#Bahia writing

[perseabeth]

Milo’s Lyre

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and get your heart broken in the most beautiful way possible. I published another one shot about this fic titled “What If” you can read it too- I got this idea last night during my angst hour with @anotheroceanid, and after few tears, and of course her inspiration, I decided that you should cry with us too! - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character, all belong to the great author of the fic that made me cry more than my college curriculum enjoy ✨

Apollo no longer remembers how the dream began. He isn't even certain how he can dream at all. He once believed that gods were immune to such mortal experiences, but ever since his love vanished, dreams and nightmares have haunted him in every stolen moment he tries to delve into slumber. This dream, however, was different.

It was serene. Apollo sat upon a rock, a glittering sea stretching before him. His heart ached with a profound sorrow. The sea... How could he ever gaze upon the ocean again without seeing her eyes? How could he ever look at the waves and not remember the way they mirrored her gaze?

Sometimes, he would embark on frantic quests, searching for the sea that truly captured the color of her eyes, just to glimpse those sea-green eyes once more.

How long had it been? Seven years? For gods, time was an irrelevant concept, a fleeting notion in the face of immortality. Normally, seven years would pass as quickly as seven minutes. But these seven years... These years had stretched into millennia. He never knew time could crawl so slowly, could torture so mercilessly.

Apollo cradled his golden lyre, the instrument that once brought her such joy. He remembered the first time she heard him play, the radiant sparkle in her eyes, the breathtaking smile that stole his soul forever. His fingers, delicate and reverent, brushed against the strings, coaxing a serene melody from the lyre. Each note floated through the air like a whisper, and even the restless sea stilled its waves, entranced by the music.

Minutes passed in this harmonious reverie until Apollo felt a presence behind him—a presence so calm, so peaceful, carrying the unmistakable scent of the sea. Hope surged through him. Could it be his love? Could he finally see her in his dreams?

He turned his head slowly, afraid to wake from this fragile hope. As he did, his eyes met sea-green ones, and his heart melted, his soul awakening. Percy’s eyes… But something wasn’t right. The figure before him was a young boy, no older than six or seven, with golden curls that framed his face in a halo of sunlight. The boy was breathtakingly beautiful. Apollo's heart clenched as he took in the boy’s features. They reminded him of himself in one moment, and then of his love in the next, as if he were a perfect blend of them both.

Apollo's heart clenched. This boy… he looked like the son he might have had if Percy were still here. Shock rendered him speechless as he gazed into those familiar eyes. It was as if the child embodied the essence of their love, a living testament to a future that had been cruelly taken from them.

The boy stood cautiously, studying Apollo with a curious intensity. His golden locks tumbled over his forehead, and he wore a simple chiton that only enhanced his cherubic innocence.

“Can I see this, sir?” The boy’s voice was soft and melodic, yet firm and confident—far beyond his six years. His eyes darted to the lyre in Apollo’s hands, and Apollo finally realized what the boy wanted.

But Apollo was too shocked to speak. The boy stood silently, waiting for Apollo's response. When he finally understood, he nodded. “Of course.”

The boy took careful steps toward Apollo. As he stood before him, the sun god wondered who had raised this child. Most children snatched what they desired without hesitation; they didn’t wait politely for anything. Yet, this boy's sea-green eyes looked up at him with pure innocence and curiosity. He bent slightly to study the lyre, his hands kept respectfully to himself as if he were afraid to touch it.

Apollo realized the boy wouldn't touch the lyre unless he gave it to him.

“Here,” he extended the lyre to the boy. “You can hold it.

The boy hesitated, shaking his head. “No, no, it must be precious.” His voice was filled with a respectful reverence that belied his age, making Apollo's heart beats with admiration.

Apollo gave the young boy a gentle smile. “No, it will be fine here,” he said, pushing the lyre into the boy’s hands. The boy took it with utmost care, his eyes filling with wonder as he studied it. He looked at the lyre as if it were the eighth wonder of the world, his interest and amazement clear.

“Can I ask how you made it, sir? It is amazingly beautiful,” the boy asked, his curiosity shining with pure beauty and innocence.

Apollo smiled fondly, remembering how the lyre came into his possession. “My brother stole my cattle and gave this to me,” he chuckled.

The boy chuckled too, hiding his mouth with his small hands. “This reminds me of a story Mama tells me, about the sun god and the messenger of the gods.”

Apollo froze. The boy’s interest shifted back to the lyre, while Apollo tried to process the millions of questions racing through his mind. His mother told him stories? Apollo was about to ask more when the boy looked up and spoke in his soft, melodic voice. “If you don’t mind… can you,” the boy paused, choosing his words carefully, “can you teach me how to play it? The melody you played was beautiful.”

Apollo, still dumbfounded, watched the boy. “I think I figured out how to make it, but I want to play it for Mama. She seems sad lately, and she loves melodies so much. She sings me lullabies, but I don’t know any to sing for her. So maybe, maybe I can play her something nice that makes her smile.”

Questions swirled around Apollo’s mind. How could a child so young speak with such confidence and wisdom? But the most pressing question came to his lips. “Where is your mother?”

The boy, still focused on the lyre, answered, “On an island.”

“Where is the island?” Apollo asked.

The boy smiled as if Apollo had asked something silly, his smile bright and peaceful. “In the sea,” he said, then paused. “But Mama says the sea is dangerous.”

Apollo looked at the boy, confused. The boy’s answers seemed to reveal everything and nothing at the same time. Dangerous sea? He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Apollo's shoulders slumped. He couldn’t be Percy’s son. Perhaps his mind was creating illusions, offering a glimpse of a future he could never have, mixing him and Percy together to create the child Apollo had always dreamed Percy would carry.

Apollo looked into the boy’s eyes—Percy’s eyes—deciding that maybe, just maybe, he could live this dream for as long as it lasted. For as long as this dream allows him, he wants to imagine that this, indeed, is the child he created with his love. He held the boy’s hand, guiding him on where to place his fingers on the lyre. “Here, let me teach you” he said softly, positioning the small fingers with gentle precision on the lyre’s strings.

The boy was, in fact, the eighth wonder of the world, Apollo thought, as he looked at the young boy whose golden locks glowed in the sunlight.

Once—that was all the instruction the boy needed to create the most beautiful symphony Apollo had ever heard. The boy’s fingers danced over the strings with an innate skill, plucking and strumming as if he had been born for this. The melody flowed seamlessly, each note a shimmering thread weaving through the air, enchanting everything around them.

Apollo smiled fondly at the boy, who was also in amazement, his radiant smile outshining even the sun. The sea sparkled with the boy’s joy, and the sun, feeling almost humbled, began to set beyond the horizon, casting a golden portrait over the world.

Suddenly, the boy stopped and carefully extended the lyre back to Apollo. “I have to wake up now. Mama will wake up soon, and I can’t let her do things alone.”

Apollo’s brows knotted in confusion. “Where are we now?”

The boy smiled brightly. “We are dreaming, of course.”

Apollo took the lyre, looking at it before turning back to the boy. “You can have it.”

The young boy shook his head, making his golden locks jiggle. “It is a gift from your brother. It is precious.” He smiled, a smile that warmed Apollo’s soul, his beautiful sea-green eyes glowing with kindness. Apollo didn't want to wake up. He just wanted to see Percy’s eyes a little longer. Even if it was a hallucination, he wanted to remember those eyes longer.

The boy smiled at Apollo as he began to turn his head. “Thank you for helping me make Mama happy. Next time, when we meet, I’ll try to teach you something too.” And with that, the boy started walking away, slowly dissolving into the dream's fabric.

It didn't take long for Apollo to lose consciousness of the dream. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed on Olympus, the morning light casting a gentle glow through his window.

Apollo sat on his bed, his chamber unchanged, Olympus glowing just as it always had. But his heart was heavy with a sorrow that even the gods would struggle to bear.

A sad smile graced Apollo’s lips—a smile that held an ocean of pain, a pain too deep for mortals to fathom. The Fates had always been cruel to him, but now even his own mind seemed to conspire in their cruelty, conjuring hallucinations to torment him.

A young boy, the eighth wonder of the world—a boy he could have had if Percy were still with him. If only she were here, somewhere beside him. He was certain she would have adored this boy, cherished him with all her heart. But he was not real.. And his Percy was not here.

Apollo rubbed his eyes, longing to wake up, to return to his duties, to mourn a girl whose disappearance remained a haunting mystery. And to mourn an imaginary son, whom he was certain he would never see again.

—————————

Gaea’s Island

Percy was puzzled by her son’s urgency that morning. After helping her with his brothers, he dashed outside, claiming to have something important to attend to.

She didn’t pry too much into Milo’s affairs, trusting that whatever he was up to, he knew how to avoid trouble, unlike her eldest, Hector. As long as it was Milo, she assured herself, he would be fine.

But Milo had been unusually preoccupied for days now. Whenever Percy found him, he would hastily hide something behind his back, claiming it was important. Percy didn’t dwell on it, assuming it was a surprise he didn’t want her to see. She smiled at the thought.

Then, she heard it—a beautiful melody that froze her in place. For a moment, she thought it was a dream, a hallucination conjured by her own longing. an image of a man with the most beautiful sky-blue eyes, creating serene melodies for her suddenly occupied her mind.. But the sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She followed the sound, Hector and Luke trailing behind her, until she suddenly stopped.

On the grass sat a young boy with golden locks, his sea-green eyes shining with joy as he looked up at her. Her Milo. In his hands, a wooden instrument created the most enchanting melody she had ever heard since she arrived to this island

It didn’t take long for Percy to realize what her son had made. Her heart swelled with oceans of emotions, pain, sorrow, pride and love as she beheld her precious Milo, crafting a lyre with his own small hands.

Percy approached Milo, her heart overflowing with a mixture of confusion and love. A single tear traced its way down her cheek as Hector and Luke stood nearby, mesmerized by the beautiful sound emanating from Milo's creation.

Milo looked up at her with a bright smile, but confusion clouded his features as he furrowed his brows. “You don’t like it, Mama? I made it for you.”

Without hesitation, Percy rushed forward, enveloping Milo in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love it… I love it so much.”

“Then why are you crying?” Milo asked, puzzled.

“They're tears of happiness, my love,” Percy whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Tears of happiness—tears of memories, pain, and pride. Tears of many things.

Milo pulled away, showing Percy the delicate wooden instrument he had crafted. “Here, let me show you more,�� he said eagerly, his fingers deftly plucking at the strings.

As Milo played, Percy couldn’t help but notice how he resembled his father in that moment. Not a mere version, like Luke, but a reflection—a radiant embodiment of his father's spirit.

Then it struck her—how did Milo know about the lyre? It was Hermes who created it, nd given it to Apollo, later becoming Apollo's symbol. How could Milo know exactly what a lyre looked like? She had always believed that their father lived on in their souls, but she never imagined it would manifest in such a tangible way.

Puzzled, Percy looked at her son. “How did you learn to make this?”

Milo beamed at her, his eyes sparkling with the wisdom of the universe. “In my dream, of course, Mama.”

The answer did little to quell Percy’s bewilderment. She watched as her son proudly displayed his creation, insisting that she should smile because he had made it for her happiness. He even taught his brothers how to hold it so they could all bring joy to their mother.

She watched them take turns playing, each displaying a pure talent they hadn’t known they possessed

Her Milo, her precious children, and her precious lost love…

A few days later, the lyre disappeared from the island, as if it had never existed before.

[cepheusgalaxy]

☃️Brazilian traditional looks☃️

A slice of an introdution

--

Art by unknown, if you who it is from, please warn me and I'll give the proper credit

This outfit featured in the drawing is traditional from the North East region, which is the one I'll be rambling about since is the one I know the most

This outfit isn't used for day-to-day and casual ativities, but mostly for special events.

The dress' name is baianinha

Before going into more details, it is important to highlight how the country, and specially the North East part of it were influenced by african culture.

The Africa is a wide and huge continent, full of the most diverse cultures, some of which, due to the diaspora, were bought here.

The Brazilian culture is, fundamentally, a mix of indigen, african and portuguese culture. Our language was a contribuition of the Portugueses, and many of it was also influenced by the Tupi (one of the most spoken indigen languages in the territorry), from which we have many many many words. The enslaved black people bought here also bought their cultures, and that was a big influence for the cuisine, the dances, the kid games and the clothes. We all know what Europe looks like and their culture doesn't differ much so we know what portugueses bought (some influence in the cuisine, the clothes ofc, the dances and stuff).

Dependong of the area of the country you're in, some specifics aspects of the culture may stand out. For some historical reasons (I won't be explaining here becaude it would make this way longer), the european imigrants from Modern Era went mostly to the South, and the black enslaved and no-more-enlaved were concentrated in the North East; the native people (indigenous brazilians) managed to stay in the North, and as so you can see a larger influence of White Culture in South and South East, a larger influence of Black Culture in the North-East, and a larger influence of Indigenous Culture in North.

The baianinha outfit has its roots bonded to afro-origined not only culture, but religions, like the candomblé and ubanda, in which the praticers use similar clothing. In Bahia (North-east), one of the most black influenced states of Brazil, this one is quite of a symbol.

[theshatteredpieces]

Lagrimas Dulces

En las noches oscuras y silenciosas, cuando todo parece estar en calma, las lágrimas dulces caen sin pausa, recorriendo mi rostro con suavidad. Son lágrimas de amor y de tristeza, de alegría y también de soledad, que brotan de lo más profundo de mi alma, buscando consuelo en la inmensidad. Lágrimas dulces que van lentamente, borrando las penas y el dolor, limpiando mis heridas más recientes, con el bálsamo de su dulce sabor. Son lágrimas que traen esperanza, que me recuerdan que aún puedo amar, que en cada caída hay una enseñanza, que me impulsa a seguir y a luchar. Lágrimas dulces que reflejan mi ser, mi fragilidad y mi fortaleza, que me hacen sentir viva y mujer, en este mundo de amor y de tristeza. Así que no temas llorar, princesa guerrera, porque las lágrimas dulces son sanadoras, te ayudarán a encontrar el armadura, para sobrevivir en tierras más promisoras.

[writing-drinkingtea]

Finally have my author photos✨ can hardly wait to see these on the flap of my debut novel 📚 #TheOnesWeLoved

[anachronismstellar]

Me, writing 2 am again: why create an entire island from nothing when Brazilian historical cities are right there-

[bat-the-misfit]

imagine if brazil had a boyband

[sporadicinfluencertiger]

Morocco Demystified - Marrakech

It was by chance I found myself sitting aboard an aircraft bound for Morocco. The previous week as I contemplated my next destination, the country was not in contention. It was November and many of the European destinations under consideration were experiencing poor weather. Then, as if by happenstance, I was offered a fare to Marrakech (Marrakesh) for just €26 (about $25US). Morocco is a country…

[transexualpirate]

whose blog did you find my post on lol

petty rant incoming "florida miku" "texas miku" "ohio miku" it's supposed to be countries!!!!!! not states!!!!!!!!!! it's interesting bc you have to fit as many elements from a whole ass country you can into one single art!!!!!!!!! if you make it with states it can easily get specific!!!!!!!! not the point!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! everyone else is making countries why are americans acting like their states are different countries it's all usa

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Women still lack visibility in Brazilian literature

Starting in 2026, the University Foundation for the Entrance Exam (Fuvest), which is responsible for selecting students for admission to the University of São Paulo (USP), will have a compulsory reading list with works written by women authors in Portuguese. The move comes in a bid to value the role of women in literature.

When the announcement was made last year, chair of the Fuvest Board of Curators and USP vice-President Maria Arminda do Nascimento Arruda justified the decision by saying that many of these writers “have for decades been made virtually invisible simply for being women.”

In the opinion of Lella Malta, founder and coordinator of Escreva, garota! (“Go ahead and write, girl!”), a support, engagement, and training collective for women who write, female invisibility in literature is still prevalent in Brazilian society. “The erasure of women’s writing is a phenomenon that still exists,” she said in an interview with Agência Brasil during the Pelourinho International Literary Festival—or Flipelô—in Salvador, Bahia.

“We may think it’s over, but you only have to look at the shelves to see that we still read more men. The publishing market events themselves promote this. And we women have this thing about self-sabotage; we think we’re never enough. I believe we have to work on these women, these future female authors, so they have courage and more self-esteem, and are able to reach this market in a more professional way. Writing is an instrument of female empowerment, and that’s our banner in the project,” she stated.

Continue reading.

[messrsrobyn]

for your anon concerned about tokenism which is a very important thing, it truly is. but what made me go easy on myself was realizing that fanfic is kinda not the place people should go for when looking for rep? now let me explain. it’s not that fics shouldn’t have rep, or that fic writers are exempted from having to incorporate it, because i don’t think it’s neither here and there. that’s not the argument we should be having. we should have rep in proper media, in things that actually make an impact in the world. that’s where the rep should happen and we should advocate for that etc etc. we also should be mindful of what we consume and how we do it and see if we only engage with cishet westernized stuff. but aside from that, if people are demanding from fic writers those things it’s kinda weird to me. like, my dude, you love the whitest, most cishet work of all times and that’s fine with you, but this random writer from xique xique bahia (brazilians will understand my joke) has to know all the intricacies of being a teen in the 70s in wales? or else they’re not doing a good work? like, maybe…! go read books that are diverse and engage in those fandoms too. a lot of HC are just like that anon said, so widely spread that just makes sense. desi harry is very dear to me. even if i also vibe with latino james. idk man, i think we can call off straight up problematic stuff. racist stuff. but if you go into fics trying to be educated maybe open a proper book and like, don’t expect fics to be a manifesto? i just want to see gay people kissing. and i think that’s the gist of it, i read books, i study, i educate myself so when i go into fanfiction im expecting to have a good time. i can also find amazing political stuff in it, but i don’t demand an academic work from writers. but some people are so braindead nowadays that the thought of actually opening a book and studying it too time consuming. so, anyways, yes please don’t be racist don’t be weird don’t be creepy, but also guys, maybe y’all should take fanfic less seriously and engage with other things outside of fandom.

I COULD NOT HAVE SAID IT BETTER MYSELF ‼️‼️‼️

the beauty of fanfiction is how chill it is !!! which is something that's been lost recently with all the moral debates (noisy jegulus haters, i'm looking at you and frowning) !!!

i'm doing a lit + pol degree, and that really shows the difference for me. yes, whilst i read these works for university i'm picking apart everything, i'm cross-referencing it with the politics of the time and how they've developed, at the back of my mind i've always got this idea of representation.

i don't with fanfiction. because that's not the point.

fanfiction is the a FREE and OPEN resource. we don't have to worry about whether publication companies find value in our ideas, we don't have to worry about whether our words hold as much worth as others. we just Write.

people get too concerned with the morality of fanfic, they expect perfection from people Doing A Hobby. and i get it, i get where frustrations come from, but at the end of the day this is a bit of fun.

and yes, diversity is SO important but at the end of the day, fanfiction is already the most diverse form of media out there. if you want deeper explorations, either write them, or take your frustrations out on the core material that fandoms are derived from. take your frustrations out on the fact that we have to add diversity to fandom spaces because it's not in original media.

fanfiction is fun, it's a hobby and i am getting So So So tired of people nitpicking and deciding what words have worth when that's the exact reason i criticise official publishers.

BONUS YAP: "i think that big authors needs to step up and-" NO ‼️‼️‼️ just because they have more hits does not mean fandom etiquette doesn't apply. just because their works have more kudos does not mean they owe anything !! maybe stop putting people who are Having Fun with a Hobby on a pedestal to be your moral light.

IT'S ALL SO FRUSTRATING IM SORRY. every time i open tiktok it takes a year off my life because it's not even FUN anymore 😭 why are we policing everything

[yukasyukasyukasyukas]

Nanobomb headcanons?

Yessssjsvjshasss. I'm writing a nanobomb fanfic to answer another ask about nanobomb so while I don't finish it,

More nanobomb headcanons

Raze likes to cuddle with Killjoy while they work, it's quite hard to work when someone is hugging you from the back but KJ doesn't mind

Raze is constantly stealing KJ's stuff but replaces them with little handmade gifts

Raze lives near her parents' house so she can see them and her brother more frequently

KJ lives a whole ocean across from her family

Raze is average (1,65) and KJ is kinda tall (1,72)

The first time Klara went to Brazil was to São Paulo to visit a Kingdom installation so when she packed up for Bahia she didn't consider the heat that is in the northeast and had to borrow Tayane's clothes for the rest of the trip (she never gave them back)

Tans

Shrimp

Raze IS shorter than Killjoy and no one convinces me of otherwise

Killjoy is an energetic addict and Raze, as a good Brazilian, loves coffee

Big spoon

Small spoon

Tayane is the kind of person to ask questions of the kind of "would you still love me if I was a worm?" and Klara answers them with the most logical and rational replies

ESTP

ISTJ

Raze cooks traditional Brazilian and Bahian(?) dishes to Killjoy so she 1- eats something that isn't industrialized and 2- knows more about her culture

Argue a lot about Kingdom but they eventually end up getting to a deal

Phoenix was the first to know about them dating

Killjoy's hobbies consist in either stressing activities or literally doing nothing

Raze's hobbies are very diverse and go from drawing to making plane models

Raze owns an old green Beetle (Fusca) that she's very emotionally attached to and Kj's dream car is a Tesla

Idk anything about cars so I'm not specifying what Tesla

Raze has a flying plane miniature model that works without an engine and she's very proud of it

Killjoy has a modified nanoswarm that is a flash but it's kept in a case bc it's made of magnesium and gunpowder and no one wants it to explode in the HQ

They spend hours just talking about motorized things

Training in automobilistic engeneering

Master's degree in computer engineering

7x1 and Kingdom's occupation in Salvador haunts their relationship

25

24

Raze's hands are always dirty of paint and whenever it's wet, she stains Killjoy's clothes to "remind her girlfriend of her"

Loud music while working

White noise while working

Killjoy actually doesn't really mind Skye, Reyna or Breach but picks on them bc they pick on her

Raze doesn't like lots of other agents but doesn't let it show

I can't find the ship dynamic meme so I'm gonna describe it:

Raze: hand holding, wild blushing

Killjoy: unholy thoughts, neutral face

[perseabeth]

< What If >

this is a one shot written about @anotheroceanid amazing fic titled When the Horizon Bloom, read it on AO3 you will enjoy it very much and cry very much too - i do not own the idea of the fic and i certainly do not own any character. this is a version of “What if” things happened differently in the fic. enjoy ✨ and i’d love to thank the author again for the amazing fic that i’m becoming obsessed with

****

Percy paced back and forth in her cabin, a growing sense of unease gnawing at her. She felt lost, unsure of whom to turn to, and the lack of dreams last night only heightened her fear. Sleep eluded her; every time she closed her eyes, she was jolted awake by terrifying nightmares.

She had faced Kronos, defeated titans, and held the weight of the world on her shoulders in Atlas’ place. She had endured experiences far worse than any nightmare could conjure, living through horrors that would break most. So why was she so afraid now?

A soft knock on the door pulled Percy from her spiraling thoughts. A blonde-haired girl peeked in. "Seaweed brain?"

Percy lifted her gaze to meet her friend's. Annabeth's gray eyes were filled with concern, as if sensing something was wrong. "You missed breakfast... is everything okay?"

Percy tried to muster a small smile. No, nothing was okay. Morning sickness was wreaking havoc on her, and the nightmares of gods punishing her were relentless. "Yes, I'm okay. I just woke up late," she managed to say, though it was far from the truth.

Annabeth looked at her silently for a minute, her eyes seeming to penetrate Percy’s thoughts. Percy was always amazed at how Annabeth’s eyes mirrored Athena’s, reading a person like an open book. she gulped, hoping Annabeth would believe her words. After a moment, her friend nodded slowly. "Your training starts in 15 minutes. The class is almost ready."

Percy gave a slight smile and nodded. "I'll be there." Yet Annabeth lingered at the door, as if waiting for Percy to confide in her. Realizing she wouldn't get any more information, Annabeth gave a final nod and closed the door behind her.

Percy hated lying to her friends and hiding anything from them. Since the war, they had all promised to be open with each other, to support one another through the healing process. But what could she say? That she was pregnant? Carrying a god’s child? No, not even one—three. Three small lives growing inside her, and she had no idea who to turn to.

She did have an idea. She wanted to turn to everyone around her, but her dreams held her back. Demigod dreams weren’t mere dreams; they were messages, visions, and warnings. And here she was, sleep-deprived because she dreamt of her children being killed while their father watched, emotionless.

The day passed rather quickly, as if Kronos had cursed time to hasten her doom. Everything was normal; life at camp went on as usual. Campers were enjoying themselves, chatting, sneaking drinks, and partying as if there were no worries for tomorrow.

It was ironic how carefree they all seemed. They had won a war and were free, savoring the remnants of their mortal lives. Yet, Percy was once again carrying the weight of the world. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed something strange about her. Then the news would spread like Greek fire, reaching the gods, who would learn of the prophecy. Percy and her children would be doomed.

Unconsciously, she wrapped a hand around her belly, as if trying to shield them from the inevitable. Just then, Percy noticed a pair of lingering gray eyes. "Still not feeling well?" Annabeth's voice pulled her from the ocean of her thoughts. Percy quickly removed her hand from her belly, afraid the gesture might reveal too much. "Yes, don't worry. I think I had too many cookies," Percy muttered, attempting a smile to reassure Annabeth. But she knew her friend wouldn’t buy it. Annabeth nodded silently.

The thing about a daughter of Athena was that she knew when something was wrong. But she waited for you to confide in her before uncovering the truth herself. That’s what Annabeth was offering Percy—time to reveal what was going on before she forced it out of her.

—————

The Olympus council raged with energy—too much energy for Percy’s mortal form to bear. She had been here multiple times before, she reminded herself, but nothing had prepared her for this moment.

She tried to catch her father’s eyes, but he immediately looked away, as if unable to bear the sight of her, ashamed. Her heart sank, and her soul felt like it was shattering. She needed someone to hold onto, but there were too many eyes on her, filled with anger and power. Desperately, she searched for other eyes, gentler eyes that had once looked at her with all the love in the world. Eyes that had held her tight, swearing to protect her from everything.

Percy sought his eyes—sky blue, like a beacon of light amidst the darkness. Her heart yearned for him, remembering how he had looked sitting leisurely on his golden throne, just like the first time she had seen him there. Yet, she couldn’t find those sky-blue eyes. Instead, she was met with golden eyes, burning with rage and a promise of pain.

"Well?" Her uncle's voice thundered through the room, the echo making Percy shrink. She had never been afraid of gods, never. She would have kicked the door of Olympus open and marched in like the hero she was. But today wasn’t about her. It wasn’t about harming her. It was about harming those precious to her—her children, hidden within her belly, shielded from the room's volatile energy.

"Apollo, what do you say about this, since you are, after all, the father?" Zeus’ voice was like thunder, each word more terrifying than the last. His tone dripped with sneer, as if the whole situation was beneath him.

Percy’s eyes remained on her lover, whose gaze had become a foreign land. Apollo did not speak; he just stared at her, as if silently threatening her, blaming her for their predicament. Then, with a cold, emotionless voice, he sealed her doom. "I will have none of this," he stated, turning his gaze back to his father. "They might be mine, but I will not claim them, and they will face the wrath of the gods like anyone else who dares to overstep their position."

Fog and mist clouded Percy’s vision. Tears welled up, blurring her sight. Perhaps her tears were merciful, blocking his face from her so she wouldn’t remember him like this—so emotionless, so heartless, promising punishment. This was the true Apollo, the one she had read about in books, the one who punished Cassandra and skinned a satyr alive. This wasn’t her Apollo. This wasn’t the gentle touch of the sun that had held her warmly. This voice wasn’t the sweet, melodic one that had whispered love to her. These eyes weren’t the beautiful ones she had always admired.

Zeus’ voice cut through the room again, sharp and authoritative. "Then the children should be punished and thrown into Tartarus, and they will take with them anyone who stands in the way." Zeus looked at her, a silent warning in his eyes—'You will go with them if you object.' He continued, "All in favor?"

Percy looked around in horror, her gaze landing on her father, pleading silently for mercy. But all she got in return was, "I agree."

All hands were raised, not one sparing her or her children. Cold, merciless eyes looked upon her, not with pity but with disgust, as if she had committed an unforgivable sin.

Percy’s tears could no longer be held back. She fell to her knees, perhaps because her legs could no longer support her, or perhaps because she wanted to beg. She didn't know. All she knew was that she was crying, her sobs echoing throughout the room, her trembling voice barely holding together.

"Please don’t. Please, please. I’m begging you. Please don’t harm them. Please. I’ll take them away. I’ll raise them far from here, but please don’t harm them."

She wasn’t sure if she was making any sense, wasn’t sure what she was even begging for. All she knew was that her heart was shattering, her soul was dying. She felt an immense, unbearable pain, and she was screaming.

——

Percy jolted awake, the room cloaked in darkness, but the light of the fountain was enough for her to recognize her surroundings. She was in her cabin. Safe and sound. She was safe, and her children were safe.

Tears filled her sea-green eyes once more, her heart shattering anew. For the first time, her cabin, her mini-heaven, felt suffocating. The events of her dream rushed back to her, and Percy could no longer hold back her tears. She needed to get out, needed to breathe. Air was scarce in the cabin, and she needed more.

With shaky legs, she stood and rushed to the door, trying to find air, trying to calm her sobs, but she couldn’t. She burst through the door and into the night. She didn’t remember where she walked or where her legs carried her. All she knew was that she found herself in the middle of a path lined with trees, the only light guiding her being the moon’s gentle glow.

She tried to control her sobs, tried to take deep breaths to calm herself. She was safe. They were safe, she reminded herself.

A sudden movement behind her froze the blood in her veins. She sensed him—felt his presence. His energy was always so warm, so peaceful, that she could always feel him. But this time, this peaceful energy brought her only fear. She didn’t dare look behind her, didn’t dare see if those eyes had turned golden again. She didn’t dare to hear that cold, merciless voice. So Percy stood there, wrapping her arms around herself, protecting herself, protecting them from the coldness she had just begun to feel.

"My love?" His gentle voice was like a sweet whisper, so lovely and filled with emotion. It carried love and concern, just as she was used to, before her nightmares.

"Percy, my love, why are you here?" he asked again, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid of startling her. That’s when she broke down again. Hearing his voice like that only reminded her of her nightmare, her visions, and what his voice might sound like when all was exposed.

Percy didn't remember how it happened, but she found herself enveloped in warm arms. She remembered his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he held her, shielding her from the coldness of the night. It was ironic how the person she feared was the one giving her peace and comfort now, the only one capable of calming her tears. She sensed the fear and worry in his voice as he held her, felt his concern through the gentle touch of his hand soothing her hair.

If only he knew what he would become in the future...

She stayed there for what felt like minutes, maybe hours. She didn't even realize when he had picked her up and led her to a rock, where he sat with her wrapped in his arms, still caressing her hair and calming her down. She didn’t dare speak or look at him, afraid her eyes and voice would betray her

After what seemed like forever, she finally dared to look at him, to meet his gaze. He allowed her to lift her head, and she saw his eyes—beautiful, clear sky-blue even under the moonlight. His eyes were filled with love and gentleness, just as she remembered, now mingled with concern. Percy’s sea-green eyes locked with his, afraid that if she looked away, his eyes would turn to gold again. Her lover didn’t speak, only looked at her, always considerate, always patient, waiting for her to find peace before finding her voice.

“What’s wrong, love?” he muttered, his voice carrying the gentleness of the world. He brushed away the hair blocking her face, soothing her racing heart. He waited for an answer, but she shook her head, still unable to find her voice.

She felt terrible lying to him; she couldn’t look into his eyes and deceive him, so she averted her gaze, studying her surroundings. Only now did she notice they were in the middle of the forest. Suddenly, a warm hand gently held her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes again. “Percy… what’s wrong?”

She knew this tone—the tone of demanding answers, answers he would get no matter how long he has to keep her wrapped in his arms. A voice inside her head, a tiny voice, told her she could trust him, find peace in him, that he would protect her as he promised. But that voice was immediately drowned by the ocean of nightmares that filled her nights.

Percy shook her head again, trying to find her voice, now raspy from screaming and crying. “J-just a nightmare,” she muttered, still unable to look away as he gently fixed her chin with his warm fingers, holding her gaze.

Apollo studied her for a few minutes before gently stroking her hair again with his other hand. “A nightmare that made you run to the woods in the middle of the night?” he asked, still gentle and patient.

Percy simply nodded and muttered, “A bad nightmare.”

His gaze never left hers, studying her while his hands continued to soothe her. “What was it about?”

Percy gulped. She knew he would ask. He was always curious about every detail of her life, always there listening to her nightmares. He wouldn’t let this one go.

She looked at him, still holding his gaze, as if trying to show him she was being honest. “About the war.”

Apollo simply nodded before Percy felt the gentle touch of his lips on her forehead, kissing away her worries. His warmth spread throughout her body, comforting her, enveloping her in peace. For a fleeting moment, Percy wanted to believe that all was perfect in the world.

He whispered, his lips still on her forehead, "My love, have I ever told you how terrible of a liar you are?"

Percy's heart sank as nightmares rushed back to her—the memory of his cold voice, his golden angry eyes, and his indifferent gaze. She could feel her heartbeat in her hands, only for him to look at her again, his beautiful blue eyes meeting hers, guiding her through the darkness.

His eyes held nothing but pure gentleness, a hint of teasing, and a lot of love. His fingers started brushing her cheeks gently as he spoke again, his voice as gentle as a feather, "You are a terrible liar, and I love that you try to lie to the god of truth." He kissed her nose affectionately.

Speechless and unsure of what to say or how to react, Percy was overwhelmed. her silence didn’t seem to bother him as he continued to brush her cheeks and pepper her face with sweet, gentle kisses. "Now tell me, what’s wrong?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern and love.

Percy couldn’t do anything but shake her head as she attempted to free herself from his embrace, only to find him holding her tighter. He remained silent, patient, silently facing their battle as she struggled against him.

She heard him sigh, and for a split second, fear gripped her—fear of him running out of patience, fear of meeting those golden eyes again. But the more she protested, the gentler his hold became. She looked into his eyes again, his lips curving into a small smile. “You aren’t going anywhere, my love, until you tell me,” he stated, his voice filled with warmth.

She shook her head as silent tears started rolling down her cheeks. “I-I can’t,” she whispered.

He shook his head, as if her answer wasn’t what he was seeking, before kissing her tears away, wiping them away with his lips. “Yes, you can, and you will, Percy,” he sighed before continuing. “I know you well enough to know that nothing, absolutely nothing, could make you run into the middle of the night like that unless it was something terrifying.” He kissed her forehead again, as if aware of the calming effect his gentle kisses had on her. And he wasn’t wrong. The more he did it, the more she felt at peace in his arms, despite all the nightmares.

He gently continued, still holding her gaze. “You looked at our dear grandfather eye-to-eye and stood your ground. I know my Percy. Nothing can scare her. So tell me, my love.”

She wanted to, oh how she wanted to tell him everything, to spill everything and hold him close. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew how he would react, and she knew what they would face.

Percy shook her head again, tears streaming down her face as she forcefully freed herself from his grasp. She couldn’t bear to look at his hurt expression, the pain in his eyes as she distanced herself from him, as if she were afraid of him. And who could she lie to? She was afraid of him.

She kept shaking her head, trying to make him understand. She didn’t want to hurt him, but he had to understand. She struggled to find her voice again. "I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!" she repeated, tears flowing freely. The night’s coldness enveloped her once more, while her body begged her to return to the warmth of his arms. Percy tried to look at him, hoping he would spare her from explaining anything, but she was once again met with his beautiful blue eyes, tinged with pain and uncertainty. His voice broke her, destroying all the self-will she had been trying to gather, as he whispered, "Don’t you trust me?"

She does! She wanted to scream at him that she does, that he was foolish to even doubt it. But does she? Percy questioned herself as she looked at him again. does she trust him? If she did, she wouldn’t feel afraid of him. If she did, she wouldn’t believe he would harm her or their children.

The longer she took to answer, the more pain showed in his eyes as his gaze locked onto hers. Then he spoke again, almost in a whisper, his voice showing hints of pain. "What did I do?"

Silence enveloped them, the night alive with the symphony of the forest. The rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, the distant hoot of an owl, and the occasional chirping of crickets provided a backdrop to their conversation, amplifying the tension between them.

She kept looking at him, observing how he tried his best to understand what he had done wrong. Knowing him, he was probably going through a mental list of things he thought he might have done.

But how could she tell him?

“You didn’t do anything,” she finally said, her voice quivering.

“Then why?” he pressed.

“Why what?”

“Why are you looking at me like you aren’t sure whether you are safe with me or not?” he asked, his eyes still fixed on her, waiting for any reaction.

Percy couldn’t handle this anymore. She couldn’t tell him anything, yet she couldn’t not tell him anything. He stood there, hurt, thinking she didn’t trust him, yet he was so far from the truth.

Apollo slowly stood and stepped a little closer to her. Blame it on her nightmare or her lack of sleep, but she couldn’t help but take a step backward, earning her a quizzical look from him.

“St-stay away,” she muttered, hoping to stop him. She realized too late that her words had indeed stopped him, but not in the way she wished, as he stood frozen, looking at her with pained eyes. For the first time in her life, Percy witnessed fear in Apollo’s eyes.

She had hurt him, deeply. But who could blame her? If anyone with a healthy mind saw these visions every day, they would react the same way.

She tried to speak again, hoping to remove that pained look from his face. “I-I didn’t mean it that—“ But before she could finish, he spoke again.

“You are scared of me… What did I do?”

That’s when Percy broke down again. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was nightmares, maybe it was a terrible mix of both, but she couldn’t bear to see that look on his face. She started sobbing, holding her face in her palms. She felt him hesitate, unsure whether to step closer or stay where he was, knowing she was scared.

Percy kept sobbing as she muttered, "It’s not you... You will harm us... In the future, you will harm us... I can’t let that happen... They don’t deserve this!"

Apollo’s voice cut through her sobbing state as he simply questioned, “Us? They?”

Here’s a few things about Percy: sometimes words don’t go through her brain before speaking them out, which has gotten her into trouble with gods, titans, and monsters alike. When she is in distress, this tendency becomes even worse, and following order becomes harder for her. And in that special moment, Percy was in her most vulnerable state as she couldn’t control her sobs. Gaea had warned her to be careful with every word she says, but it’s not Percy’s fault that Gaea trusted her with such a mission. And it was too late when Percy realized what she had done as she looked at her confused lover. It was too late to withdraw her words; her tears still blurred her vision as he stood in front of her. “I-I mean us, me and you,” she stammered.

Apollo shook his head, didn’t he just tell her how terrible of a liar she is? “You just said ‘they’? Who are they, Percy?”

She wanted to run, to escape now, never look back because she just realized that she had messed up everything. Her tears were uncontrollable at this point, but she couldn’t let herself drown in them. She needed to stay awake to face him, but with what? What could she say?

In a blink of an eye, she felt warm palms cupping her cheeks, caressing them softly as his eyes poured into hers. “Who are you talking about?” he whispered gently, as if he was aware that whatever topic they were approaching was something destroying her.

Was it worth lying at this moment? Percy questioned herself. Maybe Gaea had promised to save her from all, but was it a real solution? Was she able to run from the twelve Olympian gods forever? Was she really able to postpone whatever destiny her children might face? She is a child of prophecy, and she knows how hard it is to escape prophecies. Was any of it really worth it?

She could feel a voice in her head telling her to confide in him, and another screaming and shouting at her, telling her that these nightmares would come true, and she was only making them come quicker. She could feel invisible hands holding her throat, preventing her from talking, a pressure almost preventing her from breathing. But one thing, one small thing, was holding her like an archer holding a ship amidst a dark storm: his eyes. Those gentle eyes that looked at her with all the love and concern possible. Eyes promising her that he would protect her no matter what. And in that second, she trusted those eyes, for they had never broken a promise.

“Our children,” she whispered, maybe even afraid that he would hear. But she knew that he heard, because the frozen state he was in proved that he did, in fact, hear.

His frozen state only fed her fears more; his eyes never left hers, but he was oddly silent, and that didn’t help her at all in this situation. She regretted blurting it out; she regretted not controlling herself, and she was about to regret confiding in his eyes when the silence was broken with his voice.

“You are—” he began, but couldn’t finish. He waited for her to finish, waited for her to spill the words so she could confirm them.

Tears rolled from Percy’s eyes again. That was it, that was the moment she had dreaded. But when was she a coward running away? Never, and she never would. Percy nodded, still holding his gaze, as she finished his own sentence. “—pregnant.”

And again, frozen, he was back again to that state where his eyes widened, looking at her, searching her eyes for any hint of a lie. She had to break this silence; she had to speak. She led armies, so she could lead a conversation, even with tears rolling down her eyes.

“triplet.. But there’s a prophecy… Dangerous… Gods will be angry… You will be angry… A lot of danger… Tartarus… I need to prote—” But before she managed to finish her incoherent speech, which she was sure made no sense, she felt warm lips on hers.

It was a gentle kiss, soft and tender, like a feather brushing against her lips. It was a kiss filled with happiness, reassurance and love, a silent promise. In that moment, all her fears melted away, replaced by a sense of peace and warmth. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, letting herself be enveloped by his love.

Maybe she wished to believe that it was a normal pregnancy announcement; maybe his kiss did make her feel like that. And for moments, she wanted to believe that. He broke the kiss only to replace it with another tender kiss, and another, and another.

She tried to whisper between kisses, reminding him of their situation: “Prophecy.” But it only gained her an inaudible mumble as he kissed her one last time. Maybe he didn’t hear her incoherent speech; maybe he was also wishing to live in his own world for a few minutes.

He looked at her again, and if she thought that she already found his most beautiful gaze, she was wrong. Because at this moment, there she found the most beautiful gaze. He looked at her with eyes full of love, happiness, pure happiness he barely showed, besides when she confessed her love for the first time. But now, it was a new type of happiness, a new type of hope. His hands never left her cheeks as he kept caressing them with even more tenderness. He whispered, “I love you... so much,” before kissing her again softly and mumbling, “Thank you.”

She hated to break that moment for them; she hated to ruin this happiness. But she had to. She had to tell him the full truth since he already knew the worst part of it. “Prophecy,” she mumbled again. That’s when she caught his attention, and he spoke, “What prophecy are you talking about my love ? I heard of nothing.”

She took a deep breath before she spilled everything to him, from the moment she discovered her pregnancy to the prophecy, to the nightmares, and even Gaea's secret mission in 'helping her'. She could feel Gaea’s rage; don’t ask her how, but she could feel it.

Only after saying everything did she finally dare to look at Apollo, who was now holding her waist with his brows knotted in confusion. He was silent for a few minutes, her anxiety at its peak as she waited for any word from him, anything.

Maybe after telling him everything, he would agree with her plan with Gaea? Maybe he would agree with how dangerous her children are? Maybe he would say that the prophecy could be wrong? She didn’t know. But she did know one thing: his face showed pure curiosity and not anger.

After what seemed like hours, he finally spoke softly, "No." She looked at him in confusion.

"No..." he repeated again, Percy still not understanding what he was trying to say, when he cupped her cheeks and forced her to look at him. "I don’t care what this prophecy says. I’ll have a talk with Rachel for hiding this. But I don’t care what it means."

Percy whispered, afraid of raising her voice, "You are the god of prophecy, you can't say that."

He shook his head, his blue eyes still filled with determination. "If me being the god of prophecy means I’ll let harm come to my children, then I’ll let Delphi crumble to pieces."

"No harm will come to them. I will not allow any harm to come to them, and I don’t care if the price to pay was Olympus itself," Percy tried to shake her head, as if she was warning him that he was saying nonsense, but he fixed her face and made her look at him. "Nothing, and absolutely nothing, will harm you or our children, love," he stated. "I swear it on the River Styx." A sudden thunder broke the silence of the forest.

An oath... he just made an oath while holding her as if he didn’t just make the most sacred oath. Percy tried to reason with him, "But Gaea—"

Apollo shook his head again. "I’ll not let anyone take care of you. I don’t trust anyone with you, and especially not a primordial goddess that was supposed to be sleeping."

"But Olympus—"

"I’ll deal with them. Leave them to me."

"But—" She tried to protest when his lips found hers again in a gentle kiss, silencing her. "Stop with buts. Nothing will happen, and you have the word of a god. I will never allow anything to happen to you... all of you." That’s when his eyes were suddenly filled with happiness and gentleness again. He suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his nose in the crook of her neck.

As he mumbled in her neck, in a soft, gentle tone, "Gods, Percy..." and "Thank you," she didn’t understand what he was thankful for, but she was sure of one thing: for the first time in weeks, she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders, just like when Atlas took the weight of the Earth from her again. Yet this time, she felt utter peace. Complete peace.

For the first time in weeks, she felt her heart filled with happiness. She was in his arms, the arms of the one who made a sacred oath to protect her and her children. Not just her, but also them. And maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.

It was worth having this nightmare so she could find him here tonight. Maybe the Fates really took pity on her... just maybe, there is hope.

[cepheusgalaxy]

Oh you're Brazilian, correct? *saw ur bio*

I was wondering if there's anything I should or shouldnt do when making a Brazilian OC.

Oh hi!

First of all, thank you for the ask :) I'm very happy you decided to make a brazilian oc, whatever is the reason (if any at all lol) 👍 Keep up the good work.

Now, generally, what you should avoid are the most common stereotypes assossiated with latin people in general (like the Latino Lover stereotype), and some specifically assossiated with us a lot:

The Soccer Player ("every brazilian [black] guy obv plays soccer"), the Samba Dancer ("every brazilian black girl dances samba"), the Sexy Brazilian (everybody has their preferences ig but try to step away from fetishization--also falls into the latino lover a little) and the Carnival Party Person ("brazil is a very big carnival party all of the time") are some examples of stuff you should avoid.

Some things I would advise you to consider aside from this are A. Their race, B. The area they're from and C. Cultural differences (I'm gonna list them in a bit).

I mention race here because a very common thing in Brazil, actually (at least if you don't consider the South/South East) is the miscigenation phenomena. Long story short, some centuries ago, the colonizers had an... "idea" of toning down the population of black people in the country, so interracial relationships were very incentivated to "breed" lighter skinned black people. Results: On this day, most brazilian people in the Northern areas are not 100% black, but very very mixed (like me). A lot of people have dark skin, though.

Now, the area where they are from would also play a big factor in the things you want to consider, because Brazil is big, so we generally divide it into five areas (this division was made in 1969 i think, by the IBGE--the brazilian institute of geography and statistics): The North, North East, Central West, South East and South. If you search for a map with this categorization you'll be able to see it.

Culturally, these areas are very different, but I'll go through them briefly here.

North - most of the indigenous folk are concentrated here (for many historical reasons) and here is also the Amazonic forest (a bit of it is in other countries' territorries but I don't remember exactly which). The demographic density (which is the amount of people per say, mile) is very sparse, and despiste it being the largest area out of the five it isn't the most populated. Indigenous cultural heritage is the strongest here.

Nort East - warmest area in the country. The majority of people here are black or brown (for a lot of other historical reasons i unfortunately can't go on about here but they are very interesting if you wanna search up) and African cultural heritage is the strongest here.

Central West - has a very little amount of states here, and also the Federal District--aka the capital, Brazilia (fun fact: Brazilia isn't localized in any state, like the capital used to be, it is separated, so that's why we say Brazil has 26 states + one federal district). I don't know a lot about this one, so I'm gonna rely on Google a little, but basically:

That's the only area that is not bathed by the Atlantic, so no sea here at all, and back in Colonization Days, it was a very explored area for mineration (one of the states here, Minas Gerais, was named because of that, fun fact). Most of the population here is white (50,5%) and brown [mixed race] (43%) source (wikipedia page for the Central West in portuguese).

South East - as we go down here, the areas start getting cooler and whiter. The biggest cities of the country are here: São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. White population, as I said before, is strongly concentrated here, because Back In Colonization Days, a lot of europeans (mainly italians and germans i think, although i might be wrong on this one) migrated to there and the South because the climate is more like in Europe than in the northern areas. This is probably what most people think when they say 'Brazil' (that or the amazonic forest, ofc), because media wise, it covers mostly carioca Carnival (Carnival from Rio de Janeiro) or the super urban city of São Paulo. Fun fact: One of the Seven World Wonders, the Christ The Redeemer statue is located there, in the RJ.

South - smallest area in the country. There are literally just three states here. It's also the coolest area out of the five, and there is even snow here! The European heritage is very strong here, also because of the migration from a few centuries ago.

If you want more insight on a certain specific area for your character, I'd be very happy to help! :) I myself am from the North East, so I have the most information about that, tho.

Now about the cultural differences in general.

A few important things that really differ are:

The culinary (depends of the area, though: up north it will have more african and indigenous dishes, down south there will be more european dishes and stuff)

The climate (if your character is from the northern areas, they will have a hard time adapting to any cool areas they might be in now--in the North East we're used to an average 25º C, or 70º F, for example, so if things go cooler they're gonna want to be very warm)

The measurements (celsius degreees vs farhenheit, miles vs kilometers, centimenters vs feet and inches, etc.)

The calendar: In the South Hemisphere, unlike in the North Hemisphere, summer is on the last and first months of the year and winter is in the middle. Basically, the seasons are inverted up there in relation to here

The school year also works a bit differenly, for that matter: Janurary and the first week of February are summer vacations, and then the year starts. A few weeks later, we have a few more weeks off for Carnival, so no school then too, and *then* you could say the year actually starts. In June (winter), we have a 10-day break for São João festivities (at least in the North East because São João is a cultural "festival"--if that's the right word), and then summer break starts around the end of November or the end or December, depending on the exact school.

Oh yeah, and one more big difference your character might find strange assuming they're in the US or a similar country now: In Brazil we have a thing called SUS - the Unique Health System (Sistema Único de Saúde), which is a free health service for everybody, funded by taxes. I heard that in the US all medical care is private, so I wanted to highlight that in Brazil we have free public healthcare and then also the private hospitals, so that could cause some cultural chock, lol

Same thing for college: There are a lot of public universities. There are actually many differences between usamerican and brazilian education system, but the main ones are that.

If you have any further asks, feel free to send them, I'd love to go deeper into one single thing if you want it. Good luck with your oc <2

[tf2heritageposts]

There is: (i got too excited and it's a bit long sorry)

What kind of brazillian foods/drinks the mercs would like the most

Scout:

He would love any kinds of street foods, his favorite ones would be coxinha, a fried snack stuffed with chicken; Hot dogs in the São Paulo way, they usually have mashed potatoes, corn, peas and shoestring potatoes above (with ketchup and mustard, of course) and pastel, a fried dough (the texture is similar to a puff pastry) that can have many kinds of fillings, the most usual one is mozzarella cheese. He also would love eat this while drink sugarcane juice (it's a classical combo).

Soldier:

This one is funny, bc in my head all the other mercs had to lie to him that they were getting 100% american food so he could at least try some, and he keep eating it without knowing the thruth. His favorite ones would also be ones of the most iconical ones, by irony of the destiny, such as feijoada and pão de queijo. He would also love farofa (is made either with corn or cassava, braised with oil and can have diverses other igredients too) but since Soldier is build diferently, insted of eating it as a side dish he just cook a huge ass pan of farofa and eat all of it with a spoon.

Pyro:

He would love brigadeiro, because is sweet as him (awwn). He would love churrasco (brazilian barbecue), so much that he, engineer and sniper would be the ultimate churrasqueiros of the team (however only engineer and sniper are alowed to touch on the grill since the incident). From the many things that can be made in a churrasco, Pyro likes garlic bread the most (because it gets burned at outisde really quickly but still ok to eat). The last thing from his list would be cuscuz paulista, recipe that blend corn flour and many other igredients, and that people from other brazilian states keep saying its ugly but THATS UNTRUE YALL JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT - me, a sad paulistana.

Engineer:

As said before, he would love churrasco, and any kind of red meat should be his favorite (picanha, striploin…). He would also like the local beer options and condensed milk pudding (pudim). No special rasion on the last one (besides giving all the mercs at least 3 itens).

Demoman:

He would LOVE drinking cachaça (alchoolic drink made with sugarcane) and caipirinha as well (drink made with cachaça, lime, sugar and ice). For eat, his favorite food should be torresmo (pork skin with fat cut into small pieces and fried until crispy), that is also a good side dish in brazilian bar's.

Heavy:

His first favorite option would be estrogonofe, wich is actually a brazilian version of a russian recipe (stroganoff), with some alterations. He would also enjoy virado à paulista (plate composed of a beans and cassava flour mix, together with pork chop, tuscan sausage, fried egg, braised cabbage and a piece of breaded banana), it's a really big meal to a really big guy. Finally, he would go for "caipiroska" for drinking, with is a caipirinha variation but with vodka in the place of cachaça (wich i didn't know existed until i started writing this kkkkkk)

Medic:

Cuca de banana (a cake with bananas and a sugar & cinnamon on top) would be one of his favorite desserts (it also has a germanic origin i also didn't knew kkkkkk). He also would like specific foods from Bahia, such as Acarajé (dumpling made from black-eyed pea dough, onion and salt, and fried in palm oil, can be stuffed with shrimp or other options of filling) and cocada (candy made with coconut), but I can't specify why yet bc it envolves a headcanon/AU i'm still making and i want it to be a silly surprise, i'll edit here once it's done.

Sniper:

The last one of the ultimate churrasqueiros, his favorite item would be chiken's hearts. Aparently pumpkings are very used in australian culinary, so i like to imagine he would also like doce de abobora (dessert made with pumpking). Finally, i guess tapioca (cassava gum, can be fried like a pancake and stuffed to taste, among other uses) just suits him idk.

Spy:

He would love Carolina (looks like a éclair, but is smaller, rounder, and filled with dulce de leche) and sonho (fried dough, usualy filled with vanilla cream and with sprinkled sugar above. The name of this recipe translate to "dream" in a literal form btw kkkkk). Ending this list, Spy would enjoy queijo com goiabada (a slice of minas cheese thogeter with a slice of guava paste).

Thank you for reading until here, and sorry if i made you fell hungry hihihi

holy shit this is so good

also i want carolina that looks so good

i also want the sugarcane drinks, please god i’ll do anything

[govindhtech]

Modern Art of Bahia Museum’s Unique Heritage Collection

Bahian Museum of Art

Through the most recognisable pieces in collection, which are now digitally available, discover the colourful tapestry of modern Brazilian art, from historical roots to contemporary voices.

Nestled in a picturesque architectural complex on Salvador’s beachfront is one of Brazil’s most significant modern art organizations. Google’s is thrilled to present the rich legacy collection of the Museum of Modern Art of Bahia to a worldwide audience for the first time. This collection perfectly embodies the lively spirit of Brazil.

Through a partnership with Google Arts & Culture, more than 70 of Google’s collection’s paintings have been digitised in extremely high resolution, making the MAM-Bahia experience accessible online. Now, visitors from all over the world can explore Google’s digital collection and learn about the tales that distinguish our museum. Here are three highlights that are not to be missed to get you started:

Going from Manor to Museum

Explore the rich past of Solar do Unhão, the stunning coastal community home to the Museum. Discover how this ancient monument, which dates back to the 16th century, changed over time and became the great cultural hub it is today thanks to the ideas of architect Lina Bo Bardi.

The most significant facility for modern and contemporary art in the state of Bahia is the Museum of Modern Art of Bahia. Its breathtaking site, the mediaeval mansion Solar do Unhão, overlooking the ocean and surrounded by lush foliage, lends an extra degree of beauty to the art experience.

Constructed in the 17th century, the Solar do Unhão has an interesting history, having passed through the hands of affluent families, Benedictines, and even a snuff factory in the early 1900s.

It was first mentioned in writing in the sixteenth century. Gabriel Soares de Sousa, a Portuguese coloniser, farmer, and historian, was the owner. They left the region to the Benedictines of Bahia in will after passing away on an expedition close to the Paraguaçu River’s sources.

Italian-Brazilian architect created the Museum of Modern Art of Bahia vision and was its first director from 1959 to 1963. They is well recognized for creating the Museum of Art of São Paulo (MASP) project.

The Rubem Valentim Pavilion and a new Sculpture Garden were added to the museum area in 1998.

Presently, MAM-BA’s exhibition spaces feature well-known artists from Brazil and beyond, solidifying the museum’s position as a major player in the country’s contemporary art landscape.

In addition to art shows, the museum hosts a busy cultural schedule. A vibrant community of learning and involvement is fostered by the museum through continuing educational programs and multilingual events.

Enlarge the assortment

Discover about 70 high-definition digital masterpieces from the MAM-Bahia collection thanks to Google Arts & Culture. From modernist classics like Tarsila do Amaral and Rubem Valentim to contemporary artists like Bob Wolfenson and Panmela Castro, explore the brushstrokes and uncover hidden elements in paintings.

Modernist Icon Tarsila do Amaral

The famous Brazilian artist Tarsila do Amaral (1886–1973) used startling colours and compositions. Manor to Museum used Brazilian themes and sceneries in her ‘Modern Art’.

An Up-Close Look at Tarsila’s “O Touro”

Let’s take a closer look at Tarsila do Amaral’s well-known “O Touro.” Observe how the strong visuals and vivid colours express the tenacity and resiliency of Brazilian culture. Bold, geometric shapes are used to symbolise the bull, a symbol of both industry and nature.

Tarsila do Amaral used European avant-garde, especially cubism, but Manor to Museum also created her own personal style by fusing Brazilian colours and ideas into her works. This resulted in a genuinely original artistic voice.

Produced in 1928, this piece of art represents a turning point in her creative development. It’s reminiscent of her previous “Pau-Brasil” (Brazilwood) style, but it’s also deeply based in her “Antropofagia” (Anthropophagy) period.

There is something gigantic about the bull, the main character, that goes beyond realism. Its geometric and simple design is reminiscent of the early 20th century cubist influences.

Tarsila embraced ‘ugly’ or inoffensive colours like violet pink and pure blue, which were deemed to be daring and unfashionable at the time. Her devotion to artistic innovation and pushing limits was evident in this audacious decision.

Viewers are still drawn to the artwork because of its vibrant colour scheme, straightforward shapes, and surreal atmosphere, which entice us to explore a fanciful vision of the Brazilian countryside.

Highlighting Black Art

Salvador’s cultural landscape is enriched with African heritage. Without the contributions of Black Artists, whose works reflect the influence of Afro-Brazilian faiths, customs, and people, Bahia’s art would not be the same. Learn about some of the well-known names that comprise the museum’s collection and the ways in which up-and-coming artists are realising their ideas and cultural legacies.

Salvador, Bahia’s lively capital, is a distinctive destination due to its African roots. The city has the most African descendants worldwide.

Emanoel Araújo

Emanoel Araújo (1940-2022) incorporated Afro-Brazilian culture into his prints, paintings, and sculptures. Emanoel Araújo’s attention to Afro-Brazilian heritage is visible in his paintings.

Araújo’s impact extended beyond galleries and museums. As the director of the Pinacoteca do Estado de São Paulo and later the Afro Brazil Emanoel Araújo Museum, he was honoured following his passing.

Panmela Castro

Powerful Brazilian artist and activist Panmela Castro (b. 1981) promotes women’s rights and social justice through her art. Her murals, paintings, and performances address gender equality and feminine identity.

In this picture, the artist depicts Federal University of Bahia scholar Ana Cláudia Lemos Pacheco, who studies the “solitude of the Black woman”.

Juarez Paraíso

Juarez Paraíso, a notable Brazilian artist (b. 1934), works in sculpture, painting, and printmaking. Paraíso has greatly influenced the art scene in Bahia and Brazil. His art is modernist with a twist.

Google’s uses interlocking circular structures that resemble organic shapes. His emphasis on circularity and organic forms distinguishes him from geometric modernism.

Tiago Sant’Ana

Contemporary Brazilian artist Tiago Sant’Ana (b. 1990) is making waves with his thought-provoking paintings on race, history, and power.

The “Sugar Shoes” series emphasises freedom’s precarious balance. These sugar shoes represent Black liberation. Their impending dissolving in seawater highlights their newfound citizenship’s vulnerability.

Anderson AC

Versatility defines Anderson AC (b. 1979). He works in painting, graffiti, collage, photography, video, and installation. Memory, history, and past-present links are common topics in his art.

His creations often start with found objects, giving them new life. This shows his interest in personal and collective histories.

Read more on govindhtech.com

[justforbooks]

Astrud Gilberto, who has died aged 83, became the best known female bossa nova singer, thanks to her cool, breathy and delightful treatment of The Girl from Ipanema, a song that sold more than a million copies when it was released as a single in 1964, and introduced the laid-back, sophisticated Brazilian musical style to a vast new audience across the US and the rest of the world.

Gilberto did not write the song, and had not previously been rated as a key figure in the bossa nova movement, as she had never sung professionally before. But that one hit record changed everything. She became the impossibly cool voice, and face, of what would become a new global pop music fashion.

The song was taken from the album Getz/Gilberto, a collaboration set featuring the American saxophonist Stan Getz, who had become fascinated by bossa nova, and the Brazilian guitarist João Gilberto, to whom Astrud was then married. She performed only two songs on the album (the second was Corcovado) but The Girl from Ipanema guaranteed that she would become as well known as the album’s two official stars. The song also transformed her husband’s career, but they never enjoyed its success together as their marriage broke up later the same year. Astrud went on to develop her own career, and continued to work with Getz.

Born Astrud Evangelina Weinert in Salvador, in the Brazilian state of Bahia, she was the daughter of a Brazilian mother and German father. He taught languages and literature, and decided to name his three daughters after goddesses of German mythology – Astrud, Eda and Iduna. When Astrud was eight the family moved to an ocean-front home in Rio de Janeiro, where she studied at the Colégio de Aplicação.

As a teenager in the late 1950s, she became friends with the singer Nara Leão, and through her she met the other emerging stars of Rio’s new bossa nova music scene, including the extraordinary guitarist João Gilberto. Also born in Bahia state, he had moved back to Rio after an uneasy career in which he had been fired from a band because he could never be trusted to turn up for rehearsals, and had then spent months living with an elder sister, practising and perfecting a new style of romantic and reflective music.

Bossa nova mixed Brazilian samba rhythms with influences from the American “cool jazz” scene, and featured an understated vocal style matched against an acoustic guitar technique that combined plucked chords with jazz-influenced harmonies and chord progressions.

João Gilberto’s work impressed the composer Antônio Carlos “Tom” Jobim, who began writing songs in the new style, helped by the lyricist Vinicius de Moraes. The first bossa hit, Chega de Saudade, in 1958, was followed by a full album with the same title the following year. Bossa nova shook up the Brazilian music scene, and João was the star performer. In 1960, when Astrud was 20, she and João were married.

The newlyweds did not stay in Rio for long. American jazz musicians including Charlie Byrd visited Brazil as part of President John F Kennedy’s Good Neighbour programme, and were excited by the new music that they heard. Back in the US, Byrd recorded the album Jazz Samba with Getz, another convert to the new style, and it became a massive success. It was now inevitable that João Gilberto would be invited to the US to perform, and in November 1962 he appeared in New York at a famous concert that also included both leading Brazilian bossa nova musicians including Jobim and Sérgio Mendes and the American jazz stars Byrd and Getz.

João and Astrud stayed on in New York, and in 1963 he recorded his collaboration album with Getz, with help from the producer Creed Taylor. One of the songs they wanted to include was Garota de Ipanema (The Girl from Ipanema), a song that had been written by Jobim with lyrics (in Portuguese) by Moraes, as they sat in a bar off Copacabana beach in Rio, watching the girls go by.

There is controversy as to how Astrud came to sing The Girl from Ipanema on the album. There have been suggestions that Taylor suggested that English lyrics should be included, and that Astrud offered to sing them, because she spoke English, despite the initial protests of her husband.

For her part, she always insisted that she sang on the album at his suggestion, and that he admired her voice. What is not in dispute is the commercial success of the decision. When the song was released as a single, in a shortened version to encourage radio play, it became a massive hit, reaching the top 5 in the US charts and No 29 in the UK. It also helped to further boost sales of the Getz/Gilberto album on which it had first appeared; at the time, it was credited as the bestselling jazz LP in history. The song would later be covered by singers from Frank Sinatra to Amy Winehouse.

Astrud’s relationship with João was now at an end (they divorced in the mid-60s), but her career was just beginning. She toured with Getz and appeared on his 1964 live album Getz Au Go Go, covering both bossa and American standards, and in 1965 she released her own first solo set, The Astrud Gilberto Album, which included songs in both English and Portuguese.

The following year she released two more albums, including Look to the Rainbow, on which she worked with Gil Evans. In 1964 she appeared in two films, The Hanged Man and Get Yourself a College Girl, and in 1966 she worked with Quincy Jones on the soundtrack to the Sidney Lumet spy thriller The Deadly Affair. For many years she was the voice of Eastern Airlines, and appeared in their TV commercials.

She never enjoyed massive success as a soloist, but was a prolific artist and continued to collaborate with other major musicians. She began writing her own songs in the 70s, and her 1977 album, That Girl from Ipanema, included a duet with the jazz trumpeter Chet Baker on one of her songs, Far Away.

In the early 80s she formed a band that included her son Marcelo playing bass, and in 1987 she recorded an album with the James Last Orchestra that included several of her own new songs, including Champagne & Caviar. In 1996 she contributed to the Aids benefit album Red Hot + Rio, singing the bossa classic Desafinado with George Michael.

In 2002 she was inducted into the Latin Music Hall of Fame, and released what would be her final album, Jungle, which featured 10 of her original new songs. She also announced she was taking “indefinite time off” from public performances. She now devoted much of her time to animal rights projects and her work as an artist. In 2008 she was awarded a lifetime achievement Grammy by the Latin Recording Academy.

She is survived by Marcelo, her son with João Gilberto, and her son Gregory, from another relationship.

🔔 Astrud Gilberto (Astrud Evangelina Weinert), singer and songwriter, born 29 March 1940; died 5 June 2023

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