#gallardo sisters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imgeekgirlfan · 9 months

Text

Renegada♱

Taglist: @707otto @juxt4p0siti0n (If you want to be added in this fic, just tell me in reply )

Pairings: Amado Carrillo Fuentes x f!reader(Latina Reader) x Walt Breslin [From Narcos: Mexico TV Series]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Synopsis : You were utterly surprised when you discovered that the incoming call was from Amado Carrillo Fuentes, the man who is the primary target of yours.

AN : I will ask you the same question Amado asked, "Do you miss me?" I know I've been absent, but I won't abandon this fanfic, Because I have already finished writing this story (in the Thai language). but the translation takes a considerable amount of time, coupled with busy work, which made me disappear for a while. But don't worry, I assure you I will continue translating until it's completed. And I will create a Masterlist soon, so you can follow each chapter more conveniently.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙙𝙖♱ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

➡ Previous : Next

[3]ᅳ 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐫 ✟

Once upon a time, Steve Murphy, a DEA agent from Colombia, was the mastermind behind the takedown of Pablo Escobar. He had likened drug traffickers to cockroaches—filthy, hard-to-kill, and constantly multiplying. But in your eyes, you believed that these drug dealers were akin to Hydra, the mythical Greek monster. Whenever Hercules would cut off one of its heads, two new ones would sprout in its place, symbolizing the endless cycle of the drug trade in Mexico.

It's true that Amado Carrillo Fuentes still holds the number one spot at the moment, but that doesn't mean that other drug lord groups are powerless. When the main head that controlled everything was eliminated from the equation, such as Miguel Angel Félix Gallardo, it only made these drug lords more influential and crazed, ready to do anything to maintain their authority and expand their dominance as far as possible.

The war on drugs continued unabated, and whenever someone stood out, they became an inevitable target. This was what was happening to Amado, because it wasn't just DEA agents who wanted to bring him down; other rival drug cartels also desired to witness his downfall.

"The Arellano family is making their move," Julio says, pointing to a picture of a family pinned amidst a wealth of information on a large board in the conference room of Mexico's Police Office. "We've received reports of an attempt to assassinate Amado at a restaurant in Juarez. Additionally, there have been reports of burning and destruction at El Chapo's warehouse in Sinaloa."

Bill hastily raised his hand with enthusiasm, and when the leader nodded, he immediately expressed his opinion: "I think they're struggling desperately at the last straw. Maybe they're causing some disturbances for others to stumble upon, but they can't do much more than that.'

Bill spoke accurately. The Arellano family's power has been declining significantly. They used to be much grander, much like the Corleone family in 'The Godfather. Drug trafficking is the business of this prominent family, led by the eldest brother, Benjamin Arellano, accompanied by numerous brothers and sisters. However, the most striking and notorious person in the Mexican underworld would be Ramón Arellano, the youngest brother of the family, who stands out as a truly bloodthirsty and insane

Ramón Arellano often received assignments from his older siblings involving violent tasks, and it was certain that he had a hand in the assassination attempts on Amado.

"But I don't think the Arellanos initiated this," you countered, causing all eyes in the conference room to turn towards you.

"Why do you think that way, officer?" Julio asked, inquisitive.

"The agreement between Amado and the Cali Cartel is directly related to the cocaine issue. This is because all drug dealers in Mexico are merely intermediaries. They don't produce cocaine themselves. What Amado did to Colombia almost entirely severed their control over the cocaine trade in Mexico. That's the reason Arellano is struggling to maintain their position." You presented your thoughts, supported by the information you had personally researched over the past few days. " What's still keeping Arellano from collapsing is the territory they possess. Baja California is a borderland adjacent to two crucial states in America. We know it's the easiest route to smuggle drugs into the U.S. Whoever wants to traffic drugs on that side has to pay a toll to Arellano. However, Amado chose to transport cocaine by plane instead, and El Chapo believed that Arellano had lost power, so he refused to pay the toll. This angered them and led to a decision to retaliate. It's also to send a message to other gangs not to mess with Arellano."

Up to this point, your gaze had grown more serious than before. "Prepare yourselves, gentlemen, because the drug war is going to be much more intense than ever before."

It was a sign of change, much like the shifting weather in Mexico, and indicative of the many other changes to come in the future.

On a scorching Tuesday afternoon, you opened the door and hurriedly jumped out of the taxi after paying the fare. The street was lined with parked police cars, and right in front of you were two familiar men. Bill and Walt seemed to have arrived on the scene earlier than you. They were both standing, arms crossed, staring up at the hanging bridge above them. Their faces struggled to cope with what was up there.

It was the bodies of three men, wrapped and hanging by their necks from the suspension bridge.

"I hope you've had breakfast because you probably won't eat anything for the rest of the day," Bill commented with a slight smile. You managed a half-smile in return, not wanting to reveal to him that you'd only had coffee from yesterday's midday until now.

"We've checked. These three are part of the Arellano gang, the same group that attempted to kill Amado a few days ago." Walt turned to lock eyes with you, exhaling a long breath. "You hit the nail on the head."

You averted his eyes briefly before raising your hand to rub your temple. feeling the rising wave of nausea from your stomach to your throat. It had nothing to do with the gruesome sight you've just witnessed. When your profession forces you to encounter horror regularly, that sensation has already faded away. But the unease you feel now is due to having only slept for three hours last night. And considering the events of today, it seemed like tonight would be same as well

"Are you alright?" Walt was the first to notice the abnormality. He quickly stepped closer and grabbed your arm. "I'll take you in my car. I'll drop you off at the apartment."

"I'm fine, really. It's just a bit too sunny," you declined, knowing well that Walt wouldn't believe your words. But he didn't push further.

You, along with the other two DEA agents, continued to watch the Mexican police slowly lower the bodies from the bridge in a rush. A small crowd had gathered around the area; some glanced curiously, but most just passed by in silence, unfazed, without a hint of alarm, shock, or fear on their faces.

For the locals, this was just another routine day in Mexico.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The loud ringing of a mobile phone repeatedly woke you up from your deep sleep. You found yourself sprawled on a blood-red couch that wasn't your own, and the overall state of the room differed drastically from your familiar living space. You observed the cleanliness and order, realizing that this was Walt's apartment. He lived in the same apartment complex as you but on a different floor. Walt had invited you over for dinner at his place to discuss and plan ahead. Due to the accumulated fatigue and the substantial meal you had just eaten, following a day fueled by nothing but coffee, you dozed off before you could even engage in a work conversation with Walt.

Your bleary eyes shifted towards the open window and saw that the sky had darkened. You couldn't spot any signs of the room's owner. You assumed he might be out for some errands or working outside, deliberately choosing not to disturb you. Shifting your weight, you propped yourself up from the couch, sitting up once again. A yawn erupted while you reached for the phone on the table, picking it up and placing it against your ear without paying much attention to see who was calling.

The voice that came through the line brushed away the remaining drowsiness that clung to you.

"I hope I'm not bothering you." No introduction, no greeting But you knew very well who was on the line. You quickly roused yourself from the couch. "Amado?"

"Glad you remember," Amado chuckled. "I thought you might have forgotten about me."

Not a chance; how could you forget the man who was your main target?

You searched urgently for a notepad and pen, one hand keeping the phone pressed to your ear. "I assumed you might have forgotten me instead, since you never got back to me."

That night in Cuba was not just a casual conversation. You knew things were getting serious when Amado requested your phone number. You decided to give him a backup phone number without telling anyone, not yet sure about his intentions

You hoped he would call. You also hoped he wouldn't call.

But in the end, he did call, and you were fine with it.

"Did you miss me?" Amado's voice sounded strangely teasing.

You stayed quiet for a moment, weighing your words carefully before responding, "I've been more worried about you."

He didn't reply immediately, seeming lost in his own thoughts just as you were. You heard a long exhale at the other end of the line. "You're the first person to say you're worried about me."

It wasn't an exaggeration, not in the slightest. Anyone else would want this man dead, and as a CIA agent, you knew that well. However, it was still odd and surreal to hear these words spoken directly from the weary voice on the line.

Was it pity or empathy you were feeling? You couldn't quite determine it either.

"Are you okay?" you asked, a natural question, not prying too much.

"Be blunt. It can't be worse than this," he replied evenly. "But this is my choice; I've decided."

You muttered, your mouth running ahead of you, "But can't it change?"

"What do you mean?"

"I change my mind every day. I think we don't have just one choice in life."

It was oddly profound that the CIA was now giving advice to a criminal like this.

You weren't sure exactly what you were doing, whether you were trying to comfort him or convince him to turn back to the good side. Of course, that was an impossibility.

Nevertheless, you chose to let the silence work, imagining how he was dealing with all of this. To be scared, to be angry, or to just see it as another day in Mexico like any other person in this country.

But you were wrong about all of that.

Turning points in many people's lives often start with something. And in this case, that assassination was the turning point in Amado's life.

And when you uttered the words "change," it made him realize the reality of his situation.

Miguel and Pablo, the two biggest drug lords of this century, had reached the peak of their lives, only to meet a disgraceful end—either death or prison. That was the destiny for anyone who dabbled in the dark business.

Their grand mistake was believing they had so much power and time that they never thought about the ending.

All of this made Amado different from both of them.

He was at his peak, creating his own glorious era, driven by the yearning to create something grand. And now he knew that an end had to come someday. Tomorrow, perhaps, or the next day. Or years from now.

He knew. And he had decided to prepare himself to face it.

Which had become a turning point in your life as well.

"Camila, there's something I want to ask you."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat. He used that tone as if he was about to break some bad news you didn't want to hear. But sometimes, this might be the best for everyone. And that was what you thought after hearing his next sentence.

"I want you to come with me."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

#narcos: mexico #amado carrillo fuentes #narcos mexico netflix #narcos x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x reader #amado carrillo fuentes x you #narcos fic #narcos mexico fanfic #narcos mexico fanfiction #narcos: mexico tv series #walt breslin #walt breslin x you #walt breslin x reader #jose maria yazpik #scoot mcnairy #Renegada♱

12 notes · View notes

enibas22 · 1 year

Photo

source: upi.com and lufkindailynews.com -

LA Premiere of "Mrs. Davis" - April 13, 2023

Jake McDorman, Elizabeth Marvel, Betty Gilpin, Tara Hernandez, Damon Lindelof, Tom Wlaschiha, Alethea Jones, Andy McQueen and David Arquette attend the premiere of Peacock's TV series "Mrs. Davis" at the DGA Theatre in Los Angeles on Thursday, April 13, 2023. Storyline: Sister Simone partners with her ex-boyfriend Wiley on a globe-spanning journey to destroy Mrs. Davis, a powerful artificial intelligence. Photo by Alex Gallardo/UPI

#tom wlaschiha #la premiere of mrs davis #april 2023 #cast of mrs davis #mrs davis

14 notes · View notes

hausofmamadas · 2 years

Text

| This is why the earth eats the dead |

⁂

Pairing: Rafa Caro Quintero x María Elvira

For @narcolini - Narcos fanfic exchange 2022

Word count: 6K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, major character death, descriptions of violence

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Betrayed by his bestest good primo, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo, and captured in Costa Rica by a one DILF, Guillermo Calderoni, instead of being taken to prison, Rafa Caro Quintero is taken back Mexico to be tortured, dragged by a pickup truck down a back alley road in Sinaloa, and left for dead … on the front porch of the house owned by Miguel’s ex-wife, María. Still fuming after Miguel kicked her to the curb and told her he was staying in Guadalajara to bang barely legal chicks he met at a museum, María’s further devastated by her ex-husband’s descent into assholery when she finds Rafa’s nearly lifeless body. So, the question remains: she can nurse him back to health, but can she fix him?

⁂

✴︎ Cómo me has engañado, mi hermano! Si me ha dicho lo que ibas a hacer, nunca habríamos venido. ✴︎

A conveyor belt of sky rushed above me. Chaotic streaks of what should have been full, puffy white clouds cut across waves of light blue. Or maybe those were just the stars I was seeing after hitting too many potholes headfirst.

But with the sky up there, rushing like that, the earth against my back like steel wool at seventy kilometers an hour, and the rope embedded in the skin of my ankles with the full force of the pickup truck they were tied to, I kept thinking about la Bribri historia de la creación del mundo.** I had heard it from one of the old ladies in the cathedral once. We liked to tell stories while we waited for the fire bombing in the fields to stop y esos shingadamadre chotas to get in their tanks and fuck off again, until next time.

The story went something like this.

The great creator god Sibú was having a hard time. He needed a place to put his creations but could find nothing suitable to make it with. You’d think since he created life, he could make a place for it too, but it seems even gods have their limits. So, when a bat, flying by, happened to shit soil from which all kinds of marvelous plants grew, naturally Sibú had to know his secret. (Creation myths, right? Fucking trippy.) The bat, who Sibú called tío even though they weren’t related (which never made any sense to me), told him he’d been feeding on the blood of Iriria, the newborn Earth. And wasn’t this great news for Sibú because Iriria happened to be the child of his sister, Tapir. Except, Sibú no era su tío and she wasn’t his niece (which never made sense to me either but maybe it was different for gods that way.) Anyway, Sibú hatched an elaborate plan. To lure Tapir and Iriria from where they’d been staying in the underworld, he invited them to a grand festival and asked them to put on a show, dancing the Sorbón dance for the attending lower gods, demons, and spirits. So, they did. They went and they danced. But something happened when Tapir and Iriria danced and it changed everything. The young girl tripped and fell, and all according to Sibú’s plan, in the furor and excitement of the Sorbón, the demons and spirits couldn’t see her. So they kept on dancing. Stomping on poor, helpless Iriria. Over. And over. And over. Until all that was left of her was trampled earth, from which Sibú made, well, the Earth. Seeing her daughter’s demolished remains, Tapir seethed with rage: How, my brother, you have betrayed me! If you had told me what you were going to do, we would never have come. So it’s said today, for the sacrifice of her daughter, tapirs are sacred animals not to be hunted for food or sport. And as atonement for Sibú’s betrayal and the wounds inflicted on her by his creations, all life, this is why we bury the dead. Return them to Earth for her to consume.**

𐮛

I thought about Sibú a lot when I worked in the greenhouse. When I finally had it, mi sinsemilla, primo declared me a genius. María joked that I was a regular mad scientist. But all I could think about was Sibú. About how his curiosity yielded the universe’s great masterpieces at the expense of those around him.

But thinking about it just now, sky rushing up above and the steel-wool-earth against my back, seventy kilometers an hour, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was fucking hilarious.

Because I realized it wasn’t really me who was Sibú, after all.

𐮛

Those early days were the best. Well, maybe not the first few. Definitely not the first one, when I woke up in a cold sweat, hands and ankles tied together, blood-soaked shirt, now dried, fusing me to wood slats of her front porch. Maybe I’d been her front porch all along. Why else would they leave me here? I couldn’t remember them, the “they” that left me. I couldn’t remember me. The pain in my shoulder was too much. I couldn’t remember why.

No, those days were the best because when my swollen eyelids slid back, I saw the sun and the sky and a girl I knew from way-back-when. We raced dirt bikes in the town square. She let me sleep on her couch when I’d been out too long in the field, then the greenhouse. I used to call her the brains of the operation - ‘No se la llevaron toda, compa.' - because she saved mi sinsemilla, then me. That girl stood over me with tears in her eyes and a look on her face I’d been chasing my whole life. Looking at me like I always wished she would. Only this time, I didn’t have to feel guilty.

She shouted for help, wild, brown hair whipping in the wind while she demanded answers from the nothing and nobody that left me there. In all my dreams before, she wasn’t so sorry for me. But who was I anyway? No matter. I didn’t need to remember to know who she was.

𐮛

I thought one of my fractured ribs might’ve punctured a lung because it took days for me to stop coughing up blood. Weeks to stop screaming out in the night. For Sofia. Sometimes Miguel. Mostly María. Because I knew who she was and she looked at me like that and I didn’t have to feel guilty. Except, it took a few more weeks to remember why.

It came together in the kitchen one morning, when she was making breakfast. Easy as always, the smell of cafe con leche, bacon, tortilla chips, soon-to-be migas sizzling in the pan. She sang softly con Los Zafiros. ‘El gringo, Rafa. Adónde se lo llevaron?’

The eggs she cracked against the edge of the bowl buckled my shoulder. Sofia screamed in the steam of the kettle going off. Then that face from the edges of the darkness behind my eyelids - eso hijo de la shingada chota con su bigote negro and those beady little eyes.

'Sabes que me gusta mucha acerca del hombro, Rafa? Cuánto duele cuando lo sacas de su articulación. Duele igual. Cada vez. El dolor te rompe el alma mucho antes de que se rompan los huesos.'

El dolor te rompe el alma, no mames. Mi alma ya se rompió when the first gunshot exploded the glass and I knew what mi primo did to me. If that fat bastard hadn’t been so sweaty when I spat in his face, it might’ve made a difference. Maybe not, since he never missed a beat and the cracking never stopped. The bones of my shoulder in and out of its socket, cartilage stripping like threads of a screw.

My head swam, my mouth tasted like iron, my throat was numb, I felt cold. Was this finally my time? Qué lástima sería. I just got her, just got here. Were there tiny needles swimming in my bloodstream? Cortisol. Adrenaline. Like high, but none of the flavor, none of the fun. She caught me just before my face smacked the table.

I came to with my head in her lap, mumbling, “Lo huevo– vas a quemar los huevos.”

“Qué?”

“Huevos. Pa’ las migas.”

She shook her head, “Ay, Rafa. Qué voy a hacer contigo?” and smiled my favorite smile.

My lips felt like rubber but I beamed back up at her anyway. “Ocuperás de mí?”

It took a few weeks for her to stop sobbing when she sat by my bed and watched me sleep. I didn’t know who I was, so she knew it was bad. Without a clue how, I still wanted to comfort her. I guess I did in a way, since she only ever stopped when she got up to place her finger under my nose.

If I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve told her I deserved it por todo lo que hice. Even if he deserved worse but wouldn’t get it. That old house, piles of leaves in the empty swimming pool. 881 Lope de Vega. I heard from someone later on that they’d drilled into his hands at the end, demanding to know the nothing and nobody he knew.

So, it seemed only fair they’d dragged me down some backwoods dirt road. Seventy kilometers an hour never felt so fast and took so long. I hadn’t met the man, but they said he’d had a family. My whole foolish life, I wondered what it was like to be missed by so many that much. Of course, that wasn’t why I did it. I did it to remind him I was flesh-and-blood real, standing right there. And yet when it was all over, cold, calculating, with eyes as old as time, mi primo still didn’t see me.

I probably would’ve told her too that I was far from the boy she raced dirt bikes with. But that other boy we knew from way back when? The thoughtful one with eyes as old as time, that boy was lost altogether.

And if I’d been awake and remembered who I was, I would’ve wept right along with her because that’s how much I missed him.

𐮛

When I could finally walk without getting dizzy, she took my hand and led me out into the backyard, my favorite smile blooming with the flowers on her red dress.

“Where are we going?”

“Tranquilita, mi Rafa. Vas a ver.”

Mi Rafa. I couldn’t remember when she started calling me that. But to belong in such a way? It hurt how much I never knew.

We continued past the yard, onto a dirt trail that led downhill until we came to the edge of a great, big, empty field. She glowed when she told me it was all mine.

“What’s this?”

“Es tuyo para hacerlo como que tu quieras.”

“No me chingues pues. Toda esta madre?”

She nodded, soft lips in a soft smile. And I couldn’t help but pick her up and swing her around, even as my shoulder screamed. She screamed too, like we were kids.

I set her back on the ground with a wince. “Ya tengo un plan.” When I put my arms down, the right one bent awkwardly to ease the throbbing in my shoulder. She took it, splinting my elbow against hers between us, and put her other arm around my waist. I grumbled but she shot me a familiar look that assassinated any and all will to resist.

“Leave it to you to overdo it after being out here no more than five minutes.”

I laughed. “You know me better than almost anyone. When have I ever made things easy for myself.”

“Sí, sí, Rafael Caro Quintero. A man of great passion, no sense, and odd enthusiasms. Like swinging grown women around with a shoulder no sturdier than ground beef.”

“Aahh, no me digas. You love it.”

“Entonces, cuál es tu plan?”

“Pues por supuesto, I’ll build a greenhouse. And when that’s done, I’ll start with sinsemilla.”

She smiled wryly, “Claaaro qué si. Because it hasn’t caused you enough trouble.”

“And then, I was thinking we could sell it.” She cocked an eyebrow up and pursed her lips, a look that said she thought I’d lost it. Again. “But instead of competing with the other plazas, we unite them, create una grande federación, controlando todo el mercado de mota.”

Her face relaxed and she chuckled darkly, elbowing me in the ribs.

“Ay, ya basta. I’m still fragile.”

“If that really is your plan, pues voy a romper tu otro hombro, hombre.”

I looked out at the black hills on the horizon, seeing María’s face in place of eso pendejo Calderoni. Savage brown eyes, enraged, beads of sweat dotting her perfect forehead.

“Si ese chota hubiera sido tan hermosa como tu?” I looked down at her and winked. “El dolor? No me valía madre. I wouldn’t felt a thing.”

She elbowed me again. “Ay, pinshe bruja, no mames.” No loyalty left to dam the tide, it was hard not to get carried away ‘cause I adored her more than the world.

“No mames tu, cabrón. So, c’mon. Let’s hear it. The real plan.”

“Sí, sí, bien.” With my arm still propped against hers, we started walking slowly along the edge of the field. “Esos manos,” I wagged my hands, “fueron hechas para cultivar sinsemilla, pues sí? Pero quien sabe pues? I can grow other things, coffee beans, cacao. Algo así.”

Maria looked down at the ground and shook her head. “Appropriately indulgent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Chocolate, coffee, little addictions. Una sombra de las drogas, sí but always indulgent.”

“Pues sí, pues. Qué dijiste de mi? A man of odd enthusiasms.”

She leaned her head into the crook of my neck and squeezed me tight. I didn’t have to feel guilty. Sometimes I did anyway. Instincts of self-preservation were hard-earned-hard-lost in my line of work.

𐮛

She stopped crying at my bedside while I slept but sometimes, she still cried in the middle of the night. A vision in a white caftan, sleeveless shirt, linen pants. Chain-smoking La Llorona, haunting the steps of her own front porch. She usually sat in the spot where they left me that first day. We tried so hard to get the bloodstains off the wood but they’d have to be sanded and revarnished, which I promised I’d do. Except I hadn’t yet because I was scared when I did, I’d lose me for good.

My room was at the front of the house, so sometimes I’d turn over in bed, close my eyes, and listen while she swallowed the sadness back so hard, she could barely breathe. That conveyor belt of blue sky would pop in my head with her sobs like a soundtrack. The more nights we played out this routine, the more I knew we— she couldn’t go on like this. Too great a toll, pretending she wasn’t living with a dead man, hiding me from him and the whole world. None of it was any of mine, anyway.

So, it was the weirdest thing. When I’d finally decided to leave, that’s when it happened.

I went out and sat with her, which I never did. But it this time it was raining and she couldn’t catch her breath and I got scared. You could call it inconsolable but that’s too small. She didn’t stir when the screen door slammed or rush to hide the evidence. No doubt she knew the angry red splotches on her cheeks gave everything away.

I didn’t know what to do. But then I remembered what someone told me once: how comfort is like a kiss. No rulebook, but instinct. So, I did what I felt. I sat on the steps next to her, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee like we were two sides of the same seam because it seemed the thing to do. Splinting her to me to ease the pain like she did with mine.

We sat there like that. For a time.

I took a joint from my pocket and held out my hand. “Encendador, amor.”

Her hands were so cold, I nearly jumped when she passed it to me. She didn’t seem to notice as we sewed back together again, this time with her head on my shoulder. I lit up and tried to blink away the dark spot in my vision left by the hot embers at the end of the joint. Because it made me think of the metal rods they’d used. Hands tied up and hanging. Glowing red tips pressed to my sides.

I inhaled, then breathed her name out with smoke, “María.”

She sniffled, “Sí.”

Looking down next to me, I studied the bloodstains that dotted the wood, tracing them with my finger. “I’ll take care of these in the morning,” I said, dusting them. “Then I think I’ll go.”

In the crook of my neck, I felt her stiffen. “So that's how you’d repay me, then. Just leave.”

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

We sat there like that. Some more.

Until she jerked her head off my shoulder and looked at me, not bothering to wipe the new tears rimming her eyes. Her caftan slid off her shoulder. I pulled it back up and watched goosebumps spread across her collarbone, up her neck. On my hand, up my wrist, I got them too like they were contagious.

“Querida.” Confused, I swiped a tear from her cheek and held my thumb up, “No se trata de eso, o qué?”

She cocked her jaw to to one side, then looked away and scoffed. I loved the way she looked when she did that and hated when she did it to me.

“A día de hoy, estás una de las chingas personas más listos que he conocido en toda vida, mi Rafa. But sometimes.” She turned to look at me through half-lidded eyes, exhausted all of a sudden, “Sometimes you still see the world through the eyes of a boy I knew from way back when.”

Before I could ask what she meant or if she’d been reading my mind, her lips were on mine. And every nerve from my scalp to the heels of my feet detonated. My whole life flashed before my eyes. What I wanted most in the world, that I never had, because none of it was any of mine, anyway. That’s what she was supposed to be until I ended up in an early grave, right? Oh, right. Funny, since I actually had died. In a way.

Her cold hand wrapped around the back of my neck, lips and tongues ebbing, flowing against each other. My brain like it was knocking against my skull, mind screaming at me to stop and still I found my hand sliding around her waist. Perilous, rigid edge of her teeth on my lower lip made me hitch my breath, to prepare me for— She bit down hard. Hard enough to snap gravity and I dug the pads of my fingers into the small of her back to ground myself without it. Then I caught her lip in my teeth and nipped back. Two sides of the same seam. So, it must’ve been insanity itself that brought my hand to that satisfying spot where her neck met her jawline. And ripped it. Like an idiot.

And all I could choke out was, “Not … this … way.”

She was alert suddenly, startled by what I’d said. Or maybe the way I said it. Maybe trying to piece out the truth from the lie. Since I didn’t mean it really. Except I really did. With all of me. I wondered if she could see my mind vibrating, violently searching for an explanation, and that’s why she waited. Waiting while I malfunctioned.

“I can’t— the— why, how— please don’t— don’t make me what you use to get back at him.”

Her lips pursed and she furrowed her brow. Looking at the little lines that creased her forehead and between her eyebrows, I wanted to take it all back, grab her, crush her into me. Probably before I was insane, I would’ve. But sanity got burnt up at seventy kilometers an hour and all that was left was the echo not like this, not like this, not like this over and over.

There was a look of awe on her face. And it gave me the strangest, most painful feeling. Like I wished a hole would rip open in the Earth, so we could jump in and entomb ourselves there for forever. Scar-tissue-thoughts I called those ‘cause they reminded me how my mind would probably never be like it was before. I tried not to get lost in that one like I did sometimes.

She cupped my face with one hand, and pulled my arm around her waist with the other, placing it in the same spot as before. Except for her hands, she felt warm against my chest in a way that made my stomach drop. The clouds parted a little, so I saw her eyes in the light of the moon. They looked lit with it, from the inside.

“What makes you think this is about him at all?” Then she kissed me again, and again.

We both knew it was a lie. But on nights like those and many others, nights when we got tangled like that, nights when we were both sides of the same seam, we pretended it wasn’t.

I had to stop pretending when she started taking his calls again.

𐮛

I don’t know how long it was. It must’ve been months, a year, maybe more. Long enough for me to forget I was dead. Time didn’t pass for me how it did before. No, that’s right. It must’ve been years because it was sometime around the election. I only knew he got into trouble with that old bat in Matamoros and in trouble with the politics. Again. Only this time he had no one else to feed the machine when it was done and they got what they needed. Yeah. That was it. Because he came back to Badiraguato, back home to lay low.

That was when he started showing up everywhere. He even came by the house one time.

There was something satisfying about the squeaking sound the hinges made when the backyard gate door swung open and closed. I liked to pull extra hard just to hear it and that day was no different. Nothing different about the way I skipped up the steps to the patio either. Or how I wiped my boots on the rug outside before I stepped in the house.

Before I could smell the food, I heard them in the kitchen, María chiding Abril.

“No, no, no, no. Nada de dulces antes de cenar.”

“Pero tengo haaaambre.”

“Después de tu tarea. Ándale. Dile a tu hermano también.”

I walked through the dining room to the kitchen and set a pile of herbs on the counter.

She smiled slyly at me, “Nunca paran de tragar.” Her face lit up when she saw the herbs. “Ah, fresh from the greenhouse. Didn’t think you’d have them this time.”

I caught her arm as she reached for them, and pulled her in for a kiss. She deepened it, sliding her hands from my forearms to my shoulders. She always held on longer than I expected. I’d never gotten used to it.

She pulled back and smiled. “After I add these, dinner’ll be ready.”

“Ah, for you, amor. I’ll wait forever.”

Her hands still around my neck, she threw her head back and rocked me forward a little. “If it weren’t for that diabolical smile of yours, that would be the cheesiest line I’ve ever heard.”

“No te preocupes, mija.” I winked. “It’s the cheesiest I’ve ever used.”

She fiddled with the buttons at the top of my shirt, “Given what I know of your history, chulo,” then let go and turned to the stove, “that’s saying something.”

I grinned as I walked away, “What history?”

I headed to my bedroom to find her father looking out the window. He tried not to look embarrassed when I knocked on the open door.

“Lo siento, Rafa. I was just—” When he couldn’t find a proper excuse, he just sighed and raked his hand over is face, motioning out the window.

That’s when I saw his blue Buick idle up the driveway and park at the big metal gate. He didn’t get out right away. Just sort of sat there. So, her father and I just watched him, watching.

“Papá, ya quieres tu café? Papá!”

Neither of us answered her.

“Qué pasa?” Her determined footsteps got louder and louder, until she breezed into the room.

I didn’t bother trying to lie but he attempted a too-rushed, “Nada. No pasa nada.”

The joy of intrigue wiped from María’s face and now she just looked wary. “Qué estás mirando, entonces?”

Incredible how little I felt, holding back that curtain, staring at the outline of the man responsible for my death, while he sat in the driver’s seat of mi primo’s blue car. For a split second and all at once, I hated him because I missed him. It hurt how much I missed him. Then I hated me for missing him. And then it emptied to nothing. The oddest thing. Pretty fucking dumb too. I should’ve been afraid at least, considering what would happen if he or anyone knew I was alive. Back in that room with the metal prods, pain, shoulder popping, in-and-out, in-and-out, pain, dry mouth, wet concrete tongue dragging across the roof of it, pain and too much more.

I didn’t know how I felt, so I didn’t know how I wanted her to respond because it never mattered so much what I wanted. But there was no denying my heart seized up in my chest, the arteries all throttled, when I saw how hard her jaw clenched and watched her rage nearly warp the air around her. I supposed she’d have to have been hit in the head as many times as me, to feel the nothing I did.

The three of us stood motionless for a moment, until she sighed, turned around to look at the bedroom doorway, then back again to the window, before making a break for the front door. As she dashed down the still-stained front steps and marched across the courtyard to meet him at the gate, it hit me. He’d just got there. Hundreds of feet from us and not even out of the car yet, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. And even though I stood right there, next to her, she never once looked at me. Before walking out the door.

That was the end of pretending.

𐮛

I was putting up the fence around the greenhouse, hammering posts on the north side of the field, when she brought out iced tea and empañadas. It hadn’t happened in a long time but I kept seeing them today. Flashes of dirt road in the wood grain of the posts, rushing, dragging beneath me. I had to stop now-and-again to wipe them from my eyes. She told me I looked tired. When she could tell I was tired, she liked to give me things to dream about. Maybe that’s why she asked.

“Quieres venganza?”

I stopped hammering and stood up straight.

“Qué?”

“Supongo— lo que quieres decir es si piensas en la venganza?”

I swung the mallet over to rest on my good shoulder and looked out onto the horizon. Something about these sunsets at home made me want to hold her. And the wanting but not, made me want too much at once.

“Claro que no, querida. I'm just happy I’m not dead.”

She looked at me quizzically as she walked over. She set the cup and plate on the empty wood barrel next to me and picked a piece of hay from my hair.

What was she asking? And why? And why now? Too many tangled up questions and the words came tumbling out. No amount of grabbing empty air would shut them back up into the leaky box, my mind, where they belonged.

“Why? Do you?” Because I had stopped pretending but I didn’t know if I was I ready for her to. “Is that what this is?”

She leaned her head against one of the posts. Looking out into the red-orange sky, no hesitation, crisp like glass, “A veces.”

I suppose I knew. It never made sense for her to love me all of a sudden and for no good reason except I just showed up one day and needed her.

“But not usually.”

Windswept hair and brown eyes lit red by the horizon, downright dangerous was how she looked. The sky looked like hell and she looked at it like it was hers. María at her most dangerous gave El Jefe de Jefes a run for his money. I always figured that’s why he sent her away. And yet, just like me, she felt so much more for him than he deserved. How could she not, padre de sus hijos. And how could I expect her to let go when I couldn’t. Still, being reduced to a weapon was a familiar disappointment. It meant, like him, she couldn’t see me just then.

I grabbed an empañada and shoved it in my mouth, too fast, so she couldn’t see how hard my jaw was clenched. It burned my tongue and nearly cooked the back of my throat as I swallowed. Maybe this was my sign to run, take advantage of being dead, leave the boy and the girl I knew from way-back-when for good.

My throat, still with that numb, burnt feeling made my voice thick, so I didn’t sound so wounded. “Given the look on your face, I see you have.”

When she closed her eyes, I realized she was crying. I always thought it was weird how that happened sometimes when she was angry.

“He’s their father. But with how they left you, Rafa–” She pulled in a deep, shaky breath like preparing for confession, “I— I don’t know where to put it. All this rage.” Her hands balled into fists and she turned to look at me. “Did you know, when I can’t sleep, sometimes I count the ways he’s hurt us like counting sheep.”

Those few solitary tears sliding down her cheeks, catching at her chin, dripping off the edge of her jaw onto the collar of her shirt, I felt the urge to bottle them up and take them with me everywhere. Scar-tissue-thoughts. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stood there, waiting to follow her lead. Just as I had in all things.

“And that’s when I think, yes. He was their father. But now? Ya no más que una puta infección, un enfermedad de la verga, polluting everything he touches.”

“Do you feel polluted?”

“Qué?” She gave me that look again, eyebrow cocked, like I was nuts.

I dropped the mallet, and walked over. Arms crossed, I rested them on the finished part of the fence and propped my chin up to look at her.

“It’s just what I said. ‘Cause well,” I tapped my temple with my finger, “I have some screws loose and– how did you put it? Ground beef for a shoulder?”

She cracked a small smile. Success.

“So, we both know I’m polluted. Owe that to myself more than anyone, most likely. But not all of it, true. So, do you feel he’s polluted you?” Then I jutted my chin up toward the house, “Them?”

She was quiet for a long time, long enough for the sun to slide behind the hilltops, casting her in new shades of purple. I was trying hard not to disappear like I did sometimes. She fixed her eyes on me just in time, swiping her cheeks quickly. “Ah, mi Rafa. It’s just what I said. Everything he touches.”

I asked it with no anger, no jealousy. That wasn’t what this was about. “So why go, then?”

We’d never talked about it but she knew what I meant. She never lied to me, so wasn’t some big secret. She didn’t even try to hide the invitation. To some political three-ringed circus to celebrate the election. He was sending a private jet for her and everything. It was a big deal.

She considered the question for a long time, before whispering, “I have to know for sure.”

“Know what?”

“That I’m right to believe he can’t change.” She stepped away from the post and walked down the length of the fence, grazing her hand along it until it came to rest on my arm. Then she leaned in and kissed me. It didn’t feel like goodbye just yet. But we were getting there.

Then we stayed like that for a little while, forehead to forehead, eyes closed. In my head, I got the sensation like I was falling.

“And what more is there to lose when the damage is done, when we’re polluted already.”

I watched her disappear up the hill heading back to the house. I should’ve said it even if I knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. Unless you were dead, he’d find something to take. Because he only saw the world in terms of “more.” He polluted you with the prospect of “more.” It’s what made him so brilliant. And why he was all alone.

I grabbed the mallet to get to work again. But I was seeing the road in the grain of the wood still. It was coming at me, faster this time. Not flashes. I was there again. It had been a while but actually, I’d been back a few times since it happened.

In the beginning, I couldn’t stop living there. That’s why she started climbing into bed with me. To remind me I wasn’t there because I couldn’t be because no one could be in two places at once. She’d put her arm around me and I’d lean against her, unable to move except to jolt every time a rock kicked up and seared the back of my neck, gouged another welt in my shoulder blade, cracked against one of my elbows. My hands were always the worst, no circulation, bound numb and twisted in the ropes, mangled by the friction of the gravel they slid over. Before I blacked out, I was curious every time. How’d I get here? The answer in his voice, always so calm, and filled with love lost and sadness. Which made sense since he knew I was a lost cause.

Ya tienes más de que lo necesitas. Ya dejar de soñar, Rafael.

And maybe that was the whole problem.

𐮛

After that, I didn’t wait too much longer, a few weeks maybe. Then one morning, I got up at dawn and crept around the house, collecting my things. If I waited to say goodbye, I'd never leave. Because she wouldn’t want me to and it still wouldn’t be enough. She gave me plenty to dream about and I loved her for it and I loved her.

But I was awake now.

I was holding too much stuff, so I swung the door open too hard. Caught just before it slammed, and I sighed, chest full with disappointment and relief. I guided it gently to a close, then strode across the porch to the steps where I stopped short to look down at the clean, newly varnished planks where my blood used to be. It happened just like I thought. I lost me. I was gone. For some reason I thought of the story again, about how the world was made.**

On that back alley dirt road, laughing into the sky like I wasn’t dying, I’d finally worked out that I wasn’t Sibú, but I never decided who I was instead.

Was I the chorus of trampling demons and spirits? Was I Tapir? Or the trodden Earth Iriria? Or maybe, since I’d sort of died, I was thousands now buried, recompense, fodder in the machine of their vengeance. Or maybe I was nothing at all.

My heel hit the first step. I guess I had time now and the whole world to figure it out.

𐮛

And that's a wrrrrap! Sorry for all the Spanish. I was going to make a glossary but I already wrote the thing and it's 6,000 words give or take, so just gonna have to give it a good ole Goog. Thanks for reading.

**See here if you're interested in learning more about mesoamerican myths and legends or about the bribri tribe specifically, this is where I found the story.

#fuck these tags #too tired #rafa caro quintero #maria elvira #narcos mexico fanfic #guaranteed there are typos #some grammatical weirdness in this #as my friend likes to say #couldn't be arsed #cba #see how cool and british i am #even though i couldn't be further from british #it's fine

27 notes · View notes

ardentcurl · 8 months

Text

people often talk of older siblings and how they save the ones after them. how they took every bullet shot off by our parents and turned them into a shelter. but no one talks about when that isn’t the story.

no one talks about how it feels to have hope hiding between two bodies while the screaming sounds off in the other room. how the promises of “it’ll never be like that for us, we’ll never hurt each other like this,” is the only thing that makes you feel like the fear you’re feeling is temporary. how the loneliness doesn’t feel so lonely when larger hands that looked like yours clutched your fingers and played with your hair.

but then ten years pass and you see the same dead look in your sister’s eye and you know it was a battle she couldn’t win. you don’t hold it against her, you know she does that for the both of you. it’s a hard fight to go against generations of trauma, and abuse, and addiction, and neglect.

so you’ll move away. and find a new place to come from. and you’ll feel guilty, guilty and spoiled and greedy for climbing out of the hole you were born into. and you’ll be angry, because you shouldn’t feel as alone as you do right now, and because it hurts more watching someone turn into your parents than it does to think they’ve always been that way. you’ll think of the night in your childhood bedroom when you were told everything would be okay, you just didn’t know being alone would be the prerequisite. you’ll think of that night and how you wished you didn’t believe her when she said she wouldn’t let what happened to the rest of them happen again, but mostly you just wish she had.

the home you’re building is one full of love, and hope. you wish there was a reason for more than one bedroom.

- Maggie Gallardo

@ardentcurl

#words #mine #softcore #writers and poets #creative writing #writing inspiration #sad poetry #sad poem #sad thoughts #poetsofinstagram #writing #writer #writeblr #siblings #abuse survivor

2 notes · View notes

endlessly-cursed · 1 year

Text

hp women appreciation week; favourite sister dynamics

the seymour sisters: adelaide, blanca, céline, dana, ellen & nimueh seymour

the bellerose sisters: odette, alethea, angelique & sabine ( @kathrynalicemc @cursebreakerfarrier @magicallymalted )

the gallardo sisters: rocío, almudena & jimena

the somerset sisters: elizabeth, gia & ruby ( @camillejeaneshphm )

the arcano sisters pt.1: reyna, margrethe & wilhemine arcano ( @kathrynalicemc )

the vixen twins: sybil & delphine

the arcano-thorne sisters: syvanna and lennox ( @kathrynalicemc )

the somerset twins: diana & beatrice ( @camillejeaneshphm )

elizabeth balinor, twin sister of cecilia

eleanor thorne, twin sister of marcellus

honourable mentions: irene demiurgos, sister of adonis; prim and nadia @gcldensnitch ; esther & beatrice brown ; georgie & divya parsons @unfortunate-arrow ; catalina rosier, twin sister of albert

6 notes · View notes

graciagallardc · 10 months

Text

[ fiona palomo, cisfemale, she/her ] - was that GRACIA GALLARDO i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-SEVEN year old who has been in nightrest for HER WHOLE LIFE and works as a BIOLOGY TEACHER AT WARDWELL ACADEMY has a reputation of being GENTLE, but also RESERVED. they reside in FOG GATE & people in town usually associate them with ROSY LIPS & FLUSHED CHEEKS, THE SCENT OF ROSES, A COLLECTION OF VELVET SCRUNCHIES, & A LOOK OF INNOCENCE AND KINDNESS IN HER EYES. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next. [ jia ]

STATISTICS.

NAME: Gracia Victoria Gallardo

AGE: 27 years old

BIRTHDAY: July 20th, 1996

ZODIAC CHART: Cancer sun, libra moon, cancer rising

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cisfemale, she/her

FACE CLAIM: Fiona Palomo

OCCUPATION: Biology teacher at Wardwell Academy (& private tutor on the side)

PLACE OF BIRTH: Nightrest, Salem, Massachusetts

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Fog gate

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

HEIGHT: 5′4″ (162 cm)

BACKGROUND.

(trigger warnings: death, alcoholism, abandonment, trauma, neglect)

Gracia was born to Arturo and Margarita in a household that was anything but stable. She doesn’t recall a time her parents got along for longer than a few hours before another fight ensued. The end of these fights was when Arturo packed his bags and left the family and Nightrest for good, never looking back. Gracia, age six, had seen it all and till today, she remembers every single moment of that day. Her father hadn’t attempted to get in contact with her since then.

Margarita didn’t remain single for long. Gracia lost count of the number of men that came in and out of their lives, never long enough for her mother to get married. Single or not, her mother was a deadbeat, simply put. Margarita kept a social life full of drinking and partying, often leaving Gracia and her older sister alone for several days a week when they were kids. The drinking never stopped. If she was not drinking on outings, she was drinking at home.

Both sisters grew up too quickly, having not to only take care of themselves, but of each other, the house, and their alcoholic mother. The family struggled with making ends meet, and it didn’t help that Margarita didn’t bother to work after getting fired, so it was Emilia who got a job and supported the family till Gracia reached her teen years and began helping out with the income. Eventually, the pressure would fall on Gracia even more, as her sister had trouble keeping a stable job for long.

While Emilia grew up to be the more outspoken, angry and boisterous of the two, Gracia grew up to be the shy, demure, and introverted sister. The list of differences between the two were never ending, but they would go to hell and back for one another.

Gracia’s only escape back then was ballet dancing. Eventually, she couldn’t afford dancing lessons, because she had to save up for college, and instead, she began to practice on her own.

Gracia’s always been positive she wants to leave Nightrest with her sister. If they have any chance of a good and normal life, they knew they had to leave when they had enough money to do so. For that reason, she worked her hardest at school, ensuring high grades in hopes she’ll be able to leave for college. When she secured a scholarship in California, she ended up rejecting it and settling on a college nearby, not wanting to leave without her sister.

Nevertheless, her goal did not change and it only solidified even more when tragedy struck at twenty-two when the sisters found their mother’s dead body in their home due to excessive drinking and alcohol poisoning. To say she’s traumatized by it would be an understatement.

Now that she’s been working at Wardwell Academy since she graduated, she’s still working on saving up money, in hopes she’ll be able to have enough money to start a new, better life outside of Nightrest.

PERSONALITY.

Gracia is timid, demure, and reserved. She’ll easily talk to someone when she’s comfortable enough around them. Either way, she’s very soft spoken, can’t say no to anyone and will help anyone who needs it. She refuses to ask for help from anyone and will only rely on her very select number of people, if need be because she hates feeling like a burden on anyone. She'll always put people's needs above her own. After losing both her parents, she fears losing more people in her life. She’s very cautious, the type to think twice before she acts or speaks and lives in her own bubble, too scared to attempt new things. Despite her reserved nature, she has a mind that is always working and full of thoughts. She hates having free time. She works a lot, hellbent on building a good future for both her and her sister. A lot of times, when she gets distracted, she tends to get dreamy, wishing for the life she never had.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

Best friend/ride-or-die

Close friends

Childhood friend(s)

Confidante

Someone Gracia’s a good influence on

Bad influence on Gracia: corrupt her :)

Someone who motivates Gracia to come out of her shell and bubble

Ex: could have been her first everything too? We can decide why they broke up etc!

Someone who takes advantage of her kindness

Someone who sees through her? Like, sees that she’s actually very sad and burdened etc

Soft for her / protective of her

Neighbors

Coworkers

Dance friends

She’s a tutor too if anyone needs one for their kids!

I don't know, anything works <3

#nightrest:intro #tw death #tw alcoholism #tw abandonment #tw trauma #tw neglect

4 notes · View notes

hphmmatthewluther · 2 years

Text

Profile: Trinity Reynolds

”Mirrors are just glass, and I am more than that.”

Name: Trinity Reynolds

Born: 25th April 1981

Nickname(s): Ref, Trin, Nitty

Hometown: Central London, London, U.K.

Nationality/Ethnicity: British/Irish

Blood status: Pureblood

Gender identity: witch (she/her)

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality

Myers-Briggs Type: INFJ (Advocate)

Strengths: Intelligent, Resourceful, Observant, Kind

Weaknesses: Worries a lot, Easily frightened, Holds grudges

Interests/hobbies: Writing, Drawing, Painting, Gardening, Charms Magic, Ancient Runes, Potions.

Appearance

Height: as an adult, 5’8”

Weight: as an adult, 60kg

Hair: blonde

Eyes: blue

Skin: pale, some freckles

Defects: gets frequent headaches

Style: Lots of cool blues, prefers informal wear, but does like it to look good too.

Faceclaim: Jenny Boyd

Witchcraft

Wand: Red Oak

Animagus form: N/A

Patronus: Wolf

Patronus memory: Meeting Matthew and leaving her old house.

Boggart: Ending up exactly like her father

Riddikulus: Her father getting stomped on by changelings

Amortentia (what does she smell?):

Amortentia (what does she smell like?): Paint and an easel, a warm cup of hot chocolate, a warm shower.

Magical abilities: skilled runecarver and painter of magical paintings

At Hogwarts

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Best subject(s): Ancient Runes

Worst subject(s): Transfiguration

Third year options: Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies

Quidditch position: N/A

Relationships

Family:

“Ref” = Trinity’s father and Leader of R, was sealed in the mirrors of Hogwarts along with his organisation.

Ellen Reynolds = Trinity’s Mother, part of a very rich Irish pureblood family who kept her stuck in their mansion for much of her upbringing.

Matthew Luther = Trinity’s surrogate older brother, who when told about her went over to find her and give her a Hogwarts letter.

Dormmates:

Trinity is open for dormmates!

Friends:

Trinity is open for friends!

Love interests:

Rocío Gallardo ( @endlessly-cursed ): The eldest of the Gallardo sisters, Trinity had always admired Rocío’s confidence and ability to make friends. Over time, they grew closer (Trinity being able to share her family’s secrets with her) and eventually developed feelings for one another, realised said feelings, and started dating.

Pets:

None yet!

Rivals:

None yet, but Trinity is open to em!

#hp #harry potter #golden era #trinity reynolds #hp oc #golden era oc

7 notes · View notes

graciagallardc-a · 2 years

Photo

CLUB ENVY HALLOWEEN PARTY.

EMILIA HERRERA as the black swan.

GRACIA GALLARDO as the white swan.

It’s tradition for the Gallardo-Herrera sisters to dress up together every Halloween, dating back to when they were both children and Emilia would hand-make their costumes, seeing as their mother had no interest in helping them with it. As they got older, Gracia got into making them alongside her, until it became routine. During the later years, it’s become Emilia pushing her sister to try out more revealing outfits than she’d normally be comfortable with, and Gracia keeping the ideas fresh and interesting. Seeing as they’re both dancers, the swans from the Black Swan just makes sense.

#♡ ˙ * ✧ ━━ wardrobe.#♡ ˙ * ✧ ━━ visage.#hidehillevent004

5 notes · View notes

sims-himbo · 2 years

Text

BLOOMING HILLS ♡ GALLARDO FAMILY

transcript below the cut

Juancho: And then he kisses her! Like that, see?

Amanda: Ewwww!

Manuel: Juancho, come downstairs and help set up your sister's party, will you? Let her play with the dolls.

Juancho: Yessir.

#the sims #the sims 2 #ts2 #simblr #sims 2 storytelling #sims 2 story #sims 2 stories #sims 2 screenshots #sims 2 edit #ts2 edit #ts2 storytelling #gallardo legacy #juancho gallardo #amanda gallardo #manuel gallardo #sims 2 #the sims storytelling #the sims screenshots

4 notes · View notes

karamacrisk · 2 months

Text

꒰ 18TH BIRTHDAY OUTING꒱

────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Present Day Tijuana Mexico

❝ ROSARIO CONESA CAN YOU PLEASE TELL US THE STORY OF HOW YOU MET THE BIGGEST NARCOS IN MEXICO? ❞

"And why should I answer such a certain question?" Rosario raised an eyebrow while listening to what the journalist was saying. It had been over years since her last encounter with Mexico's most notorious leaders, and yet she is sitting here today telling her story.

"Have you worked with them before?" The journalist questioned Rosario back. What kind of answer was she hoping to say?

"Yes I did." She answered, biting the finger tips of her red file nails.

"Do you still have contact with Miguel Ángel Gallardo or Rafa Caro Quintero? Anyone recently who was involved in the cartel world?" The journalist questioned eagerly at Rosario in front of her. Rosario twirled the piece of her hair that was on attached of the back of her shoulders not knowing what to say.

"No, I haven't been able to reach out to them." She responded in a soft tone.

"Can't you at least tell us about your first encounter with them?"

Years before (1980s)

"Happy Birthday to you!" The crowd of people sang the last words of the song once Rosario took a step to blow out her birthday cake candles. The crowd cheered as she finally made her wish for something special. Today was a very important day for her entire life, it was her 18th birthday. Rosario was finally an adult now and was ready to experience things like she had wanted her whole life.

"My baby is all grown up!" Her mother wiped away her tears trying not to cry again. She couldn't bear to see her two daughters becoming adults. Their mother wants the best for her girls to marry some wealthy rich American man and live somewhere in the United States. They weren't having that, the two women wanted find someone better; to do that was to find the perfect man for them.

"Feliz cumpleaños, hermana." Sofia cheered, as she chugged the last sip of her champagne. Rosario was one year older than her, but the two did have a healthy sibling relationship growing up. Most of the times, the sisters would often fight a lot when they were younger. Now they're teens well almost adults now, they couldn't dare to have a day without each other. The sisters treated one another like best friends and got a future ahead of them.

"Thanks Sofia, I really appreciate it." Rosario responded, grabbing herself a glass of water. When she saw her best friend, Salma walking towards her holding a gold box with a red ribbon attached to it. Her and Rosario were very close since childhood, they also reminded each other like sisters. Although her and Sofia reminded as best friends that they are, the three of them did quite get along.

"Happy birthday girl, I've got something for you. I hope you really like it." Salma handed her birthday gift. Rosario set her glass on the table to open her present, which came to her surprise was a gold necklace having the initials that read BFF.

"Guau, muchas gracias Salma, me gusta mucho." Rosario responded, admiring the expensive jewelry that her best friend had just bought for her.

"Por supuesto, cualquier cosa para mi mejor amigo." Salma replied back, smiling at Rosario. Just then Sofia walked over to her sister carrying an expensive black shopping bag.

"Um, hello? You didn't start mine yet. So here you go sis happy birthday." Sofia hold the bag out waiting for Rosario to open her sister's present. Inside it was a sparkling purple dress with a pair of white heels.

"Oh my god, thank you so much sis, you're the best. But what exactly is it for anyway?" Rosario asked, holding onto the dress waiting for a response.

"That's because we're going out to party silly!" Sofia giggled, coming from excitement. Although they've partied before without their parent's consent. Sofia has been waiting for this very moment since the day her sister turned 18. She wanted to take her out something special for the both of them to have quality time together.

"Absolutely not you two. Do you know what time it is? It's too late to be out partying all night. You have classes tomorrow." Rosario and Sofia's dad retorted, not wanting them to go out this late.

"Oh come on dad, it's my birthday I'm old enough to do what I want now. We're not children anymore." Rosario rolled her eyes trying to get her dad to understand.

"Yeah dad, she's 18 after all. please let us have some freedom for just one night?" Sofia agreeing with her sister that didn't like to be told by her parents what to do.

"Muy bien, supongo que puedes ir, pero asegúrate de volver a casa a las diez o ambos están castigados." Their dad warned them.

"Thank god!" Rosario and Sofia both signed in relief.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get dressed already." Sofia suggested grabbing Rosario's arm heading upstairs with her.

"Salma you going or not?" Sofia continued, turning around to face her. Unfortunately Salma was kinda the fun one throughout the group. She would most likely host parties for her friends when her parents are not home. Rosario and Sofia would often come to one of them when they're hiding from their parents.

"Sure, I'm coming too, I'll be at my car waiting for you two." Salma responded walking out the Conesa household. Just when the sister's parents assigned the maids to clean the entire room including the kitchen and living room while the guests were still leaving.

Rosario and Sofia had reached their bathrooms to get ready to celebrate. Rosario had just got into her dress already and was now finishing the touches of her hair to the point where she was about done curling. She was now on the makeup part, powdering blush on her cheeks. Meanwhile Sofia wore her red dress, putting her loop earrings on. She step out of her bathroom to head to sister's room to check on her.

"Rosario are you about done yet?" Sofia asked, stepping inside the bedroom to see if she was there. But it turns out that her sister was in bathroom as well finishing up her looks.

"I'm almost done, just give me a minute!" Rosario shouted, applying her red lipstick on with her bathroom door which was close for Sofia to hear.

"Well then hurry up, we don't want mom and dad to change their minds." Sofia sighed shaking her head thinking that this girl takes all day.

Rosario was now officially done getting ready. She took one last look at the mirror to make sure if there's no smudges against her makeup before she could manage to leave her bathroom. She looked absolutely gorgeous with her purple dress on with her hair filled with curls and heavy attractive makeup on.

She step out of the bathroom like she was doing a fashion show walk to impress everyone.

"Holy shit, you look stunning girl, let's go." Sofia complimented, dragging her arm with her to head downstairs.

"Thank you, you too." Rosario responded, waiting for what their parents think of them going out.

When they made their way into the living room, the parents were already in the kitchen eating a slice of cake. They stopped for a second to turn around to see that their daughters were dressed up and were ready to go to the club.

"Alright mom and dad, we'll be right back." Rosario assured them that her and Sofia were gonna be safe going out to celebrate.

"Remember what your dad told you girls?" Their mom reminded them to remember what time they should head back home.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. He said 10 got it." Rosario and Sofia both said in unison. They really didn't like their parents to suggest a curfew for them. The sisters were old enough to stay out all they want to party and have fun.

"You girls can go now, but don't be out too late." The dad warned them once again.

Rosario and Sofia walked out of the door of their large house to meet up with Salma. Surprisingly she stood outside of her car waiting for the two sisters to show up here. Unfortunately she did see them walking while she had her arms crossed wondering what took them so long.

"Finally you guys are here. What took you all day?" Salma exclaimed, knowing what was taking them all night to get dressed.

"Hey don't look at me, Rosario was the one that was taking all day to get ready." Sofia pointed at to her not taking the blame for her sister.

"Oh just shut up, will ya?" Rosario rolled her eyes not wanting to hear about Sofia's shenanigans.

"Anyways are you girls about ready to celebrate birthday girl's night out?" Salma inquired with excitement coming from her.

"Actually, we were thinking that we should walked over there. I mean it's not that far away, it's way closer to our house." Sofia suggested, with Rosario nodding her head in agreement.

"That's fine by me. What're waiting for? Let's go." Salma said, walking with the two sisters following along. The whole time Rosario and Sofia were talking about troubled issues at home and dealing with their strict parents.

"I can't believe dad told us to be home by ten like we're just some little kids." Rosario groaned, not liking the idea of her dad telling what time she should head home. Their father was the secretary of education and was all over protective when it came to his daughters, however they happened to be the wild ones.

"Yeah, I know right?! You know what's even worse?! They even want us to marry some gringos." Sofia scoffed of how their parents chose their future husbands.

"Like I'm even aware of, especially for that gringo Ryan. I can't believe they even found a guy like him, he's not even my type. I don't like everything about him, his Spanish sucks and he's too ugly. Imagine living a life with him?" Rosario complained, not wanting to marry some American but rather someone from Mexico.

"Estoy con ustedes, chicas, en eso, ni siquiera podía verme saliendo con algún gringo que personalmente no elegiría ser mi marido." Salma agreed with each statement they were saying.

"I'm supposed to marry someone who's even better, At least yours doesn't try too much, Rosario." Sofia pointed out, but soon their conversation was interrupted with the sound of music thumping everywhere. They had finally made it to the club.

"We're here!" Salma shouted, grinning at the two sisters who nodded their heads. They made their way in, not knowing they would capture male attention. They were all pretty young girls, Rosario would always get excited to talk to men. Men that she was truly attracted to, and not some man she was forced to be an a relationship with.

"Aquí está tu bebida." Sofía giggled, handing Rosario a drink, not knowing if she was unsure if she should take a shot.

"I don't know." Rosario shaking her head if she should drink on her birthday.

"Oh, no seas un coño ya." Sofía teased, chuckling still holding the cup out for her.

"Yeah, loosen up it's your birthday." Salma agreeing taking a sip of her alcoholic beverage.

Rosario began to look at the crowd of people who were on the dance floor having the best time of their lives, and turned to look at the cup that Sofia had just poured for her. She realized that she tonight is her birthday and should be the one celebrating the time of her entire life. Rosario just shrugged her shoulders and grabbed the drink that was sitting on the table.

"Fuck it!" Rosario smirked, slowly drinking down the alcoholic glass. It burned her throat but it tastes good. After a couple of more drinks were passed around, the three of them were on the dance floor dancing with no care in the world.

"Hola, señoras." Rafa walked up to the ladies, having been admiring the way that they dance for the entire night. Rosario felt strange to see that this guy looked familiar that she had seen him before. Earlier, her and Sofia both saw him stormed into their classroom out of nowhere, and that didn't make this any better when it came to her anxiety.

"Another round. And could you clear some of these empty glasses?" Sofia shouted to some of her other friends. Rosario raised a brow seeing her ignore him and hoped that maybe the red colored shirt man could just leave them alone.

"Oye, ¿tu amigo es sordo o algo así?" Rafa shouted over to the loud music. Rosario looked up at the guy and back at her sister, who continued to dance.

"No, es mi hermana y no es sorda." Rosario responded by hitting Sofia's shoulder, realizing what was going on. The four stood in complete silence, only staring at one another. It was awkward and Rosario was waiting to hear what he was going to say.

"I've been watching you three dance for the whole night. Wondering if any of you want to dance?" Rafa asked with a hint of confidence in his voice. Rosario nearly gulped hearing this while Sofia was laughing at the guy while looking at her sister.

"Oh, that's sweet. But I don't want to get you in trouble. It looks like you need a job." Sofia joked, grinning at Rosario. She knew this better than this, you should never interact with some man especially like this. He could cause any harm or even worse put them in all of risk.

"I'm not a waiter."

"What?" Sofia exclaimed, giggling once more. Rosario even crossed her arms, sipping at her drink. She didn't know what to do at this point but wait and watch. I mean she couldn't tell her to stop, it was her sister after all since she was enough to make her own decisions.

"Are you sure? Because you do seem to look like one." Salma laughed with an agreement.

"I'm not a fucking waiter." He whispered loud enough for them to hear. Sofia and Salma laughed, looking back at Rosario once again. She sighed disapproval.

"Girls, we should probably head home it's getting late." Rosario yanked one of their arms, who quickly let go. Rafa noticed how annoyed Rosario appeared, but he wasn't done.

"Me and my sister saw you on campus right? I think he kidnapped our professor?" Sofia gently yanked Rosario's arm, grinning every time Rafa spoke. She was always aware of what he was, Rosario could even tell by his vibe and not to mention the many men who practically were protecting him. But she kept her mouth shut, knowing this information couldn't be tossed around easily.

"Oh right Sofia, that story that you told me before. He just immediately bust in out of nowhere to kidnap your professor." Salma giggled making Sofia nod her head.

"I returned him in one piece, didn't I? And that fucker was loaded with money. How about it?" Rafa chuckled, staring directly at Sofia. Rosario even felt like a third wheel, but there was no way in hell she was leaving her younger sister and best friend alone no matter how uncomfortable this situation was.

"I have a boyfriend." Sofia lied, titling her head to the side. Rosario was confused since she knew Sofia didn't, but agreed to follow along to get this guy to leave them alone.

"¿Y vosotros dos?" Rafa asked, referring to Rosario and Salma.

"¿Nosotros?" They both snarled, not wanting to entertain this man. Rafa grinned, observing how bold they were.

"Have boyfriends?" Rafa clarified. Rosario and Salma both laughed looking away for a second. Sofia was cracking up now.

"Yes we do." Rosario and Salma both lied exactly like Sofia. In truth Rosario hadn't had a boyfriend for almost three years and wasn't up for one right now. She rather preferred to focus on herself and not have to rely on a man for anything in life.

"The three of you are lying. Come on, dance with me." Rafa continued to push, attempting to get one of the girls to dance with him. Rosario wasn't having this anymore and wanted to leave, but Salma and her sister wasn't the type to leave parties so early.

"Give me one reason why not, and I'll leave you girls alone." Rafa said. Rosario took a glimpse at Salma and Sofia, who both chuckled.

"Don't say anything stupid." Rosario warned, referring to Sofia, but she knew quite well this wasn't going to stop her.

"Fine I'll give you three." Sofia replied to Rafa's question. Rosario sighed, knowing this wasn't going to go well, her sister had the worst mouth ever and couldn't shut it whenever she was told to.

"Your shirt. Your pants. And your boots." Sofia turned back to Salma, laughing like they were maniacs. Rosario was unimpressed, not knowing what this man could do. It was dangerous to mess with someone like that and she was worried that because of this, they could be in trouble. Rafa was clearly angry by this and leaned in close to Sofia.

"But we all know what we like it's underneath." Rafa leaned in whispering to Sofia, who reacted by laughing with one of her friends. Rosario gave her sister a look and peeked over at Rafa who walked off. She was getting unusual vibes and couldn't point a finger at it.

"I'm going to go home. I hope you two have fun without me." Rosario told Salma and Sofia who simply ignored her. Giving up, Rosario grabbed her purse and started to walk out of the club. She had enough to drink since she doesn't want to get drunk for her to make her way home. Even though Sofia coming along with Salma would have calmed her nerves. Something about Rafa was odd, and she knew she wanted nothing to do with that.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Rafa ran out of the club chasing Rosario, who began to pick up her pace. She held tightly to her diamond necklace but screamed when Rafa expectedly followed her.

"¡Qué quieres ahora!?" Rosario yelled. Rafa was irritated and saw the girl turned around to face him. He didn't want to hurt her he only wanted to talk to her.

"Calm down. I wanted to ask you about your sister." Rafa explained to Rosario, who knew better off not to run off away from him.

"What's there to ask about her? Like she said she has a boyfriend. Take a hint." Rosario sternly said, which startled Rafa. Never once did dare to raise their voice at him, especially a woman.

"She does not have a boyfriend. I'm not stupid, and what are you so afraid of? I'm not gonna kill you." Rafa laughed, seeing the scared expression all over Rosario's face. She didn't find it funny, and instead remained furious and frightened by him.

"You think I look stupid, huh?" Rosario looked up at Rafa who was by what she was implying.

"¿De qué estás hablando?" He chuckled.

"Eres un puto narco con el que no debería estar hablando." Rosario whispered at him. Rafa took a step back and smirked. Rosario tried her best not to be intimidated by him, but that was coming impossibly every second for now on.

"And that interests you? Working as a narco?" Rafa looked down at Rosario, who was surprised. Wasn't this part of where he denies it or perhaps kills her, she thought to herself. She was astonished and shook her head.

"No that's a terrible business that wouldn't be aware of getting involved in. Look, I don't want any trouble. Just leave me, my sister, and my friend alone." Rosario swallowed the gulp in her throat and walked off. Rafa smiled, knowing well enough that she was lying and threw his cigarette off the ground.

Present day Tijuana Mexico

"Rosario are you hearing me?" The journalist stared at Rosario, who had explained the first part of her story.

"Yes. Sorry, it's just the memories keep popping inside my head. It was like yesterday, It was my 18th birthday and I was at the club with my sister and my best friend. That's when I met Rafa Caro Quintero, if I hadn't gone out the night. Maybe, my life would turned out different. Because this is the first part of my long journey of how I got involved in the business." Rosario reached for her golden necklace with BFF initials written on it that her best friend gotten it for her was hidden under her purse.

"Are you still in contact with your sister?" The journalist questioned, observing the sad expression on Rosario's face.

"No. After the arrest of Rafa Quintero, I stayed remain in the business while she reminded back home with my parents. The last time I spoke to her was two years ago after the arrest. She told me she was fine and was still recovering after the arrest. I've only heard the same thing these past decades from different people. They all say she's fine and was living happily, but how could I be certain?" Rosario closed her eyes trying not to cry. She was a strong woman, but when it came to her family it was her weakness.

"If only I had married that hideous gringo, everything will probably be different. Maybe I would be sitting here today talking to Sofia instead of a journalist. Don't you think that's a little insane? That in only one night, everything can affect how the rest of your life turns out?"

Author's note

Thanks so much for reading! I'm planning on deleting my other story since didn't like it and wanted to try something different. This is fictional but I change some of the parts.

0 notes