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thrillingdetectivetalesMINOR ERRORS IN TRANSLATION
Joshua Faraday/Vasquez
Author's Note:I shared an Obscenely Domestic Starters Meme on Tumblr and the lovely gatesofivoryandhorn requested some Varaday so here it is!
Short and sweet, but it was super nice to dip my toe back into this lovely fandom. Here are some translations for you:
Dime algo que no sepa, guero. - Tell me something I don’t know, guero.
Tal vez. - Probably.
Y tan dulce en tu parte. - And very sweet on your part.
Te gusta esa mierda Mexicana. - You like that Mexican shit.
Besame. - Kiss me.
Yo se que me entiendes, pendejito. - I know you understand me, (affectionate form of) asshole.
Besame. Vamos, rápido. - Kiss me. Let’s go, quick.
ladrones - thieves
The joke is that in Spanish, “embarazada” means “pregnant” but sounds to an unfamiliar English-speaking ear like it should mean “embarrassed.” It’s a very common mishap for learners of the language to make.
All Spanish provided with the caveat that, while I was technically considered fluent in the language at one point in time, I haven’t used it regularly in, oh. Seven years or so? There may be some mistakes and I welcome corrections. :)
Read it here on AO3.
“Jesus Christ,” Faraday groused, sagging against the boulder at his back and mopping his sweat-soaked brow with the rolled cuff of his dusty gray sleeve. “It’s hotter’n hell out here.”
Vasquez snorted and leaned over to spit into the dirt. “Dime algo que no sepa, guero.”
They were posted up on a high outcropping overlooking a narrow valley pass just outside Blackwater, with squat wedges of barren red rock and withered husks of scrub grass the only cover from the brutal late August heat for miles. The sun had meandered across the sky some hours before to hover stubbornly overhead, glaring yellow eye trained viciously upon them where they were waiting on Sam and Miz Cullen to drive a wagonful of banditos—helpfully infiltrated by their own Billy Rocks—into the pinched channel.
Goody was belly-down on a narrow overhang about halfway up the cliff face with a rifle in hand and Red was supposedly loitering somewhere on the opposite ridge, though they had lost sight of him as soon as they parted ways down by the shallow creek at the bottom of the bluff and likely wouldn’t spot him again until the bullets started flying. All in all, warrant hunting seemed to be mostly a whole lot of hurry up and wait, with a hearty side helping of blistering derision courtesy any one of the traveling companions he’d rubbed wrong that day, present company included. Faraday hadn’t quite decided yet if he liked it, but this morning wasted boiling alive in the wilds of the Arizona territory certainly wasn’t doing much to convince him.
“You gonna talk at me in Mexican this whole time?” Faraday grumbled, knocking the scuffed leather toe of his boot against the gaudy silver cap gleaming at the tip of Vasquez’s own. The other man shrugged, rolling the unlit butt of a half-smoked cigarillo between his teeth. He was settled near enough to Faraday that their shoulders brushed and an altogether different sort of heat fizzed under Faraday’s skin at the contact.
“Tal vez,” Vasquez offered. “Could talk Mexican at me, too, you know.”
Faraday snorted. “Now why would I go and do that?”
“You could use the practice, mijo.” Vasquez arched an eyebrow and shot a fond, intent look from beneath the sweeping black brim of his hat. “Remember what you said the other day?”
“No,” Faraday said, pointed.
“You told the whole saloon you were pregnant,” Vasquez provided helpfully. “Sheriff Martìnez laughed so hard he spit beer out his nose.”
It was a small blessing, Faraday considered, that he was already flushed red from the heat. With any luck, the flood of sheepish irritation bleeding up from his chest wouldn’t show in his face so clearly as it normally did, though the sudden smug curl of Vasquez’s smirk suggested otherwise.
“How was I supposed to know that’s what it meant?” Faraday snapped. “It’s got ‘embarrassed’ right in there!”
“It was a good effort,” Vasquez assured, voice thick with delighted condescension. He reached up to bump his knuckles affectionately against Faraday’s chest but Faraday caught his hand in the air, wrapping his fingers tight around it and yanking none too gently until they were standing side by side with their arms tucked down between them, halfway to holding hands like idiots.
“Shut up,” he snapped, and Vasquez snickered through his teeth.
“It was!” he insisted gleefully, that wheezing coyote cackle warping his words. “I’ve never seen you try to apologize before, mijito. Though,” he added, leaning in with his voice low and rough, “if it always goes that badly, I can understand why.”
“Fuck off,” Faraday snarled. He abandoned his grip on Vasquez’s hand in favor of half-turning to shove him away, but Vasquez just laughed and rocked with the motion, slipping even further into Faraday’s space on the return arc.
“It was adorable,” he cooed, plucking the cigarillo from his mouth and stepping up in front of Faraday to press him back into the sun-baked rock. Faraday leaned willingly back but tipped his chin so their noses bumped together. “Y tan dulce en tu parte.”
“I told you I ain’t puttin’ up with that Mexican horseshit,” he grumbled.
“Te gusta esa mierda Mexicana,” Vasquez assured easily. He turned his face just a little, so that his beard dragged against the scruff on Faraday’s cheek and murmured, “Besame.”
“I’m sorry,” Faraday breathed snidely into the half-inch of space between them, grinning sharp. “Did you have a request you wanted to make in English, muchacho?”
“Yo se que me entiendes, pendejito,” Vasquez chided fondly. He nudged Faraday’s nose again. “Besame. Vamos, rápido. Before Sam rounds those ladrones up and we have to go to work.”
“I said English, cowboy, or get - ” Faraday started, but was almost immediately cut off by the hot press of Vasquez’s mouth.
His tongue was soft and slick and tasted largely of tobacco after an hour spent gnawing on the very thing. It curled so sweetly around Faraday’s own that a hard shot of lust ricocheted firecracker-bright all the way down to his toes. He reached up and took a fistful of Vasquez’s vest, canting his head for a better angle, and swallowed down the warbling moan that Vasquez licked into his mouth. He set both hands to Faraday’s hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, and Faraday sucked a breath past his teeth, short and sharp.
“Well, now,” he teased, voice low and rasping with want. “Ain’t no reason ever to learn Mexican if this is the reward I get for not speakin’ it.”
“Idiota,” Vasquez said, rolling his eyes. He delivered a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Faraday’s mouth and then pinched his side, hard, just as the thundering rattle of a carriage picked up in the distance.
“The hell was that for?” Faraday yelped, glowering at Vasquez’s back as he turned to peer down into the ravine.
“Being a stubborn ass,” Vasquez supplied benignly. He pulled one of his pistols from its holster at his hip and wagged it in the air, summoning him over. “Let’s go, guero. Showtime.”
“I oughta push you off this goddamn cliff,” Faraday grumbled, gamely drawing Ethel and pulling her hammer back. There was a gauzy plume of dust rising in the distance, bricky orange against the flat blue sky.
“Go ahead,” Vasquez invited cheerfully. “Good luck finding anyone else who’ll put up with you.”
Faraday snorted and swatted him in the shoulder. “Love you too, jackass.”
Joshua Faraday/Vasquez
“Remember what you said the other day?”
“No,” Faraday said, pointed.
“You told the whole saloon you were pregnant,” Vasquez provided helpfully.
(In which Faraday is affectionately taken to task for a slight misstep in his greater lingual education.)
Author's Note:I shared an Obscenely Domestic Starters Meme on Tumblr and the lovely gatesofivoryandhorn requested some Varaday so here it is!
Short and sweet, but it was super nice to dip my toe back into this lovely fandom. Here are some translations for you:
Dime algo que no sepa, guero. - Tell me something I don’t know, guero.
Tal vez. - Probably.
Y tan dulce en tu parte. - And very sweet on your part.
Te gusta esa mierda Mexicana. - You like that Mexican shit.
Besame. - Kiss me.
Yo se que me entiendes, pendejito. - I know you understand me, (affectionate form of) asshole.
Besame. Vamos, rápido. - Kiss me. Let’s go, quick.
ladrones - thieves
The joke is that in Spanish, “embarazada” means “pregnant” but sounds to an unfamiliar English-speaking ear like it should mean “embarrassed.” It’s a very common mishap for learners of the language to make.
All Spanish provided with the caveat that, while I was technically considered fluent in the language at one point in time, I haven’t used it regularly in, oh. Seven years or so? There may be some mistakes and I welcome corrections. :)
Read it here on AO3.
“Jesus Christ,” Faraday groused, sagging against the boulder at his back and mopping his sweat-soaked brow with the rolled cuff of his dusty gray sleeve. “It’s hotter’n hell out here.”
Vasquez snorted and leaned over to spit into the dirt. “Dime algo que no sepa, guero.”
They were posted up on a high outcropping overlooking a narrow valley pass just outside Blackwater, with squat wedges of barren red rock and withered husks of scrub grass the only cover from the brutal late August heat for miles. The sun had meandered across the sky some hours before to hover stubbornly overhead, glaring yellow eye trained viciously upon them where they were waiting on Sam and Miz Cullen to drive a wagonful of banditos—helpfully infiltrated by their own Billy Rocks—into the pinched channel.
Goody was belly-down on a narrow overhang about halfway up the cliff face with a rifle in hand and Red was supposedly loitering somewhere on the opposite ridge, though they had lost sight of him as soon as they parted ways down by the shallow creek at the bottom of the bluff and likely wouldn’t spot him again until the bullets started flying. All in all, warrant hunting seemed to be mostly a whole lot of hurry up and wait, with a hearty side helping of blistering derision courtesy any one of the traveling companions he’d rubbed wrong that day, present company included. Faraday hadn’t quite decided yet if he liked it, but this morning wasted boiling alive in the wilds of the Arizona territory certainly wasn’t doing much to convince him.
“You gonna talk at me in Mexican this whole time?” Faraday grumbled, knocking the scuffed leather toe of his boot against the gaudy silver cap gleaming at the tip of Vasquez’s own. The other man shrugged, rolling the unlit butt of a half-smoked cigarillo between his teeth. He was settled near enough to Faraday that their shoulders brushed and an altogether different sort of heat fizzed under Faraday’s skin at the contact.
“Tal vez,” Vasquez offered. “Could talk Mexican at me, too, you know.”
Faraday snorted. “Now why would I go and do that?”
“You could use the practice, mijo.” Vasquez arched an eyebrow and shot a fond, intent look from beneath the sweeping black brim of his hat. “Remember what you said the other day?”
“No,” Faraday said, pointed.
“You told the whole saloon you were pregnant,” Vasquez provided helpfully. “Sheriff Martìnez laughed so hard he spit beer out his nose.”
It was a small blessing, Faraday considered, that he was already flushed red from the heat. With any luck, the flood of sheepish irritation bleeding up from his chest wouldn’t show in his face so clearly as it normally did, though the sudden smug curl of Vasquez’s smirk suggested otherwise.
“How was I supposed to know that’s what it meant?” Faraday snapped. “It’s got ‘embarrassed’ right in there!”
“It was a good effort,” Vasquez assured, voice thick with delighted condescension. He reached up to bump his knuckles affectionately against Faraday’s chest but Faraday caught his hand in the air, wrapping his fingers tight around it and yanking none too gently until they were standing side by side with their arms tucked down between them, halfway to holding hands like idiots.
“Shut up,” he snapped, and Vasquez snickered through his teeth.
“It was!” he insisted gleefully, that wheezing coyote cackle warping his words. “I’ve never seen you try to apologize before, mijito. Though,” he added, leaning in with his voice low and rough, “if it always goes that badly, I can understand why.”
“Fuck off,” Faraday snarled. He abandoned his grip on Vasquez’s hand in favor of half-turning to shove him away, but Vasquez just laughed and rocked with the motion, slipping even further into Faraday’s space on the return arc.
“It was adorable,” he cooed, plucking the cigarillo from his mouth and stepping up in front of Faraday to press him back into the sun-baked rock. Faraday leaned willingly back but tipped his chin so their noses bumped together. “Y tan dulce en tu parte.”
“I told you I ain’t puttin’ up with that Mexican horseshit,” he grumbled.
“Te gusta esa mierda Mexicana,” Vasquez assured easily. He turned his face just a little, so that his beard dragged against the scruff on Faraday’s cheek and murmured, “Besame.”
“I’m sorry,” Faraday breathed snidely into the half-inch of space between them, grinning sharp. “Did you have a request you wanted to make in English, muchacho?”
“Yo se que me entiendes, pendejito,” Vasquez chided fondly. He nudged Faraday’s nose again. “Besame. Vamos, rápido. Before Sam rounds those ladrones up and we have to go to work.”
“I said English, cowboy, or get - ” Faraday started, but was almost immediately cut off by the hot press of Vasquez’s mouth.
His tongue was soft and slick and tasted largely of tobacco after an hour spent gnawing on the very thing. It curled so sweetly around Faraday’s own that a hard shot of lust ricocheted firecracker-bright all the way down to his toes. He reached up and took a fistful of Vasquez’s vest, canting his head for a better angle, and swallowed down the warbling moan that Vasquez licked into his mouth. He set both hands to Faraday’s hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, and Faraday sucked a breath past his teeth, short and sharp.
“Well, now,” he teased, voice low and rasping with want. “Ain’t no reason ever to learn Mexican if this is the reward I get for not speakin’ it.”
“Idiota,” Vasquez said, rolling his eyes. He delivered a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Faraday’s mouth and then pinched his side, hard, just as the thundering rattle of a carriage picked up in the distance.
“The hell was that for?” Faraday yelped, glowering at Vasquez’s back as he turned to peer down into the ravine.
“Being a stubborn ass,” Vasquez supplied benignly. He pulled one of his pistols from its holster at his hip and wagged it in the air, summoning him over. “Let’s go, guero. Showtime.”
“I oughta push you off this goddamn cliff,” Faraday grumbled, gamely drawing Ethel and pulling her hammer back. There was a gauzy plume of dust rising in the distance, bricky orange against the flat blue sky.
“Go ahead,” Vasquez invited cheerfully. “Good luck finding anyone else who’ll put up with you.”
Faraday snorted and swatted him in the shoulder. “Love you too, jackass.”