hand alongside the beach and sailing at night…”

“Of course we’ll do that.” Arthur agreed, serious. “However-“

“It’s not enough.” The other finished. The blonde only nods. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, looking at him, unblinkingly, his eyes shine intensely. “Every fiber in my body is telling me this year we should do something more.”

“Is it the side of you that is human, or a premonition of the Old Magic?”

“A little bit of both.” He smiled, both bashful and mockingly. “I couldn’t give you any kind of gift last year.”

“What we did as a delayed gift was compensation enough” the dark-haired man added in a lascivious smile, touching the other’s silk green tie. “Especially when yo-“

“Don’t challenge my modesty, my dear, or I'll be forced to embarrass you here at the Embassy.”

“You seem so sure of that, Kirkland.” The other whispered.

“You know I am good at winning bets; I made it very clear when I was a pirate adorning his gypsy with jewels an-”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Artie.” Gabriel insisted. “Do you have an idea why you feel this way?”

“There will be a Blue Moon on our anniversary.” He said slowly, blinking, to appear more human. “You know what that means for my brothers and me.”

“Yes, the opposite of the Red Moon.” He answered bitterly, trying not to think much of it. “Do you have to stay on the Isles?”

“Of course not! It’s the day I celebrate with you, you fool.” he said in an obvious tone, tapping the other’s chest, slightly offended.

“Oi, don’t behave like a criança.” He sighted, “Then?”

“There will be an immense amount of Ancient Magic flowing from the surface of the veil, like Samhain.” He answered, excitedly. “And I was hoping we could go to Windsor Castle, in the west tower, there’s still-“

“Wait, the old room still exists?” He pulled back a bit, surprised.

“I’ve always conserved the old room, it was the first nuptial bed we shared together, why would I take it off?”

Gabriel’s blush was so sudden and intense, it made his husband laugh. The other one kissed the tip of his nose in response.

“I thought the tower was destroyed in 1853, after the fire.” He smiled slightly incredulous. “That's so… romantic, Arthur.” England showed his thanks through a gesture of pride.

“It is one of my many secrets; and since they’re mostly related to you, I can usually reveal them on special days like these.” His expression softened, holding him comfortable by the waist. “I think the memories that were made in that room will make the trip easier.”

“What trip… ?”

“I don’t want that old bed for something so banal,” he began, raising a thick brow, “of course I would be happy to do it, but there is something much more interesting.”

He smiled more.

“Let’s celebrate that day in the Lightning Wasteland!” Portugal’s eyes widen in genuine surprise.

“Wait... in the Dreamworld? But what about the events for this week that the humans have prepared? Will we not be attending?”

England made a dismissive gesture, “We’ll go, yeah, we’ll just be late…or have you ever seen a King or an Empire arrive anywhere on time? It’s in our blue blood, my love. Like I said before, you need to be desired.”

“The world doesn't work like that anymore, Arthur…” he sighs resigned, then the blonde laughted.

“It’ll work as we want it to, Dos Anjos.” His expression was mischievous. “Our alliance, our marriage, is the longest in history, let it be the ones to say how things are done. Mandates are not forgotten.”

Portugal blinked, smiling with amusement; he was well acquainted with Arthur’s sly attitude, when the Englishman was planning something mischievous. However...

“Okay, let’s do it.”

After six hundred fifty centuries, the human world was running out of marital surprises.

But nothing stopped his husband.

~~~~

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