Alberto-reyes

jaytodd2012  asked:

in anticipation of YJ season 3 can I prompt the light sending an assasin after Jaime and him and the family being surprised when his friend Jason stops them. I'm sorry I just love how you write those two

A/N: Fair enough!

Alberto sat hunched over the kitchen table, looking over the finances of the shop. Since he had found a new mechanic, things had been going more smoothly. He was just figuring out how much more could be put into the children’s college fund when he heard a crash.

Looking up, he saw Jason punching a man with a black and orange face mask. Jaime jumped back, and threw a sonic blast. Alberto grimaced, and looked over at Milagro. He motioned for her to stand behind him as he grabbed his shotgun.

He pointed his gun up, hoping that he would not have to kill a man in front of his family. But to his relief, Jason shoved the mysterious attacker to the ground while Jaime shot staples at the man.

Don’t forget to call (those left behind).

A/N: ((Fic War))

I’m about a week late with this, and I apologise. The promt was great and actually something I have been meaning to write for a while. You gave me a good reason! Hope this is feels-evoking enough!

…. …. ….

She remembered.

She wasn’t stupid, nor naive as everyone around her seemed to think. A year ago, Jaime had disappeared. Her big brother had disappeared as if literally from the face of earth. Bianca, her mother, had been the one to worry first. Her father Alberto had calmed her down, reminding Bianca that Jaime was every bit of a good son, only a bit forgetful, and surely he was hanging out with Brenda and Paco. He would be back soon.
It took them two days before they filed a missing-person report. Two months before they realized that Jaime wouldn’t return.

Milagro remembered.

She never said the words out loud, never said that she missed Jaime and held back that childish urge to ask her parents when he would come home again. Because she wasn’t a child, she had decided, while she still let her parents hold her when the memories stung too harsh. Her fault, they reminded her.

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Soy México

Soy los ensayos de Octavio Paz, los poemas de la condición humana de Jaime Sabines, los voladores de Papantla y el Sol Azteca. Soy el Pig de Xavier Velasco, el humor ácido de Jorge Ibargüengoitia, una torta ahogada, una caguama familiar, la marihuana de Michoacán. Soy un Nocturno de Xavier Villaurrutia, el peyote de Real de Catorce, la sabiduría de María Sabina, el humor de TinTan, el amor de Pita Amor. Soy ese morro de la secundaria con playera del TRI, un poemínimo de Efraín Huerta, el desierto de Sonora, un guerrero olmeca. Soy el amante de la Informante en la novela de Cristina Rivera Garza, un cuento de piedra de Carlos Fuentes, un águila que traga serpientes. Soy un indio en los cuentos de Juan Rulfo, un orinal en un relato de Fernando Nachon, un Detective Salvaje de Roberto Bolaño. Soy los consejos de Alberto Chimal, una bestia de Juan José Arreola, un transeúnte de Alfonso Reyes, unas enchiladas con pollo, un tequila. Soy un Olvidado de Luis Buñuel, un caifán de Juan Ibáñez, un pinche amor perro de Alejandro González Iñárritu, un cuento de Francisco Tario. Soy el maguey del mezcal, el nopal del cerro, el pulque de los dioses, el inframundo Maya, los poemas de Ramón Martínez Ocaranza. Soy Simón del desierto siendo seducido por Silvia Pinal, el ángel exterminador, los tres huastecos, los taquitos al pastor y la charanda. También soy todos mis muertos, todos mexicanos, todos enterrados en esta tierra y como dice Gabriel García Márquez, en las primeras páginas de Cien años de soledad, uno es de donde tiene enterrados sus muertos.