#spain: i'll finally show portugal he AINT SHIT

[countryshitposts]

Las Islas Filipinas

i decided to look through my old drafts and cringe about the whole thing, so i made something regarding something i’ve been considering doing. this is basically going all “History of the Philippines”, with some other people in it lmao.i was actually debating whether actually doing this because i “write in the sake for motivation” so if i lose motivation my story is doomed to never update lmao

but ye i gathered courage to do this

also @redffeather thanks for inspiring me uwu

1- spain monologues for three pages

Warning for: racism, colonialism, slavery? and religious themes that will be present from start to finish

yes every chapter title is going to be like that now

Staring at the vibrant blue of both the seas and skies has become Spain's new hobby, he realizes. He looks at the sky with his bored eyes, then back at the map he was drawing. It had been days, weeks, years since he had last seen dry land. He wanted to stop this trip, to go back to his land, his stomach agreeing with him. Spain regrets taking on this quest to stop everyone from believing that the earth is flat and that monsters lurk at the end of the world. But there was no waterfall, no monsters, no nothing. It was just him, his crew, and the great wide ocean.

He doesn't even know where they are now.

He mostly lets the stars and God guide them, but God has not been speaking to him lately, no matter how many times he goes to his private quarters and start praying, holding his beloved cross and muttering prayers, his prayers holy on his tongue. But there was no feeling of an embrace, nor a noble voice telling him from up above what he should do next. He can feel his heart beating even louder, his eyes darting from the cartography table, towards his crew members, then at the blue sky where God resides in.

Spain clasps the cross once again, and mutters a prayer of thanks to God for a long and safe voyage. Even though he will feel happy and content after a prayer to the Almighty, all he feels is paranoia, and a creeping sensation on his hands.

Is he not good enough to the eyes of God anymore?

Preposterous!, Spain says, tightening his grip on his cross. God cannot do that to me! Not for how many men and women I have converted to Christianity at the hands of God!

He glances at the map pertaining to America, and he smiles, feeling his chest become swollen with pride as he remembered civilizing those barbarians and taking all the gold that they are flaunting. They were stupid, uncivilized men and women, and Spain had much pleasure bringing them to the side of God. It was quite easy, molding their brains as if their muscles were soft clay to his hands, as he with one fist smashes it down to the point it has become a flattened shape. It is a saying of farewell towards their old barbaric ways, and come to the world anew, with a new hope in them. Spain had stripped them of what had made them barbaric, but he still can't help but think that they still act like ones. So Spain tries again with many of his colonies, reshaping them, molding them to make them so perfect to the point of no return, their beautiful materials, and their children and descendants are now my children and descendants because fuck it, I am in charge of this here land.

Even the mere presence of deities being present and monitoring the earth is quite debatable; perhaps they exist on another plane of reality, a dimension where they can watch him and the others, Spain will not be aware of his beloved God watching him from up above, but he knows he is nodding in approval of what he has done to the people of America. Such divinity shouldn't even grace this disgusting earth with its presence, and he understands that only God can communicate through eerie voices and winds through hallways. Sometimes as Spain takes too many glasses of wine, he can hear he of the kind souls, of virtue and respect, speaking to him with a brand new idea in mind. This idea keeps Spain awake at night, and at the morning he wakes up to start his plans.

Spain sighs as he stands up, feeling that his feet has not evolved well due to hardships encountered and the sailing taking many long years to complete. He looks at the calendar; old and gray, its paper yellowed and full of cross marks from the many evolution of the sun. It measures the way he is dying inside, as well as his crew of meaningless names and voices. There is nothing to complete other than to find out if beasts lurk in the end of the world, or if it was just a myth, like the great Greek gods and goddesses whose religion has died off, but their glory and legacy remains, for they are merciful to history's beautiful words and stories, and he would often be interested in the prospect of reading a play of Euripedes about the unfortunate tales of Medea, the son killer.

"Sir!", one of his no-name members address him, and he perks his head up.

"What is it?", he asks in a level headed voice, trying to reach into his mind to remember what this boy's name is. It's not his fault he can't remember their names- they're just going to get lost to history unlike Spain, who will rise from the ashes every time, in all his glory, as someone recounts their tales of the empire that never sets.

"Land, sir!" Spain feels a rising hope growing deep inside of him, and he looks up to see a beautiful island, surrounded in sea, beautiful and seemingly people-less. Spain smiles, and orders the ship to land on one of the rocks. Spain mutters another prayer to God, as he motions a sign of the cross.

There is land, land where Christians can live freely in a paradise that looks so much like thy kingdom come, like the angels have brought them to the Garden of Eden that was lost due to Eve's stupidity and Adam's naivety. This will become his new home, new land, and he can feel the fresh air ever so slightly tousling his hair. He smiles to himself, as he can feel a divine connection from God once again, feeling his hands touching his, and that is enough to make him proud of his achievement. He can finally show Portugal who won in this game of colonialism and who gets the most children.

Because this is God's land now, God's words is the law.