#ABR series

[cherrhara]

huevember day 21, change

[thehours2002]

Introducing a new series of video highlights I like to call, "I Watched an Amy Ryan Movie So You Don't Have To."

Entry No. 1: The sexy, mean bar patron in Bob Funk (2009)

[danataikoprensa]

Laura Sarmiento (Creadora), Jorge Torregrossa, Laura Mañá

Guion

Laura Sarmiento, Carlos López, Eduard Sola

[capnportofficial]

most of this is correct

note that the tan color the girls wear is actually a possible natural fabric color, it doesn't need to be dyed

so in that regard id say they dye their clothes abt as much as village smurfs do (village smurfs have papa, farmer, etc.)

smurfwillow is the leader of smurfy grove but the girls are fairly well-organized even without her. they do council meetings and stuff to decide things (although they r very silly at council meetings and sometimes not very productive.)

in lost village the girls quickly organize, grab weapons, and move to defend their village after willow gives a single order "girls! protection mode!" and in the same situation the boys would probably run around panicking.

also there's only like 5 grove girl names that r thematically "on the nose." 6 if you count smurfmouse's french name being "mole." but there are at least 13 grove girls with defined personalities.

I meant like items, culture etc

hmm cultural comparisons? let's see...

in terms of socio-economics, smurfs village seems to follow a vaguely anarchocommunist-esque structure, at least inasmuch as they don't have a monetary system or concept of private property and follow the marxist philosophy of "from each according to his ability, to each according to his needs". the only difference is that true anarchocommunism has a decentralized power structure while papa smurf acts as an authoritarian leader with complete executive, legislative, and judiciary power.

smurfy grove is, i'm assuming, similiarly organized, but they're also more militaristic and smurfwillow is a tad more off-hand than papa smurf is :T. they're both highly collectivist societies, at least.

village clothing is undyed, while grove clothing is dyed, mostly in tans, pinks, yellows, greens. this could have started out as a way to better blend in since white would have stood out in the forest. grove accessories are also a lot more varied, with flowers, jewelry, vests, and ponchos.

village houses are structured to look like mushrooms (aside from the roof cap, i don't think the base actually IS a mushroom, my best the-writers-totally-thought-of-this guess is that it's a wattle-and-daub construction). grove houses, at least in the movie, are made of wood.

village houses are on the ground while grove houses are built in tree-tops with bridges and the like connecting them. multiple platforms are built in the tree-tops and above ground-level as well. (it's good to have a higher vantage point than your potential predators....)

we know village smurfs get their name when they're at least a few years old, start exhibiting basic personality traits. i don't know how it works for grove smurfs but honestly, considering how thematically on the nose their names are too, it could possibly be similar. the only difference is that village smurfs are named after jobs/ personality traits while grove smurfs are named after nature.

that's...pretty much all I can think of without getting into the REAL heavy headcanon territory. basically grove smurfs strike me as a society that historically had to worry about protecting and defending themselves against wild animals, so their culture reflects that; meanwhile a village smurf's greatest "enemies" are humans (wizards, etc.) who rarely venture into the forest (spiders gargamel is an outlier and should not have been counted-)

[loliwrites]

November: Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

part four of fountain of sorrow

pairing: javier peña x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni  warnings/tags: set between s2 & s3, early/mid ‘90s, single mother [reader has a young daughter][child won’t play a massive role], sassy chucho, chickens, brief discussion of past physical abuse [not graphic], javi being a good girl dad, SMUT, fingering, mild exhibitionism, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, subtle declarations of love-ish, post-sex photos, female reader, no physical description, girl dad!javi, soft!javi, protective!javi, no use of y/n. word count: 8.0k series masterlist a/n: ALL CAPS EXCITEMENT

Javi combed his hair in his normal style, then inspected his mustache, making sure it looked neat and tidy. He ran his hand over his mouth and then jostled his shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror and a swipe at an errant wrinkle on his button down shirt. The last time he’d been on a proper date… well he ventured to figure that was way back when with Lorraine. A little out of practice here, which somehow felt even stranger considering he was so well practiced with the sex that usually came after proper dates.

He’d only just flicked off the bathroom light when the knock at his door came and was paid little attention. Probably just a neighbor. The more who knew he was back in town, the more came over to ask a favor or rehash the miserable past. So he paid the second round of knocking even less attention than the first. Surely they’d get the hint and move on. Leave him alone.

“Javier! Abre la puerta, pendejo!”

No one more than his father loved to call him that. And hearing Chucho’s increasingly frustrated grumbles, Javi rushed to the door and yanked it open just as equally frustrated as his father. “What?”

“That’s how you greet your father now?” Chucho pushed past Javi and entered the house mumbling under his breath, “cabrón.” Then, as if it had taken him a few extra seconds to realize his son looked more put together than usual, he spun around and eyed Javier. His eyes flicked up and down to inspect him. “Where’re you going?”

“What do you need, dad?”

Chucho smirked and folded his arms over his chest. “My boy’s got a girlfriend, don’t he?”

“Dad,”

“Who’s she? Do I know her?”

“Do you need something? I have to leave,”

“Came by to say you’re off the hook on helping me with the chicken coop on Saturday. Throwin’ a pre-Thanksgiving barbecue.”

“Great,” Javi tried to usher Chucho back toward the door.

Chucho complied but not without his own ace up his sleeve, “bring the girl that’s put’ya in such a stellar mood. And before you say no, I’ll make you fix the coop by yourself if you don’t.”

“She’s kind of busy on the weekends,”

“Figure it out, son.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

You stared at yourself in the mirror, trying not to focus too much on all the things you thought were out of place. You knew in actuality they weren’t. It was your brain nitpicking. And for what? It wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d be seeing you. And clothed no less! Four months of near constant sex over the weekends mixed with long weekdays of enduring solitude and loneliness. But since Javi had brought up the idea of an actual date, there’d been two sides of you tugging against each other. The one side that was excited to see what this meant in terms of what was happening between you two. You hadn’t thrown dating seriously off the table completely, you just didn’t think you’d do that with him. Which is exactly where the other half of you stepped in. The half that was sure Javi wasn’t the person to get serious with. Keep him under the cloak of darkness.

And life had given you unexpected time to dwell on it. Because after it was floated as an idea you had a buffer week of you being busy with Halloween plans. And then the following week Lily was home from school with the flu. The week after that, you’d picked up the nasty bug courtesy of her. By that point, Javi realized waiting for a free weekend from you was costing him more time – at least as a date went. He still got to see you those nights for sex. So he pitched a weeknight date. After work, drop the muñequita off with your mom, and he’d pick you up from there.

“He’s here!” Your mom called out from the other room. You gave yourself one more parting glance before exiting the bathroom. “Why are his pants so tight?”

“Mom,” you tilted your head to the side and complained. It was giving you flashbacks from high school. Back when she’d interrogate your suitors like you assumed a father would, had yours stuck around. But that was all you managed to say before you kissed the head of your little angel who was busying herself with a coloring book. “I won’t be back too late. Probably ten or so,”

She nodded and waved her hand at you. Don’t worry about it. Go have yourself a fun night. And with one last grateful smile at her, you pulled the front door open and slipped out of it just in time to intercept Javi as he was coming up the driveway. He looked just as good as ever. Almost made you sad you’d be in public tonight. And though he looked the same, he was holding a small bouquet of flowers in front of him, and that was new. A little more thoughtful than most gestures from him.

“You look great,” he smiled and leaned in for an immediate kiss. 

You reciprocated instantly, feeling an innate sense that your mom was most definitely looking out the front window, watching you. So you pulled away and looked down at your outfit after a quick, chaste peck. “Yeah? Are those for me?”

“Yeah,” he grinned and handed the bouquet over.

You fondled the delicate petals before burying your nose in them. A surprisingly nice scent, and also surprisingly, not some filler flower. You wouldn’t have expected a guy like him to have good taste. “Let me put these inside. I’ll be right out, then we can go,”

He nodded though you’d already turned away from him, heading back for the house. And seeing as though it wasn’t at all an invitation, Javi stood in place and looked around awkwardly, pushing his hands into his pockets, awaiting your return.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

If there was any part of you that thought the awkwardness would dissipate once at dinner, you were sorely, sorely mistaken. It all remained as if both of you were unsure of who the other person was, what the intention was… and you knew he was picking up on it, too. The way his cheeks grew red whenever he accidentally interrupted you. The way that redness progressed to his ears when he said something that might’ve been a little off-color given your date taking place in what could be described as Laredo’s nicest restaurant.

You’d run the gamut of small talk. Things that were absolutely asinine given the fact that he’d already been inside you. How was the muñequita doing? How was work? What’d you study in school? You figured driving your fork into your eyeballs would’ve been less painful. The wine he ordered hadn’t helped either. And just when you started to think there wasn’t anything here other than a sexual connection between you, the waiter dropped an unexpected dessert on the table between you. A small piece of chocolate cake, garnished with fudge and raspberries. You didn’t know it at the time, but that cake was your saving grace. Whether it was the chocolate, the raspberries, the fact that it was a giant plate of aphrodisiacs, or if Javi just got it in his head that what was happening was ridiculous, he finally spoke up.

“What the fuck’s going on?”

You choked on a raspberry and looked up at him. It wasn’t accusatory. More of just a statement acutely aware of the situation. And it lifted a massive weight off your shoulders and chest. “It’s weird, right?”

He shoved another forkful of cake into his mouth, “we’re so good at fucking, how can we be so bad at this?”

“We should be good at this!”

“We should be great at this!” He agreed, setting his fork down on the plate, effectively leaving the rest to you.

“So make it better,”

And that made Javi smile. The smile you were used to seeing. The one that was way too charming for his own good. Way too charming for your own good. He reached out across the table, palm upright. It struck you as odd that despite having gone through the entire meal, this was the first time he was making an effort at physical contact. Feeling like this might be the last thing you both needed to be at complete ease, you wasted no time in resting your hand in his, fingers intertwining and squeezing together.

“Maybe we should actually get to know each other. I mean, about things other than what gets you off,” he smirked and you sensed the real, true Javi coming back to you. “What’s your story? No one chooses Laredo just because,”

You nodded and set your fork down, buying yourself a little bit of time. You knew this story would require you to bring up your daughter’s father, but you also knew that if you expected him to be forthcoming with the questions you were bound to ask, you’d need to give him something. Like this. 

“My ex, but then boyfriend, got a job in town and I thought we were in love. Because I’m an idiot. So I followed him out here. And about three months later, I’m knocked up, trying to get him to not be an asshole and failing. And the muñequita, as you like to call her, was about a month old when a judge told me in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t enough to raise a child. That she would do best in proximity to her father. What that judge knew and didn’t care to take into consideration with his final decision, was that her father’s not actually a good person. While he hasn’t ever laid a hand on her, the same can’t be said for his hands on me.” As the words came out of your mouth, they sounded so foreign to you. They were said with such little emotion. So matter of fact. You’d already cried all the tears you had to offer. They hadn’t done you any good back then and they wouldn’t do you any good now. “So I’m stuck in Laredo for a while. Until he proves to be even more of an asshole than he already is. Or until she turns eighteen.

“It’s not all that bad,” you smiled. “I mean it’s not great, but there are upsides. My mom moved from Corpus Christi to be closer and help. So I see her more now than I ever did in San Antonio. And I like my job, clerking. Probably would’ve never got the chance to do it in a bigger city. And honestly… I love your dad.”

“There’s no way my dad’s your plus to Laredo,” Javier grinned, a blush rising in his cheeks.

You giggled and nodded, wrapping your other hand around his so now it was fully encompassed in your grip. “He is. He’s the type of dad I wish I had. The type of dad I wish my daughter had,” you caught Javi’s glance and squeezed his hand. “You know he stands up for me when I’m at the bar? He stands up for all the girls, but I like to think he likes me most,”

“You’re certainly the only one he calls chiquita,”

“He’s a good man,”

Javi leaned back in his chair with a whistle through his teeth. “Then you’ll be glad to know you’re invited to his Thanksgiving barbecue this Saturday. And you don’t have the option to decline, unfortunately. Mostly because you declining means I have to do ranch work.”

“Back up. Explain, Peña,” you released his hand and grabbed your wine glass for a long sip. Chances were you weren’t drunk enough for this.

“He’s throwing a barbecue and insisted I bring the woman I’ve been seeing. Been wondering why I don’t go to the bar with him anymore. Never answer his calls on this weekends. Saw me all fixed up tonight before I went to pick you up. Figured I must shacked up with someone. So… I’m so glad you love him because you have to go,” 

“You know I work weekends,”

“It’s during the day,”

You pursed your lips together, squinting as if weighing your options, “I’ll go if you answer one question,” you smirked. This was your moment to get the answer to the question you’d been asking him for months. “Why’d you leave Colombia?”

Javi’s eyes quickly averted back to the half-eaten dessert between you two. He cleared his throat and pressed his forearms on the table to drag himself more upright. Closer to you now, using it to be able to keep his voice low, lest nosy locals be around. He gave you more of an answer than you ever expected him to. He told you all about Pablo Escobar and the others that made up the Medellín cartel. He gave you details about the violence they were capable of. He explained the delicate spider web of egos that made up the DEA, cartel, and communist guerillas. And how any little fracture or splinter to the egos of the drug lords or communists meant that his life and the lives of other agents were at greater risk. And he gave you all of that explanation and backstory before he got to answering your question. About how he’d skirted around laws to rally the guerillas into an unrestrainable and unmanageable murderous vigilante group, Los Pepes. And then how he flat out ignored the laws and the ambassador. How Los Pepes was a little too good at their job. How he, and the DEA, and CIA knew he’d gotten in way too far over his head and one day they’d be coming after him. And suddenly the thing he’d worked years for – the thing they were so close to he could taste it – was stripped away from him. Catching Pablo Escobar would be someone else’s headline.

And you wanted to… cry for him. For the pain he’d endured, physically and otherwise. For the things he had to witness, whether he’d signed up for it or not. For all the things he’d worked so hard for in his career and would never get the chance to see through. You figured it was where he put all his love. All the genuine love and care that he hadn’t been able to give to a romantic partner, he’d given to his work.

So that’s why how ended up here. Walking up the drive to Chucho’s long, one story ranch house. One hand clutching Javi’s and the other holding that of your daughter’s. Bringing her along hadn’t been the original plan. Hadn’t even been in your wildest dreams until your mom called the afternoon before and said she was going back home, to Corpus Christi, to visit her sister who’d taken a fall. She didn’t want to leave you in a bind… didn’t want you to have to rely on your baby daddy more… but she had to go. And you knew you were already going to have to pawn her off on her dad tonight while you were at The Tack Room, so wanting to limit her time with him as much as possible, you asked Javi if she could come along. Actually, you sprung it on him as he was standing at your front door. Pouted your lips and batted your biggest, saddest eyes at him, hoping it’d be enough to convince him. What you didn’t know was that he didn't need to be convinced. All you had to do was say the word and you’d get whatever you wanted. No questions asked.

Javier wondered what his dad would say when he saw you walk into the backyard with him. And what he’d think about your daughter tagging along. Figured he’d get a good laugh out of it. Out of his son being father-like. Gentle to a little girl that wasn’t his. Javier hoped part of his dad would be proud. He’d prepared himself that this would be your launch to his dad and a few of his friends. What he hadn’t been prepared for was that it’d be your launch to practically everyone in the neighborhood. He heard the Spanish music first; so loud on the radio that he figured the speakers were straining beneath the reverberation. Beneath the guitar and lyrics was the hum of chatter of the neighbors. Some he could point out definitively as he opened up the side gate and escorted you and the muñequita into the yard. Miss Rosalia and her uninhibited, thundering laugh. She was almost as old as Chucho and had spent many nights in her younger years watching over Javi until he was old enough to look after himself. Pancho’s grandkids – Lily and Jason – their high pitched squeals of delight. Which meant their parents, Pancho’s daughter Maria and her gringo husband Michael were surely around too. Yet through all the noise and the mass of people in the yard, Javier found the sight of his father at first glance. On the patio, cowboy hat low on his head, glasses even lower down the bridge of his nose, popping the caps off a couple Modelos.

It was like they were magnets attuned to each other because no sooner than you followed Javi’s gaze toward his father, you found that Chucho was already looking back at the both of you. And before you knew it, Javi was tugging your hand forward, taking you in tow with him. Weaving through the partygoers, you garnered looks from the majority of them… mostly the women, whose eyes seemed to flick between you and Javier and back. As if attempting to figure out what made you so special. And what they didn’t know was that it wasn’t Javi that made you special. It was his father.

“Hola chiquita,”

A beam broke out over your face, “hola Chucho,”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek, then affectionately, looked down. “Quién es este?”

You looked down at your daughter and mentioned her name. Over your shoulder, you could feel Javier’s eyes on her, too. 

Chucho smiled and tilted his hat back, away from his face as he crouched down with a gentle smile, “hola chiquitita,” he held his hand out to her and she shook it.

“Javi calls her muñequita,”

On instinct, Chucho’s eyes flicked back up to his son, “does he now?” And finding Javier’s sheepish expression more than prize enough, Chucho looked back down in front of him, “muñequita, do you want some lemonade?” Off her eager nod, he nodded his head off to the side, “vamos.”

Once you were left alone with Javi again, you looked up at him. His expression still harboring the pink hue of embarrassment. You curled yourself into his side, practically forcing his arm to wrap around you while you set a hand on his stomach. He looked down at you and squeezed your shoulder.

“Good?” He murmured.

“We’re getting a lot of looks,” you let your eyes drift over the crowd only momentarily. Then back up at him.

“Let ‘em look, querida,” he hummed, lowering himself down to crowd your space. And with lips hovering over yours, “let’s make ‘em jealous.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

Javier kept his hand tightly clutched around the muñequita’s as he helped her climb over the two by four protruding from the ground and leading into the chicken coop. She was a little unsteady and gripping his hand nearly as tight as he was gripping hers.

“Careful,” he cautioned softly, “the chicken wire is sharp.”

She looked at her other hand, the one clutched around the hexagonal openings in the wired door. After taking a moment to process, she uncurled her fingers from it and held it out to the side for balance. Javi shut the door behind them once they were in, and he knelt down to fit inside the enclosure.

“Chickies!” the muñequita shrieked at the top of her lungs. To Javier’s surprise, she didn’t seem scared of them at all despite their erratic motion. “This a boy?”

He followed the direction of her pointed finger – to a large, speckled chicken pecking at the ground. He rested a forearm over his bent knee, settling his other hand on his opposite thigh. “These are all girls. You have to keep the boys and the girls separate,”

Only half-paying attention, she reached out to touch it, only to become startled when it flapped its wings. The whooshing sent her hair blowing back and she ran back to Javi, tucking herself into him. Her back pressed up against his chest and her tiny hands on his knee. “Why?”

“‘Cause they’ll…” he stopped himself and curled his arm around her protectively when another of the chickens let out an ear-piercing string of clucks. “Sometimes the boys annoy the girls,”

From your vantage point at one of the tables on the patio, you watched the whole thing unfold in the chicken coop. The way he remained attentive to her the entire time. To how she ran to him after being frightened. And how he went to shield her from harm. Originally you’d thought the hardest thing about today would be dodging all the bitter glances from the women. Turned out the hardest thing about today was fighting the feeling of love that was growing inside you.

And then Chucho appeared beside you, taking a seat and sliding a plate of food over to you. He followed your gaze out to the chicken coop and took a sip from his beer bottle. “He’s good with her,”

You felt your face grow warmer and you decided to cover it up by reaching forward to dip a tortilla chip into some homemade guacamole. “She really likes him,” then pushing the chip into your mouth, “but what’s not to like? You raised a good boy,”

“He’s an asshole,” Chucho grinned. It made you giggle, too. “When did this start up?”

To even your surprise, you told him the absolute truth. Minus all the juicy details about the sex life you shared with his son. But about the day you first met him. And how he’d come visit you at The Tack Room as long as his dad wasn’t there. Chucho scoffed at that. But he softened again when you recounted your first actual date with Javi, and how he’d finally managed to open up about Colombia. As you ended the explanation, you started to feel sort of odd about opening up to him in this way not even knowing how much his own son had told him. Apparently not much.

“He’s treatin’ you well?” Chucho’s gaze drifted back to the chicken coop, where Javi was exiting, this time holding the muñequita. His forearm beneath her legs and her arms around his neck. “I’ll kick his ass if he isn’t,”

“I’ll kick his ass if he isn’t,”

A fleeting smile passed over Chucho’s face. Now Javi was on his way back to the patio. “This ain’t a knock against my son. Javier does his best. But you protect yourself… your heart, I mean. ‘Cause my son’s been known to break ‘em.” Chucho stood up, “got a mind of his own, that one. And sometimes it don’t work too good,”

It was then you looked back up at Javier just as he was setting your daughter down on her feet. She was squirming in his arms, anxious to be set free as Pancho’s grandkids came up and asked if she wanted to play tag with them. Could that be the same man Chucho was warning you about? In the back of your mind you knew it was. Women throughout Laredo could testify to it. But when he fell back in step toward the patio and caught your gaze, the smile that erupted over his face made you think that it was different now. Then it made you think that you were foolish. Who were you to change a man’s behavior? Shit. You hadn’t even able to get your ex to become decent enough to help pay for his kid. 

There was no hidden agenda to your next move. No secret plan to get him alone. Just the discomfort rising in your throat that he might catch on that you were back in your head again. And god forbid you both endure any amount of returned awkwardness like that of the date. So you gathered the empty beer bottles and plastic plates on the table; using the skills practiced to perfection from work, and carried on in through the back door to dispose of them. Perhaps you should’ve asked Chucho, or even Javi, before entering the house. No one had asked you to do so, and you wondered if it was off limits as you carried on into the kitchen. Just outside the window by the sink, you could see the party carrying on, oblivious to your new absence.

But the back door reopened and you looked up at the newcomer, ready to apologize for intruding. But you quickly found it was only Javier. He rounded the counter to approach you; a cheeky grin on his face that he’d finally done it. He’d gotten you alone. And that smile… it got you thinking again that it was different.

“You come to help me tidy up?” You give a smirk of your own knowing fully well he hadn’t. That was surely the last thing on his mind. Proven by the way he slid up behind your and wrapped his arms around your waist; hands wrapping around you and pulling you back into his body. Your ass brushed along the outline of his cock and it had you turning your head to the side to catch a glimpse of him. A disapproving shake of the head. “Javi,”

He tucked his face into your neck and kissed it, grazing his teeth gently across your skin. His hands squeezed your hips, holding you tighter to his body despite your futile opposition. Opposition which ultimately looked like you tilting your head to the side to allow him more space with your neck.

“What if your dad comes in?” Your eyes drifted shut. As if the question would make it come true, you didn’t want to bear witness to it.

“Why would he come in?”

“‘Cause it’s his–”

He cut you off by sliding one of his hands down from your hip and undid the button of your jeans with a quick flick of his fingers. And his hand was beneath the denim before you’d even had a chance to protest. Deft fingers curled along the cotton fabric of your underwear. Just a whisper of a touch over your clit. You thought about resting your head back on Javi’s shoulder, but just before you could, he bumped his chest against your back to get your attention.

“Look,” he commanded and waited a second to give you time to obey him. Which you did on impulse. Javi had leaned forward, his cheek close to yours, both looking out over the bay window behind the kitchen sink, overlooking the backyard. “Anyone could see us right now,” he whispered and nudged your underwear to the side, giving him just enough space for his fingers to resume their ministrations. You knew what he’d feel; knew that he’d soon become aware that you’d spent the better half of the barbecue uncomfortably shifting your thighs together, trying to ignore the fact that watching him with your kin was making you inexplicably aroused. That watching him play with her and hold her and bond with her was more than any man had done, including her own father. 

“Oh you like that, huh?” There was a low growl to his voice, “you like that we could get caught.”

Sure, you thought. Let’s go with that. That was the least frightening of the options. Because having to admit to Javier that it wasn’t the idea of getting caught, but the idea of him being a dad to your child that was making you wet seemed far too vulnerable for your current position. 

His fingers followed your slit from your clit to your entrance and pressed inside you without hesitation. A slow, lingering gasp left your parted lips and you melted back into Javi’s body, using him as the sole form of support in keeping you upright. His lips met your jawline and you could swear you felt them pull into a smile when your anatomy clenched around his fingers.

You shifted your body down on his fingers, “Javi,”

He grinned wider, a shit-eating one he knew you would’ve slapped off his face had you seen it, “I know, querida.” His fingers thrust in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace.

You could feel yourself there on the edge having had more than enough time for the anticipation to build throughout the day. Ready to fall in any capacity he would allow you to. Whether that just meant here, in Chucho’s kitchen, muffled by the obscene sounds his fingers were making inside you. Or if it meant being able to say the words that were right there at the tip of your tongue.

“Javi?”

Your eyes flashed open at the sound of Chucho’s voice. Through the kitchen window, you could see he was still out in the yard, not quite at the patio but making his way there. Beginning to strain in Javier’s arms, he moved the hand at your waist and cupped it around your neck.

“Peña,” you tugged at his wrist but it was a fruitless effort.

“Javier?” Chucho called again, stepping into the shade of the patio awning, into full view of the kitchen window.

Javi kept his eyes glued to you. His hand gained a tighter grip around your neck, and his fingers thrust up into you to the last knuckle  “come for me.”

“Javi,” you moaned and hated the way it came out like it did. You wanted to be strong. Be firm and protest. And yet… 

Javier curled his fingers inside you, against the spongy front wall of your wall, “come,” he growled into your ear, lips pressed against the soft skin there.

If there had been an ounce of willpower within you, you would’ve stopped yourself. Pulled yourself together and shook yourself out of his grasp. But there was no willpower. No way to keep yourself afloat. He commanded and you obeyed. Legs shook until your knees gave out and Javi ws forced to release your neck so he could wrap that strong arm around your waist and keep you on your feet. You came over his fingers and felt it drip down the inside of your thighs. And it hadn’t ended the way you would’ve hoped. No moment of calmness to gather yourself back together. No gentle kiss or a good girl. Just Javi pulling his fingers out of you and removing his hand from your pants. He licked one clean and then wiped them dry on the back of his jeans, already making his way back to the door to intercept his dad.

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

You ran up the walkway to your front door, keys in hand, keenly aware that Javi was coming up the path behind you, the muñequita cradled in his arms. She had fallen asleep on the drive over but could hear her grumbling behind you, being awoken. By the sound of it, she was less than happy about it, despite Javier trying to soothe her, and you knew you’d have a hell of a time trying to get her back out of the house and to her dad’s before your shift started.

Flying through the front door and leaving it open behind you, you ran down the hallway and into your bedroom to get changed. The jeans from earlier would suffice, and after slipping into the white tank top that made up your “uniform”, you ran back down the hallway. “Javi, can you help her get her shoes back on? The slip-on ones by the door are fine!”

You ran into the kitchen and rummaged through it for something quick and easy she could snack on for when she woke up inevitably starving and throwing a fit. Some string cheese, applesauce, a juice box… and then you ran back toward the front door and came to a skidding halt when you passed by the living room and saw absolutely no progress being made. 

Progress was the furthest thing from happening. To call this progress would’ve been more than generous. What it was, was Javi sat back on the couch, reclined deep in the seat at an almost unnatural position. The muñequita on her side on top of him; cheek squished to his chest, her knees curled up and her feet settling in his lap. She was already back asleep and looked… absolutely peaceful.

“Javi,” you protested, coming into the room and reaching for her.

But Javier lifted his arms and wrapped them around her protectively, shielding her from disruption. 

“I have to go to work,”

“I know, but look… she’s comfortable,” he patted his hand down against her back softly.

“I have to drop her off with her dad,” you reached for her again, and this time Javi shifted his entire body. “Peña, come on, I’m gonna be late.”

And then the words came out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure where they had come from. You didn’t know either. And he wondered if he was crossing a boundary. “I can watch her,” he met your eyes and to both of your surprise, he looked genuine. “She’s had a long day. It’s easier if she stays here.” And then off your movement of putting your hands on your hips and cocking your head to the side, “I’ll make her dinner when she wakes up. Get her ready for bed,”

“Javi,”

“I can take care of her,” he insisted. “Trust me?”

Though you hadn’t been given many reasons to trust men in the past, you did undeniably trust him. You’d come to know that what he told you the day he met you, was true. I’m the best thing that could’ve walked into your daughter’s life. So you rounded to the side of the couch and bent forward. A chaste kiss to the lips while he held your reason for living was proof enough that you trusted him. You knew that there was probably no place in the world she was safer than with DEA Agent, Javier Peña.

As you carried on to The Tack Room, you wondered if you’d ever hear about what went on while you were away. You wondered how Javi would answer you when you asked how it went. You figured he’d downplay it. Say it was fine. Everything went great. That the muñequita was a perfect angel. You doubted you’d ever hear about the minutiae that made up the hours they had together.

You’d never actually hear about how she did indeed wake up with a fury and a hungry stomach. And the way Javi cut up an apple and scooped some peanut butter into a small bowl for her. Or how he rummaged through the cabinets until he came upon a box of Kraft macaroni. You’d never hear about how they sat side by side at the kitchen table, hunched over their own bowls, and devoured the unnaturally orange pasta. He’d never tell you about how he helped her pick out her pajamas and then waited in the hallway outside her door until she got herself changed. How when she called him back, he found that she’d put her shirt on backwards, and how they’d created a game to get her to slip her arms out of the sleeves and spin the top around until it faced the right way without having to take it off. And surely he’d go to the grave about how she batted those pretty please eyelashes at him – the same ones you gave him when you asked him to get the Halloween decorations from the attic – and finagled her way into staying up past her bedtime in order to play Pretty, Pretty Princess. How he let her adorn him with plastic necklaces and rings. And even plastic, clip-on earrings. But of course she won and was the only one to get the bejeweled crown. He’d also never admit how late it was by the time he finally got her to go back to sleep. How he’d kind of bribed her with some chocolate chip cookies, or how he sat on the floor by her bed and patted her back for far longer than was probably necessary before she drifted off to sleep and he was able to tiptoe out of her room. He’d never admit that because it was a little more than an hour before you were unlocking the front door and slipping back inside after your shift.

The TV was on. The news. For some reason, you didn’t think Javier was one to watch the news. His head rested on his fist, feet up on the coffee table. He was awake but his blinks were getting longer and longer. When he finally noticed you in the threshold, he sparked up and lifted his head. Lowered his feet to the ground as if you finding them on the coffee table would make you think he’d made himself too comfortable.

“Querida,” he smiled and stood from the couch, making a quick move toward you.

“The house didn’t burn down,” you mocked lightly and wrapped your arms around him when he came into your space. His lips met yours quickly before trailing down to your jaw and neck. His laugh was muffled by his mouth being pressed to your skin. You lifted one hand up to the back of his head and stroked your fingers through his hair. “How’d it go?”

“Easy,” he lifted his head and smiled, “she’s a good kid.”

You smiled and brought your hand up to his mouth, trailing your index finger over his bottom lip. “I didn’t  thank you before,”

“You don’t need to th–”

Before he could finish, you fully cupped your hand over his mouth to get him to stop speaking. “No I do, because not having to leave her with her dad tonight lifted a tremendous weight off my shoulders.” You removed your palm from his mouth and hooked your arms over his shoulders. “And I love” you noted how Javi’s eyes seemed to widen a bit at the use of the word, “that she feels safe with you.”

“I just–”

You pressed your index finger to his lips again to stop him. “Shh, nope. Just… take that, and…” you took a deep breath in. A new smile spread across your lips, “I’d really like to give you a blowjob now, so we should go do that.”

“Whatever you say, querida.”

❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖

“This mouth,” Javier groaned, staring down at you, knelt over on the mattress while he stood beside the bed. He lowered a hand to your cheek and brushed the backs of his fingers over it. Meanwhile, your mouth was giving a valiant effort at making him come undone. “I love this mouth,”

A hum floated out of your lungs and up past your vocal chords. Lips that had been brought up to the head of his cock, wrapped tightly around the crown, pressed forth once again until your nose brushed against his waist. Judging by the breath that choked in Javi’s throat, you knew he wasn’t lying. His hand migrated from your cheek to the back of your head, where he gathered your hair into a ponytail and held it away for your face. For more of a better view of the thing he knew would be his undoing.

With the leverage of the ponytail, he guided your mouth along his shaft. The power out of your hands, you hollowed your cheeks and closed your eyes, completely focused on the pressure you applied to his member with your lips and tongue. Forced yourself to swallow back the gagging that nearly consumed you when he pushed himself down your throat. And when you re-opened your eyes, blinking back tears, the fondness you found within Javier’s gaze was something new. If your mouth hadn’t been full, maybe you would’ve mentioned something about it to him. Asked him where this new perceived fondness was coming from. It couldn’t have been the blowjob. You’d given him plenty before. And perhaps even more enthusiastic head before. But something about this in this moment warranted a new look from him and you weren’t given the time to ponder it. To try and get to the bottom of it. 

After you noticed the look, Javier was easing your mouth off of him; relishing in the way your lips tried to hold onto him tighter. To keep him in your mouth. But he was stronger, and no sooner than he was freed from your mouth, he bent over and pressed a kiss to your lips. His tongue pushed into your mouth without hesitation. There were things you wanted to voice and bring light to. Things on the tip of your tongue that you thought might be worth throwing caution to the wind. Things you were sure would be met and reciprocated and yet…

“Peña,” you murmured in between kisses and felt his lips tighten into a smile against yours.

He backed away from you, a coy smirk on his face, “what, querida?”

“Do you like me?”

Javier rolled his eyes, affixed his hands to your shoulders and pushed you around until you relented and continued on with his gesture. His tongue darted out over his lips when you’d finished the motion, now finding your ass toward him. “No, I hate you,”

Your jaw dropped and you looked back over your shoulder, but Javi just grinned harder and pressed his hand on your upper back, pushing you down to the bed. “I’m serious, Javi,”

“Me too,” he ran his fingers over your entrance once before placing them on his shaft and notching himself at your core. 

You opened your mouth again to protest but he pressed in, bottoming out in one fell swoop that your protest came in the way of a needy moan. Your fists closed around the bedsheets. His girth stretching you out almost uncomfortably, had it not been for the way he also bent over you. His knees now pressed on the mattress, his chest against your back, and his lips at your ear. Kisses trailed from your earlobe down to your neck and shoulder. Powerful thrusts left you gasping for air.

“Hate that you got me wrapped ‘round your finger,” he mumbled against your skin, teeth nipping at any flesh they could. He pushed himself in rougher, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. “Hate that you know it,”

“Got’cha,”

Javi quickly pulled out of you and pressed on your hip until you rolled over onto your back. Staring up at him once again, you noticed that look of fondness hadn’t left his face. Whatever he might be saying about the “hate”, it didn’t live in his soul. Hell, it barely even lived in the words. He eased back into you, gentler this time, looking right in your eyes, taking it all in. Wholly focused on the way your jaw fell slack when he pressed into you to the hilt again. He brought his hand to your open mouth and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip. Soon replaced it with his lips for a kiss; slow, passionate, tender. And his hips followed suit. Thrusts much slower but not any less deep or forceful. He kept you connected for as long as possible.

“What the fuck are you doin’ to me?” He whispered.

You let out an airy moan and followed it up with another smirk, “making you come.”

He shook his head. His languid movements now made for the perfect position for his member to rub against your gspot, and his waist where you were connected rubbed against your clit. “What’re you doing to me in here,” he pressed his index finger to his forehead. Your smile faded for something else when he moved that finger down to his chest, “and here.”

You pouted your lips and furrowed your eyebrows, trying not to let that get you too emotional. He’d only half-expressed what you thought he wanted to. What you wanted to. But staring him in the eyes wasn’t doing much for your composure. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him forward, you kissed him again and hoped it would get you back in this moment – this sexual moment – without the threat of love dipping off your tongue.

The kisses were endless. Whether it was to your lips, jaw, neck, or chest, Javi didn’t let a moment go by without his lips adorning your skin with some form of attention. And when you both came – one after the another, but you first – you held onto him tightly. Fingernails digging into his shoulder blades and scratching downward. If you couldn’t say the words to make him yours, you’d certainly leave a mark to do so.

“Shit,” Javi grumbled, feeling himself throb inside you.

You smiled to yourself and scritched your fingers through his hair. The stickiness between your legs increased as he pulled out of you and your shared spend dripped out of your core. Once he was completely unsheathed from you, Javi rolled over onto his side and stretched over to reach the nightstand. There was something endearing that he knew the drill: finish the nightly conquest. Document it with a photograph.

The camera was in your hand in the same moment you’d repositioned yourself along the pillows. Comfortably stretching yourself out, you knew there was a finite amount of time until you had to run to the bathroom. But Javi took the drill and altered it. Usually the night ended with both of you trading off, taking pictures of each other. But this time, Javi curled into your side, wrapped his arm over your hips, and buried his face into the crook of your neck. 

“Javi, I have to get up to take it,” you tilted your head toward his in an effort to shrink away from him. But he only held on tighter. His grip around your hips more possessive. A playful nip landed at your jugular.

“Take it like this,”

There it was. The words at the tip of your tongue again. Love. Love. Love. You turned the camera around; lens facing you. For the first time both Javi’s and your face in frame. Together. No chance at hiding identities. Your finger froze at the top of the camera. Perhaps to give him one last chance to change his mind. To come to his senses and tell you to wait… that he’d get up and take a picture of you first. But an interjection didn’t come. He didn’t try to stop you. His thumb rubbed back and forth over your hip bone. His lips stayed planted to your neck. While you faced the camera full frontal, only Javi’s profile was visible. But what a profile it was – the strong, curved nose, the sharp jawline… 

You snapped the picture and freed it from the camera after it printed. Javi took the camera from you again and set it back down on the nightstand before returning to the spot he had previously been in. A soft woosh woosh woosh filled the space between as you shook the photo. Slowly the gray square turned to color and brought forth the image. The first of its kind. Javi turned his head away from your neck in order to look at it. A quick smile passed his lips.

“That’s a pretty picture of you,”

You cringed at the photo and slapped it down on your chest to hide it. “I hate my neck,”

Javi furrowed his eyebrows, “what’re you talking about?” He grabbed your wrist to sneak a glance at the picture again. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what you were seeing in the photo to make such a comment. “I love your neck,” he leaned back in and bit your neck. This time a little harder than before.

And it made you shriek. A delighted, high pitched thing that nearly made you forget the qualm you’d had with the picture in the first place.

[redcomunitaria]

Pasado

¿Y si me escapo un rato?

Me voy corriendo al pasado

Llego a tu casa

Y cuando golpeo

Eres tú el que abre la puerta

Sonríes

Entro

Vemos una serie, nos besamos, fumamos

Comemos y hacemos el amor

Una, dos y tres veces

¿Y si me escapo al pasado?

Me quedo contigo, me quedo entre tus brazos

No te suelto esta vez

Quédate conmigo en ese pasado

Donde aún nos miramos, aún nos besamos y aún nos amamos.

Derii-

[shactividades]

CAPÍTULO 1: LA LLEGADA.

Ambientación: 4 de Octubre, 16:00 p.m. en adelante.

Clima: Nublado con pronóstico de lluvia.

Vestimenta: Disfraz obligatorio.

𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎, 𝚂𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚕𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚒ó𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚙𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚎𝚐𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚘 𝚎𝚕 𝚍í𝚊 𝚜á𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚜 𝟷𝟼:𝟶𝟶 𝚙.𝚖. 𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚕 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚕𝚊 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚍í𝚊. ¡𝙽𝚘 𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚘 𝚝𝚞 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚓𝚎! 𝚃𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚜.

Exactamente una semana ha pasado desde que Safe Haven abre sus puertas a un puñado de desconocidos. Esta mañana, el ambiente se siente notablemente diferente. El silencio que empapa las estrechas calles de piedra contribuye a una atmósfera de calma inquietante, mientras la incertidumbre se agita en tu est��mago al enfrentarte al inicio de tu nueva vida. Has escuchado muchas historias sobre cómo el alcalde Benjamin, un hombre mayor de rostro inexpresivo y arrugas marcadas por el tiempo, recibe el otoño con una serie de eventos sociales en el corazón del pueblo. Sin embargo ninguna de tus ideas logra descifrar lo que la pequeña carta en tu buzón revela.

En el sobre, tu nombre está escrito con una tinta negra y elegante. Al abrirlo, descubres una invitación que, aunque parece obligatoria, requiere que te presentes en el centro cultural. El papel en el sobre, de un blanco inmaculado, menciona un documento específico que debes actuar, capturando tu atención y provocando en ti un sentimiento vago y confuso. 

¿Un juego del lobo? 

[...]

El festival otoñal en el centro cultural transforma el espacio en un vibrante mosaico de colores y aromas que atraen a todos los sentidos. Las hojas de los árboles, teñidas de tonos ámbar y dorado, caen suavemente sobre los senderos iluminados por farolillos colgantes que parpadean con una luz cálida. El aire fresco está impregnado de la fragancia de especias y manzanas asadas, mientras el murmullo alegre de la multitud crea un fondo constante de emoción que te invita a unirte a ellos en la caminata.

En el centro del festival, una gran carpa decorada con guirnaldas de hojas secas y luces de cadena se erige como el escenario principal para el esperado "Juego del Lobo". Los participantes, vestidos con disfraces festivos y enigmáticos, se agrupan alrededor de un gran círculo marcado en el suelo, lleno de expectación. El juego, que promete intriga y diversión, invita a los jugadores a asumir roles secretos mientras intentan descubrir quién entre ellos es el lobo. ¿Pero cuál es el razonamiento detrás de tan inusual actividad?

—Es un honor para mí poder tenerles aquí esta tarde —declara Benjamin, su voz profunda y resonante capturando la atención de todos.

Abriéndose paso entre los presentes, un hombre de aspecto severo y cabello canoso levanta una copa de cristal, su presencia imponente y elegante atrayendo miradas. A su lado, dos jóvenes de rostro amable y actitud atenta le acompañan, añadiendo un toque de frescura al solemne momento.

—Hoy es un día especial en Safe Haven. Nos reunimos no solo para celebrar la llegada del otoño, sino para dar la bienvenida a nuestros nuevos vecinos y dar inicio oficial al Proyecto Phoenix —anuncia Benjamin con una voz potente y cálida, sus palabras vibrando con entusiasmo. Su mano se alza en un saludo que abarca a toda la multitud.

Los aplausos estallan en un vibrante crescendo, llenando el aire de júbilo y expectativa. Dakota avanza con paso firme, su sonrisa resplandeciente iluminando el escenario que se alza detrás de ellos.

—Para nuestros recién llegados, hemos preparado algo muy especial —dice ella, señalando el escenario con un gesto amplio y acogedor—. Es una tradición que ha sido parte de nuestro pueblo durante generaciones y que cada octubre nos une en celebración.

James, a su lado, asiente con seriedad y toma la palabra. Su voz grave y profunda infunde al evento un aire de solemnidad.

—El juego del lobo es una oportunidad para conocernos mejor, para fortalecer nuestros lazos y, quizás, para descubrir algunos secretos ocultos. Como habrán leído en las invitaciones, los participantes se han dividido en dos grupos: aldeanos y lobos. Los lobos intentarán eliminar a los aldeanos, mientras que los aldeanos deben descifrar quiénes son los lobos entre ellos, basándose en la información que les proporcionaremos durante la noche.

Con una mirada de expectación, observas a tu alrededor, esperando la señal que marcará el inicio del juego.

—Que el mejor equipo gane —anuncia finalmente Benjamin, su voz cargada de emoción.

¿Estás listo para descubrir a los mentirosos y adentrarte en el misterio que se avecina?

Archivos anexos: Ubicaciones, identidades del juego, vecindarios, juego, Discord.

Tipo de desarrollo: Starters públicos.

Duración: 10 días, 3-12 de octubre.

Elecciones: Votación vía Discord.

𝗔𝗖𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗘𝗦

TLDR; Los habitantes fueron reunidos por primera vez en el centro del pueblo para iniciar formalmente con el proceso de conocer a los residentes. Las invitaciones con las identidades del juego fueron recibidas una semana antes de la reunión, por lo que tienen alrededor de 7 días instalados en el pueblo.

Durante esta actividad estaremos iniciando con la primera elección grupal vía Discord que consistirá en la caza y captura del lobo. Próximamente estarán recibiendo un mensaje quienes hayan sido sorteados como el lobo, el cual les pedimos mantengan en completo secreto hasta la finalización de la actividad. También anexamos un post con las locaciones para que tengan una idea general de qué pueden encontrar en el lugar. Las elecciones que tomen tendrán consecuencias y se verán reflejadas a corto o largo plazo dependiendo cuál sea la ruta desbloqueada. Más información será publicada en su debido momento.

El código de vestimenta debe ser basado en el papel que se les otorgue. Es decir que si tu personaje es un policía su ropa debe ser la que un policía usaría. Aclaramos que en el caso de los lobos se les dará un papel extra para que sus identidades reales no sean reveladas.

¡Bienvenidos y gracias por adentrarse en el misterio de Safe Haven! Esperamos la actividad sea del agrado de todos. Cualquier duda pueden consultarla directamente en el main de forma anónima o con cuenta.

[conoviacat99]

Snufmin versión 60's

Me encanta esta versión de snufmin creo que abre muchas posibilidades, es una lástima que no le gustará a tove aunque se entiende puesto que la serie fue algo agresiva y eso no era algo que ella quería.

Me imaginé un au donde snufkin fuera un recoge deudas en la época japonesa donde aún se utilizaban las katanas y habían barrios rojos muy conocidos, de hecho estoy haciendo un mini cómic de esto, no es nada elaborado solo para darle mejor contexto y sentido a los dibujos hechos (por cierto hay más pero aún no los acabo)

[nirvanadearum]

[Social Post] Ember Widget.

Creatated by: Hela.

Link Pastebin: Después~.

Los créditos no estorban y ni se notan (?).

Un favorito y/o un retweet nos ayuda.

Los colores son modificables al gusto (futuramente explicados), centrados en el color de la canción central.

Iconos de Fontawesome.

Las imágenes posibles se modifican al tamaño.

Fuente principal: Monserrat, sant-serif.

Está hecho para que parezca un widget para celular (una app) que abre con el click mostrado.

Contiene tres (3) botones que te cambian a la "app abierta" y a la "Playlist correspondiente".

La zona de app abierta es para que la misma canción se muestre.

La playlist no tiene límite de scroll para las canciones que se quieran usar. Busquen las imágenes que quieran usar (?).

Cualquier duda futura no tengan miedo de mandar un ask con Hermes que ya no está de vacaciones, juramos encerrar a Cerberus en su respectiva casita para que no les muerda.

Los colores se podrán usar en forma hexadecimal o rgba sin problema.

Tercer prompt del CODEMBER 2024 correspondiente a "Ascuas" que curiosamente en inglés es "Embers" y por un instante casi hago el reto acerca de "Elemental" pero justo en una app me salió de sugerencia Danny Phantom y mirando la serie solo pude inspirarme con la evidente Ember McLain (?) y la playlist salió. No estoy tan conforme con el code y ando aun jugando sobre él... a pesar de que el resultado ya está pero lo compartiré oficialmente cuando me sienta satisfecha. Hela se despide.

¡Nos vemos para el siguiente código!

.

@elalmacen-rp

[skylarstark4826]

I loved this beautiful Fanart of the Techphee ship of Star Wars Bad Batch of the characters of Clone Tech Trooper and Phee Genoa together especially because I love that they are referring to the Atlantis movie of the Milo and Kida scene only in the son in reality Tech and Phee. I honestly loved this but I would have liked it even more if in the Star Wars series Bad Batch Tech had survived and been able to return to the side of his beloved Phee. Although I would also have liked that if Tech or Phee had been Force Sensitive if Phee had been he could have saved the life of his beloved Tech and if Tech had been he could have been saved from having died and he would have been able to return together with his beloved Phee and his brothers Wrecker, Hunter, Echo (and Crooshair) as well as his sister Omega

By the way, this beautiful Fanart of them is not mine and the credits are not for me, but I let you know that right here I am going to leave you the link of the true creator on Pinterest

[notasfilosoficas]

“La fe es una relación viva con lo creído, una relación viva que abraza la vida entera o, de lo contrario, es irreal”

Martin Buber

Fue un filósofo y escritor judío austriaco israelí, nacido en Viena en febrero de 1878, conocido por su filosofía del diálogo y por sus obras de carácter existencialista.

Nacido en el seno de una familia de eruditos judía, cuando sus padres se divorciaron no tuvo mas remedio que pasar parte de su niñez en casa de sus abuelos en Leópolis la actual Ucrania.

Buber era políglota, pues en su casa se hablaba yiddish y alemán, y en su infancia aprendió el hebreo y francés, y en la escuela secundaria aprendió polaco.

En 1896 Buber se fue a estudiar a la Universidad de Viena iniciando sus estudios en filosofía e historia del arte, mas tarde continuó sus estudios en Leipzig y concluyó su doctorado en Berlín en 1904.

Se unió al movimiento sionista participando en diferentes congresos, entre ellos, el de Basilea en 1897. Fue fundador del uno de los primeros periódicos dedicados en Alemania al pensamiento sionista, dirigiéndolo desde 1916 a 1924.

Desde 1923 hasta 10 años más tarde, enseñó teolog��a judía e historia de las religiones en la Universidad de Frankfurt, ese mismo año publica la que sería su obra mas conocida y la que expresa mejor su pensamiento dialógico “Ich un Du” (Yo y Tú).

En 1933 cuando Adolf Hitler tomó el poder, los estudios teológicos de Buber se vieron bruscamente interrumpidos y fue expulsado de la Universidad, decidiendo emigrar a Palestina, en donde en 1938 fue nombrado profesor de filosofía social en la Universidad hebrea de Jerusalén, en donde impartió cátedra hasta su jubilación en 1951.

En el pensamiento de Martin Buber, influyeron filósofos como Kierkegaard, y el misticismo judío que floreció en Polonia a mediados de siglo XVIII conocido como jasidismo.

En su obra de más éxito (Yo y Tú) Buber plantea su idea de la “filosofía del diálogo”, en la que el autor describe las conexiones que existen entre el Yo-Tú y el Yo-Ello, en donde el Yo-Tú detalla las relaciones entre el hombre y el mundo, describiéndolas como abiertas y de mutuo diálogo, y en la relación Yo-Ello, se manifiesta la necesidad de interactuar con el Yo-Tú, sin que esta sea el objetivo o propósito principal, argumentando que la presencia De Dios, puede encontrarse en la existencia diaria.

Yo y Tu, es el fruto de décadas de preparación y reflexión, y contiene la tesis de Buber sobre el proceso principal de la existencia, o sea, el “relacionarse”, y aunque dicho libro fue reconocido en los círculos filosóficos europeos, fue traducido al inglés hasta el año 1937.

Su estilo de escritura y el mismo texto, no parece en nada a un ensayo filosófico, sino mas bien adopta un estilo poético y lírico como un himno, en donde Buber no trata de exponer sus ideas ni convencer sobre una tesis, sino mas bien refleja su preocupación y nos abre su corazón, que asemeja la obra de Nietzsche, particularmente con su obra “Así habló Zaratustra”.

El libro se configura como una serie de aforismos, grandes y pequeños separados en partes temáticas, sin una lógica concreta y sin una secuencia que pretenda formar una reflexion entera a través de pasos sucesivos.

En la primera parte se ocupa de la condición humana investigando la psicología del individuo. En la segunda trata de la existencia humana en el plano social. Estudia la sociedad y también la manera de existir del individuo dentro de la sociedad, y en la tercera se ocupa de temas de teología, basada en la conclusion de las dos partes anteriores.

Martin Buber muere en Jerusalén Israel en junio de 1965 a la edad de 87 años.

Fuentes: Wikipedia, Universidad de Valencia (uv.es), biografiasyvidas.com, hermesinstitut.org

[proustian-dream]

Tan desinteresado de las tendencias musicales de nuestra época y de los modos automatizados y privatizados de apropiarse de esa música (Spotify, YouTube, etc.). Quizás porque he encontrado en los archivos de la audiología perdida de la cultura del cassette de los 80 y primeros años de los 90 un espacio de intervención sónica del mundo hecho para mí y, también, una ética de descubrimiento coleccionista y abierta al juego atrincherada en los grandes blogs de sonidos mutantes de internet. En la delimitación de la miniatura de una 'tape' (objeto poemático a la Bachelard y Negroni), se abre —siempre partiendo de una metodología modernista y electrónica del sonido y una imaginería secreta del empaque en fotocopia y pigmentación— un mapa-mundi psicodélico, fármaco-musical, de síntesis y sintaxis del inconsciente, con la cadencia (y técnica) surreal de los estratos del sueño y de cualquier fenómeno sobrenatural de la realidad. La vida alucinada de un cassette conjura una serie de fantasmas de una música distante y soñada, entre vanguardista y popular, la reserva hauntológica de emisiones concretas y oniricas por radio destartaladas, cuentos de voces de otras partes, jóvenes encerrados en pequeños estudios de instrumentación atípica, ópticas de poemas que se escuchan en este cuarto -el mío- con hortensias y recuerdos de otras vidas. Y al menos, o quizás sí, este vasto tapiz nacarado y ornamentado no termina, rueda, se corta, une, traza una diagonal y sigue reproduciendo o, será mejor decir, produciendo líneas infinitas de posibilidades.

[waltfrasescazadordepalabras]

Durante el acto sexual, transmitimos una serie de vibraciones y energía a la otra persona, e igualmente nosotros recibimos las vibraciones y la energía de la otra persona. Esto nos permite posteriormente sincronizarnos energéticamente. Luego de tener relaciones, el cuerpo femenino y masculino quedan totalmente impregnados del aura del otro, e incluso, la psiquis subconsciente de cada uno es absorbida por el compañero. Por esta razón, pueden sanarse mutuamente, si efectivamente en el acto sexual hubo amor. Esta huella energética queda por un largo periodo, en la mente, en el corazón, y en el ser de cada cual. Por lo cual pueden llegar a sentir emociones, pensamientos y sentimientos similares Es por todo esto que, al compartir la sexualidad, te impregnas de las energías e influencias, tanto positivas como negativas de la otra persona. Si no hay una conexión de almas, si tienes sexo con otras personas, estando dentro de una relación establecida, si hay sexo casual, si el sexo se usa como “arma” para conseguir algo, lo único que haces es contaminarte con energías dañinas, que a su vez se reflejan en tu prosperidad, salud y conexión de consciencia. Adicionalmente, el orgasmo abre portales y estos permiten la entrada y salida de energías, siempre que hay sexo de estas formas se adhieren a los cuerpos entidades parasitarias ligadas a la energía sexual, por lo que debes tener cuidado con quién te relacionas; y si esa pareja o esas personas ya no se encuentran acompañándote en tu presente, es necesario que cortes con esos lazos que se crearon para que liberes la transmisión energética de ambas partes, para que restablezcas lo que entregaste, lo que te quitaron y retires el control que el otro pueda tener sobre ti, consciente o inconscientemente. Y de esa manera puedas estar lista para tener una relación amorosa sana.

[himevampirechan]

Vanishipping fanfic: Duat. Capitulo 1

Hola. ¡Es maravilloso poder tomarme mi tiempo para publicar en Tmblr!

La vida sigue avanzando y, sinceramente, me viene arrastrando como a un trapo viejo; debido a eso he decidido que, por el bien de mi estado de ánimo, debo forzarme a luchar contra mi bloqueo de escritor. Me hizo feliz recibir reacciones en el "prologo" de este fanfiction, aunque lento es una de las historias que mas me emociona seguir escribiendo y, por ello, les agradezco profundamente.

Antes de continuar con el primer capitulo, quisiera resaltar que esta historia está ambientada, después del final de la serie; incluso ocurre DESPUES de los eventos de la película: "Yu-Gi-Oh: El lado oscuro de las dimensiones".

Atem NO está en el pasado, ni Anzu ha viajado en el tiempo; Atem está en lo que, para los egipcios, existe al final de la vida. Entiendo que puede ser algo confuso pero, conforme avanza la historia, se explica mejor; ¡No olviden revisar las notas al final de cada capitulo!

IMPORTANTE: El día de mañana, subiré la versión en Inglés de este capitulo; del mismo modo, planeo subir a lo largo de esta semana el capitulo 3 de mi otro fanfic REVO: "Trabajo de medio tiempo."

¡Disfruten!

Capítulo 1

El amanecer sorprende a Atem afuera de la habitación donde los hekas y nuns revisan a Anzu. Entre dar indicaciones a los guardias y ser interrogado por miembros aislados de su consejo de sacerdotes, el joven faraón se ha negado a abandonar el lugar.

Horas antes y tras descubrir la identidad de la joven, el faraón salió del templo luchando con la histeria. Después de llamar a su caballo con un silbido y cubrir la desnudez de la muchacha con la sabana de montar, había regresado velozmente al palacio en busca de ayuda.

“En cuanto entré al palacio –piensa mirando desde su posición el movimiento de los sirvientes que salen y entran al cuarto–, Siamun e Isis la trajeron a esta habitación”.

La habían sacado de entre sus brazos, y la idea de alejarse de ella había dolido tanto que Mana tuvo que retenerlo de tirar la puerta a golpes por la angustia. Repentinamente agotado, Atem se sienta en el suelo con la espalda contra la pared, escondiendo su rostro tras los puños apretados.

Llevo toda la noche esperando y no sé… –susurra mirando fijamente la puerta como si con ello pudiera saber qué ocurre dentro–. No sé si se encuentra bien.

El sonido de pasos saca al joven de sus pensamientos, poniéndose de pie mira a varias personas salir, una tras otra de la recamara. En sus brazos cargan jarrones, botellas, vendas de lino y sabanas; su ansioso corazón da un brinco al notar que algunas están teñidas con algo parecido a la sangre.

Da dos pasos apresurados hacía la puerta cuando Isis y Siamun están a la vista. Atem se detiene firme sobre sus pies, mirándolos con miles de preguntas en sus ojos carmesí; el anciano le toma de los antebrazos en un gesto paternal.

–Ella está bien, mi faraón –le dice intentando calmar la ansiedad del joven, las palabras del anciano quitan un peso invisible de sus hombros–. No parece herida de gravedad, la han revisado y está dormida.

–Gracias –susurra.

Siamun sonríe por su gesto, cariñosamente golpea la mejilla del muchacho con la palma de la mano. Después de unos segundos los ojos del faraón brillan decididos, se endereza y da dos pasos hacía la habitación; nadie nota la sonrisa en el rostro de Isis quien, dando un paso de lado, se interpone entre la puerta y el muchacho.

–No puede entrar faraón –le dice la morena, con un rostro serio y su mirada penetrante clavada en él. Atem la observa sorprendido.

–¿Por qué? –pregunta el joven, sus ojos se deslizan confundidos de la sacerdotisa a Siamun. El anciano niega lentamente con la cabeza en un gesto resignado, percibiendo una creciente irritación en el gobernante.

–La señorita necesita descansar –le responde la sacerdotisa con una sonrisa comprensiva en su rostro. Atem abre la boca para reclamar, pero el anciano vuelve a golpear paternalmente su hombro.

–Ha sido una noche larga e intensa para todos, mi faraón –dice una vez que Atem lo mira–. Lo mejor sería que, tanto usted como su amiga, recuperen fuerzas. Además, creo que usted necesita ir a la sala del trono y aclarar la situación con los miembros del consejo real; sobre todo si sus planes involucran que la muchacha se quede como huésped dentro del palacio.

Atem frunce el ceño analizando las palabras del anciano, tras unos segundos baja el rostro con gesto resignado sabiendo que, incluso su preocupación, queda relevada por su obligación como el faraón de Kemet.

“Aún no sabemos qué fue lo que realmente ocurrió en el templo de Osiris. Y Anzu, quien es la única que posiblemente lo sepa, necesita descansar”, reflexiona Atem, sabiendo que no puede darse el lujo de arriesgar la recuperación de Anzu al mostrar al consejo una mala selección de prioridades.

Isis y Siamun le observan fijamente mientras piensa, no pueden evitar sentir una punzada de orgullo cuando lo ven erguirse decisivo y fuerte como el gobernante que es; Atem les devuelve la mirada, con los ojos escarlata llenos de confianza.

–Siamun: Reúnete con Seto, verifica que saru estén completos en el salón del trono, incluyendo mi padre. Necesito su presencia durante la reunión. –El anciano sonríe y hace una reverencia antes de marcharse a cumplir con la orden–. Isis –continúa el muchacho con una expresión más seria–. Considerando la naturaleza de la situación, debemos ser discretos y movernos con cuidado: Necesito que uses el collar del milenio y que tú, junto con Mahado, se encarguen de doblar la seguridad dentro y fuera del palacio, mientras no descifremos lo que ocurrió esta noche. –Después de eso, manda a alguien en busca de Mana: Necesito que ella cuide a mi huésped durante el tiempo que tarde la reunión.

Se observan fijamente por unos segundos, una ligera sonrisa se dibuja en el rostro de la mujer, Atem le devuelve el gesto con confianza. Con un asentimiento de cabeza, la sacerdotisa hace una reverencia y camina por el pasillo.

–Te veré en el salón del trono –susurra Atem mirándola alejarse, incapaz de percibir la mirada picara que tiene la mujer y el brillo repentino del collar del milenio.

Pasan unos segundos antes de que Atem note que se ha quedado a solas en el lugar; decidido comienza a caminar con dirección al salón del trono, pero una sensación angustiante le llena el estómago. Observa sobre su hombro la entrada a la habitación donde se encuentra Anzu.

“No es una ilusión –piensa firmemente intentando convencerse–. No es un sueño”.

El deseo de verla se vuelve insoportable, cerrando los ojos recuerda la calidez de su piel, el tacto de su sedoso cabello, su olor. Anzu está ahí, a unos pasos de distancia y por unos segundos el joven gobernante barajea la posibilidad de entrar al cuarto. Como un flechazo doloroso, el recuerdo de la sonrisa maniática de Bakura, pasa por su mente.

“Ella está a salvo”, niega con la cabeza, confiando en las palabras de Siamun e Isis. Bakura ya no está y la aparición de su amiga del futuro debe tener una explicación lógica; es algo que necesitan descubrir, pero para ello debe ser capaz de mantener a la chica segura en el palacio. Anzu necesita descansar, recuperar fuerza y él debe prepararse para liderar la reunión con el consejo.

Atem mira una última vez la puerta de la habitación por sobre su hombro, respirando profundo comienza a caminar por el pasillo.

“Espera un poco más, Anzu –piensa apretando entre su mano derecha la cadena que cuelga al rompecabezas del milenio en su cuello–. Yo te voy a cuidar”.

(…)

–…Testigos mencionan que la luz cayó directamente sobre el Templo de Osiris; sin embargo, no hemos encontrado ningún tipo de daño en la edificación, ni personas heridas en el pueblo. Los Hem netcher o los Sem no percibieron nada extraño antes de que ocurriera y solamente entendieron que estaba pasando algo cuando vieron llegar al faraón Atem al santuario.

Miradas y susurros se intercambian entre los integrantes del consejo. Atem, sentado desde su trono, escucha atentamente con expresión seria.

“Esto es extraño –piensa, mirando cómo intercambian preguntas y gestos los miembros del consejo–. Shada ha mencionado que los oradores estaban dentro del templo, pero yo no vi a nadie en el lugar”.

–¿Hubo algún daño, no relacionado al evento, en la ciudad? –pregunta su padre en un intento de disminuir la inquietud del cuarto–. ¿Saqueos, heridos?

–No los hubo, Su Majestad –responde el hombre encargado de notificar las medidas que se tomaron durante la madrugada–. Sin considerar la confusión podemos asegurar que los pobladores de Kemet están a salvo.

Vuelven a escucharse susurros entre las personas presentes. Mahado mira disimuladamente a Atem, quien le devuelve el gesto asintiendo con la cabeza.

–Puede retirarse –indica el sacerdote con un movimiento de su mano; el capitán militar asiente y dando tres pasos hacia atrás se encamina a la salida.

“A pesar de su intensidad, aquel resplandor resultó inofensivo. –Inmerso en sus pensamientos Atem ignora las miradas sobre él–. ¿Cuál era su función? ¿De dónde vino?”.

Las puertas se cierran, sacando a Atem de sus pensamientos. El consejo le observa atentamente y él, puede sentir la tensión en el cuerpo de su padre; se puede asegurar que la mayoría de las personas en la sala del trono están tan confundidas como él.

–Sacerdotisa Isis –llama Atem después de unos segundos, sobresaltando a los presentes. La mencionada da un paso arrodillándose frente al trono–. ¿Tu artículo del milenio te alertó, previamente, de la situación que estamos viviendo?

–No, mi faraón –responde la joven con la mirada fija en el suelo. Murmullos sorprendidos se levantan en la habitación.

–Sacerdote Seto –continúa, observando a su primo imitar la posición de la morena–. Misma pregunta.

–No, mi faraón –responde el castaño pegando a su pecho el cetro dorado. Esto parece sorprender aún más a los integrantes del consejo. La pregunta se realiza también a Karim y Siamun, la negativa es absoluta; Nuevos susurros llenan la sala.

Atem les observa fijamente en silencio e intercambia una mirada con su padre quien asiente con la cabeza, en un gesto que denota confianza. El joven gobernante toma aire antes de ponerse de pie para hablar.

–Es obvio que no tenemos toda la información que necesitamos sobre lo ocurrido esta noche –declara con seguridad, los miembros del consejo le observan con atención–. Sin embargo, que los artículos del milenio no mostraran alguna alteración es prueba clara de que el reino no está en peligro. Aun así, debemos seguir buscando pruebas. En caso de que otro suceso inesperado ocurra. –Su profunda y rica voz resuena en el silencio con autoridad–. ¡Shada!

–¿Sí, mi faraón? –responde el sacerdote arrodillándose frente a él.

–Moviliza más soldados para incrementar la seguridad dentro de la ciudad; sé discreto por favor, no queremos generar pánico entre la gente.

–Sí, mi faraón –exclama Shada antes de salir rápidamente de la habitación seguido de los líderes militares principales.

“Eso mantendrá a los civiles seguros, pero no descarta algún peligro interno”, piensa Atem con gesto severo. Al levantar su mirada se encuentra con el penetrante escrutinio del portador del ojo milenario–. ¡Ankhnadin! –continúa Atem confiando en que su tío conoce sus preocupaciones.

–¿Sí, mi faraón? –El anciano toma varios pasos hacia adelante sin arrodillarse. El muchacho no toma su gesto en cuenta, ha quedado en el pasado la traición por el hombre mayor.

–Necesito que Karim, Mahado y tú, revisen los otros templos cercanos a la zona donde cayó la luz. Debemos descartar algún otro suceso durante la noche.

Varias voces susurran en el cuarto, Atem puede percibir sus dudas con una decisión que parece innecesaria.

Los tres sacerdotes comienzan a moverse cuando una idea se le ocurre al faraón.

–¡Una cosa más! –exclama, los sacerdotes se detienen para escuchar el resto de la orden. Una sonrisa oscura y llena de autoridad se dibuja en la boca Atem, sorprendiendo a algunos de los presentes–. Interroga nuevamente a los oradores de Osiris. –Se escuchan algunos jadeos sorprendidos–. Lo dejo en tus manos Ankhnadin.

Una tensión aterradora inunda el salón del trono, llenando con escalofríos a los miembros del consejo; Atem ve, de reojo, la sonrisa aprobatoria de su padre. El mensaje ha sido enviado y es claro: Interrógalos, ve dentro de sus mentes y verifica que no mientan. Si mienten, deben ser traídos ante mi.

–Sí, mi faraón –responde el portador del ojo milenario con compresión y una sonrisa satisfecha. Los tres sacerdotes vuelven y se dirigen a la salida.

Mahado observa al joven faraón de reojo mientras se aleja, la fría expresión de Atem se convierte en una mirada suplicante; el mago asiente. Tantos años de amistad le han dado a Mahado las herramientas para conocer sus preocupaciones perfectamente.

Se marcha sabiendo que, su amigo de la infancia y gobernante, esperará confiado a que, a su regreso, los sacerdotes traerán consigo las respuestas que necesitan.

Al cerrarse la puerta ninguna persona se atreve a hablar. Ignorantes a las dudas y preocupaciones del joven faraón, los presentes se preguntan si los cambios suscitados esa noche son la señal de un cambio en el balance del Maat, y de qué forma puede afectarles las órdenes tomadas por el soberano.

–El resto de nosotros… –continua Atem tras unos segundos–, esperaremos.

Expresiones de sorpresa inundan la sala, Atem cuadra los hombros y observa a los presentes en un gesto que no permite paso a dudas.

–Me niego a tomar acciones sin tener alguna clave de lo que está ocurriendo. ¡No pondré a mi reino en riesgo mientras no vea por completo el tablero de juego! –Se escuchan susurros en la habitación. La mayoría proveniente de las partes más débiles del consejo: nobles, escribas, sacerdotes e hijos de militares que, inclusive en el más allá, no dejan de cuestionar su autoridad.

–Faraón –Se atreve a hablar uno, Atem le observa teniendo un mal presentimiento a su voz conciliadora–. Quizás si la forzamos a hablar, la mujer del templo…

Atem lo interrumpe al ponerse de pie y golpear su puño fuertemente contra el trono, el sonido metálico de sus anillos al impacto obliga a los presentes a guardar silencio. El noble se encoge ante la mirada furibunda del joven gobernante.

–¡LA SEGURIDAD DE KEMMET ES NUESTRA PRIORIDAD! –exclama con una voz, tan llena de enojo, que su sonido retumba en las paredes–. No tomare más medidas hasta que la ciudad y los pobladores estén seguros. ¡ESA ES MI ORDEN!

Sintiendo la tensión opresiva de la habitación, Atem se sienta nuevamente con ambos brazos firmemente colocados a sus lados y una pierna cruzada sobre la otra; un gesto distintivo que lo hace exudar autoridad, elegancia y confianza, sin embargo, su rostro inexpresivo, hace que varios presentes sientan la necesidad de salir corriendo.

–Sí, Su Alteza –susurra el noble, agachando la cabeza. Tras unos segundos Atem observa de reojo a Siamun haciendo un gesto con la cabeza. El visir asiente ligeramente.

–Retírense –ordena el anciano como es costumbre. En silencio las personas comienzan a marcharse, algunos susurran entre ellos y observan con interés la mirada lejana y ensombrecida del joven gobernante.

Pronto la sala del trono ha quedado vacía. Atem deja caer la cabeza, masajeando con cansancio el puente de su nariz.

–Buen trabajo, hijo mío –susurra Aknamkanon acercándose al joven gobernante, Atem levanta la cabeza hacía atrás con el rostro desencajado en preocupación.

–Te lo agradezco padre –susurra frunciendo el ceño–. Pero tampoco tenemos otra opción en este momento.

En la habitación solo permanecen los dos gobernantes, el sacerdote Siamun y Seto. Atem cierra los ojos, mareado, respirando irregularmente.

–Faraón ¿Se encuentra bien? -pregunta Siamun en voz baja, mirándole con paternal preocupación.

–Hai, Daijoubu Oji chan –susurra con voz temblorosa sin mirar al anciano; al darse cuenta de su error, Atem siente cómo su pecho se aprieta lleno de una emoción que lo hace querer esconder el rostro–. ¡ESTOY BIEN! –corrige avergonzado–. De verdad, SIAMUN, no ocurre nada.

El anciano lo observa con un perfil confundido ante sus extrañas palabras. Atem desvía la mirada de los demás, mordiendo su labio en una clara muestra de estrés; una voz en el fondo de su cabeza le recuerda que Anzu está a unas habitaciones de distancia y que debería ir a verla antes de que la muchacha despierte, sola y confundida en ese lugar desconocido.

–Faraón Atem –le llama una voz cortante. Atem sale de sus pensamientos con un sobresalto, vuelve el rostro y observa a su primo quien le fulmina con sus fríos irises azules.

–¿Qué ocurre Seto? –responde, observando al castaño con una ceja levantada, consciente del significado tácito de su mirada penetrante: ¡Seto quiere respuestas, y las quiere inmediatamente!

El sacerdote sisea molesto con la mandíbula tensa.

–Creo que es momento de que nos hable de su huésped y la relación que tiene con lo que está ocurriendo –exclama fríamente, dando dos pasos amenazadores hacía el tricolor.

–¡SETO! –reclama Siamun, escandalizado por el poco tacto que el sacerdote muestra ante su rey; sin embargo, ambos jóvenes le ignoran y se observan en una discusión larga y silenciosa.

No es un secreto que, el consejo considera, interesante la manía de ambos muchachos para retarse en duelos de voluntad; Siempre dispuestos a empujar al otro hasta los límites de su raciocinio.

Siendo ambos jóvenes y talentosos parecen fortalecerse positivamente utilizando su rivalidad nata. Sin embargo, son contadas las ocasiones donde hay verdadera molestia durante estas interacciones y la repentina agresividad de Seto parece demostrar que no coincide completamente con las decisiones tomadas por el joven faraón.

“Es la segunda vez que observo esa expresión en su cara –piensa Atem–. La primera vez fue poco antes de sellar mi alma dentro del rompecabezas del milenio.”

Atem suspira, apartando la mirada con resignación y perdiendo en su batalla con el castaño.

–Tienes razón, Seto. Les contaré todo, sin embargo, hay una persona a quien que debo visitar antes.

El joven faraón levanta la mirada hasta toparse con el rostro serio de su padre, quien le mira consciente de que su hijo necesita hablar a solas con él.

–Siamun –dice Aknamkanon sin dejar de mirar a su hijo–. Infórmanos cuando los sacerdotes regresen de sus misiones, nos veremos en la sala de estrategias cuando eso ocurra.

–Sí, su Majestad –carraspea el anciano, haciendo una reverencia y saliendo de la habitación con paso apresurado. No puede evitar observar por sobre su hombro a los tres hombres que quedan en la habitación.

–Seto –llama Atem, levantándose del trono. El castaño, aun con expresión seria, da un paso en su dirección–. Envía a uno de tus sirvientes por mi madre, necesito que ella esté presente en la sala de estrategias, cuando todos regresen.

Después de unos segundos de sorprendido silencio, el castaño asiente ante la orden del joven gobernante; con una sonrisa resignada Atem coloca una mano sobre el hombro del castaño.

–Confío en que encontrarás a quien la mantenga segura, en su camino a la sala de estrategias –susurra el faraón, observándole con expresión profunda y amable. Sin desviar la mirada Seto descifra algunas de las emociones que su primo intenta ocultar: Confusión, angustia y miedo.

–Sí, mi faraón –responde devolviéndole con seguridad la mirada, su gesto parece tranquilizar al tricolor; tras hacer una reverencia, el castaño se encamina fuera de la habitación.

Los gobernantes, padre e hijo, lo ven marcharse sin intercambiar palabras. Una vez solos, Atem puede sentir como su padre clava una mirada curiosa sobre él; por un instante se vuelve a sentir como un niño pequeño que ha sido descubierto jugando donde no debería.

El sol se ha levantado por el cielo en una brillante mañana, la luz dentro del salón se refleja en las paredes deslumbrando los desvelados ojos del muchacho. Un joven adulto que se niega a mirar a su padre.

–Tu madre no es parte del consejo, dejarla formar parte de una reunión en la sala de estrategias va contra las tradiciones. Eso lo sabes, hijo mío –reprocha calmadamente Aknamkanon, observando el rostro serio de su hijo que finalmente le regresa la mirada; los ojos carmesíes, tan parecidos a los de su esposa, parecen mirar al vació con profunda preocupación.

–Lo sé –susurra el muchacho, apretando en su puño el rompecabezas del milenio que cuelga de su cuello–, pero creo que, al igual que nosotros, quizás ella y Mana sean una parte importante de lo que está ocurriendo.

El pecho de Aknamkanon se hunde con pesimismo ¡Ah! Entonces su hijo sí está escondiendo cosas y parece tener sospechas sobre la llegada de la muchacha del templo. ¿Qué puede estar ocurriendo dentro de la cabeza del joven faraón para tener semejante preocupación en la mirada?

Aknamkanon jamás ha visto tal desolación en el rostro de su hijo. Desde su llegada a los campos de Ialú, Atem había disfrutado de un tiempo lleno de paz y complacencia; como si, tras milenios de oscuridad y soledad intentara recuperar el tiempo perdido en la tierra que lo había visto nacer.

El reencuentro entre él y su madre había sido tan emotivo que la mayoría de los habitantes del palacio no habían logrado ocultar sus lágrimas. A todos les había provocado una gran impresión la llegada de Atem; el hombre serio, pero amable que había ingresado al concluir su maaty había llenado de orgullo y admiración a quienes lo esperaban pacientemente.

Tras las reconciliaciones el carácter del joven había salido a la superficie y con el pasar el tiempo se había vuelto recurrente encontrarlo en el jardín, dormitando pacíficamente bajo la sombra de los papiros, a salvo y como si nada más importara en el mundo.

Rara vez hablaba de su experiencia en el mundo de los vivos, pero cuando lo hacía mostraba tanta nostalgia que, por la noche, se habían acostumbrado a verlo sentado a orillas del rio, hablándole en voz baja a las estrellas; susurrándoles cosas que solo él podía recordar.

Sintiendo una pizca de tristeza, Aknamkanon toma al muchacho con ambas manos por los hombros, inclinándose para observar directamente su rostro.

–Hijo mío, ¿Qué piensas? –pregunta con genuino interés el faraón más viejo. Bajo el peso de sus manos su hijo se siente pequeño, sin embargo, cuando Atem levanta el rostro tiene la fría y decidida mirada de un gobernante que ha luchado en la guerra la mayor parte de su vida.

–Una parte de mi sospecha que los artículos del milenio están relacionados con lo que ocurrió está noche –responde mirándole fijamente. La repentina sorpresa que Aknamkanon siente ante sus palabras cambia rápidamente a analizar de la situación.

–¿Y tu huésped? –cuestiona nuevamente con paciencia–. ¿Su llegada también está relacionada a los artículos del milenio?

–Aún no lo sé, pero temo que se relacione al duelo definitivo –agrega Atem, asintiendo a la curiosidad y comprensión en el rostro de su padre. El hombre nota que el cuerpo de su hijo tiembla inconscientemente, con profunda sorpresa Aknamkanon observa cómo el joven, al hundirse en sus pensamientos, parece convertirse en una versión oscura de sí mismo.

–No permitiré que le hagan daño a Anzu –susurra Atem con la mandíbula apretada, mirando a un punto lejano de la habitación con los ojos profundos y llenos de rencor–. Destruiré a cualquiera que intente lastimarla.

Abrumado por su esencia oscura, Aknamkanon suelta los hombros del muchacho forzándolo a salir de sus pensamientos con un pestañeo; Atem le observa confundido por unos segundos, un escalofrió recorre al hombre mayor al percatarse que su hijo no fue consciente de sus palabras.

–¿Por qué alguien querría lastimarla? –pregunta, intentando comprender las emociones en su hijo. La respiración del muchacho se entrecorta y, en silencio, desvía la mirada, intentando encontrar las mejores palabras para explicar la situación.

Aknamkanon le mira en tensión, mientras Atem medita; tras unos segundos el joven faraón levanta su rostro iluminado con una diminuta sonrisa torcida.

–Porque estoy enamorado de ella –confiesa en voz baja.

NOTAS SOBRE EL CAPITULO

Kemmet: Nombre de Egipto para los egipcios faraónicos.

Heka: Hechiceros.

Sunu: Médicos.

Saru: Consejo local de nobles

Hem netcher: Profetas.

Sem: Sacerdotes que actuaban en las ceremonias de ritos de resurrección.

Maaty: Termino para el justificado en el juicio del Maat al morir.

Campos de Ialú: paraíso egipcio.

Mut-nisut: Madre del rey.

(...)

[steakout-05]

rambling and theorycrafting about Peter Simpkins and his relationship with Barry Steakfries for way too many paragraphs

i was thinking about The Ballad Of Barry Steakfries just now and how fucking weird it would be for Barry to find out all the scientists are just slightly dffeirent versions of his dad, but then it also got me thinking about the second episode with Barry getting Robo Barry to draw what the former saw when Craig's helmet came off, and how one moment in particular made me very very curious about Peter Simpkins being directly related to Barry. it's the look the lingers on Barry's face for a moment when his robotic counterpart shows him the drawing.

(this also serves as a brilliant reaction image alongside that one of Bandit screaming at someone's phone screen but that's besides the point)

i just. i keep thinking about what that look means. that's a really weird reaction to have if Craig's appearance didn't strike something in Barry, especially with the attitude Barry had right before this happened. it's heavily implied in these shorts that Simpkins is directly related to Barry as a fatherly figure (what with Craig looking very similar to Barry, the blurred pieces you can abrely make out matching up with the features of Craig's face), but if that is the case, then why didn't Barry immediately go "Hey, that looks just like my dad!" and act more surprised about it? he doesn't do that, he just stares at it with a weird look on his face. there has to be something more to it. my theory is that Barry never actually knew his real dad, who is Simpkins, and instead had a foster parent or stepdad growing up after his real dad's death. i think, judging by how old the photos of him and Brains are and how young the two look (it's hard to tell with Simpkins' face being pixellated obviously, but judging by Robo Barry's drawing and what little we see of Craig's face in the shadows, he looks noticably younger than Barry), that Simpkins died either before or shortly after Barry was born, thus Barry never knew him, prompting him giving that look that i can only read as a familiar yet strange sense of recognition.

now, on the topic of Barry's dad specifically: Barry's dad (who according to Barry's mum, is apparently named 'Lareth' or Larry for short) barely, if ever, gets brought up at all in any media whatsoever... except for the vlog series. that, to my knowledge, is the only time he ever gets mentioned or talked about, and whenever he does, it's very interesting.

in Barry's vlog series (which i'm not sure is generally considered canon. i don't believe it's entirely canon but there are bits and pieces that i think would line up with canon. it's weird), whenever Barry talks about his dad, he's always portrayed as somewhat distant from his son. in one of the earliest episodes (i think it's the first one), Barry says something that implies his dad has memory issues, with him yelling at Barry asking him who he is and why he's in his home even though Barry is his son and lives with him as well. there was another episode where Barry recounts a childhood memory of being hungry but not being able to tell his dad about it until it got to the point where he felt like he was starving. i can't remember the episode he said this in, but i know he said it. he seems noticeably absent from Barry's life in comparison to Barry's mum, not even appearing or being heard when the latter calls him over in the 100th episode. this, coupled with little things Barry says around episode 70 of the series that suggest a "dark family history" (his own words), suggest that Barry doesn't exactly have the best relationship with his dad. i'm probably forgetting a few things because i'm thinking of these off the top of my head, but these are the most glaring examples from the vlog itself that i think are interesting in relation to this.

finally roping this back around to my theory that Simpkins died before Barry was born/when he was very young: you know how on the scientists little bio for Jetpack Joyride 2 thhat it says Simpkins died during the development of Mr. Cuddles, and how it was just assumed that Simpkins' death took place during the 'Robot Bird' rock opera because that was the only information we had about the event and its connection to Mr. Cuddles? what if we got that all wrong? cause like, in the third The Ballad Of Barry Steakfries short, there's a photo with a considerably younger Brains and Simpkins standing in front of blueprints for the Profit Bird vehicle, which was also being developed by Toni (the yellow-stripe scientist) in the rock opera. the rock opera takes place well after Barry's first outing in the laboratory, so if Simpkins were Barry's dad and if Brains were a younger (probably less evil) man around that time, then that just wouldn't make much sense. his death had to have taken place years before this event occurred. i'm gonna do a bit of theory/fanfic crafting and say that i think that Simpkins was the one who developed the original prototypes of the Profit Bird, Mr. Cuddles and even Flash years and years before Professor Brains started making clones of him and hired actual people as their scientists, but something went horribly wrong that resulted in his death developing the mechanical dragon. it was then that Brains began to create cloned copies of Simpkins after his death to continue the work he developed as he couldn't do it on his own without his friend. one of the original cloned scientists was Toni, but his efforts were considered a failure as he kept coming up with newer (and more ridiculous) ideas for the vehicles and he was promptly kicked out of the laboratory. he might have a bigger villain role later that's related to this (and also Barry Steakfries partly being responsible for his downfall).

this whole Peter Simpkins and Barry stuff is very intriguing to me and i'm interested in seeing where it goes. idk how i feel about him potentially being Craig (or at least a clone of him being Craig) as i still think it's unfitting in relation to his character, but i think the idea is interesting and weird enough for me to want to follow. it's just wild thinking this simple little game about some australian dude going wild with a jetpack is expanding into weird dad/best friend mix-ups and a darker deeper narrative.

also, one more little thing: how the fuck did Robo Barry know what Craig's whole face looked like? Barry only saw the back of his head and a little bit of the side, but nothing beyond the rim of his glasses and his eyebrows, unless he somehow managed to see something more before Craig was quickly hidden by the other scientists. does Robo Barry potentially have more knowledge of the late scientist? Robo Barry has been characterised as being slightly smarter (or at least more observant) than his human counterpart in the dialogue of Jetpack Joyride 2, and Brains DID originally design him to kill Barry Steakfries (which judging by the training video from the third episode, seems to be a sentiment that has a lot to do with Simpkins). i also wonder if Barry was connecting the dots in his head with Craig's hair looking weirdly similar to Barry's hair and thinking he must look similar to himself. Barry never mentioned a moustache though, although in saying that, we do only catch Robo Barry and Barry in the middle of them trying to figure out how Craig would look, so maybe it was mentioned beforehand offscreen and we just didn't see it happen. maybe, if we are to go with the idea of Simpkins passing away shortly after Barry's birth, that maybe Barry was connecting the dots with some blurry old memory he had of seeing the face of his real father as a baby and he was sorta subconsciously describing what he looked like based off that, before being shocked by Robo Barry's drawing. just some food for thought.

edit: i realised i said the "dark family history of the Steakfries" line is around episode 70, but it's actually in episode 50. whoops!

additional random and slightly unrelated though: i imagined a plot point where Craig and Barry, in an attempt to try to figure out wtf is going on, come across a secret part of the laboratory that just houses these absolutely horrific failed prototype clones of Simpkins. missing or duplicated limbs, malformed melted faces, some of them are just masses of flesh that barely even quantify as a living thing, but it still persists because it's being forced to stay alive by the lab's technology. poor Barry's gonna need so much therapy after that one