#maldito mouse

[shaggyfranccella]

canon que José lava el auto con un topcito si o no? obvio que si pue chamigo

pobre José man, acababa de literalmente ver a su ídolo JAKWJAJAKAJA basta te amo jose

JAKAJAKAJAJA POBRE LO PEOR ES QUE SI ES BASTA es latino, obvio va a pedir perdón POR TODO, lo adoro maldito gallo ijo de remil puta

literal el plot de la peli y la serie de los tres caballeros, mikey mouse? qn te conoce rata asquerosa? José carioca el verdadero leal

AAAAAAA SOY ESEEEEEEEEEEE si azazel si, me recontra identifico, comprendo tus pesares

apreciación cultural o apropiación cultural???? ns pero se ve bonito como para admitir que eso es apropiación cultural, además, es latino, yo le permito lo que sea, ya si es un gringo o un europeo es otra cosa

lxs latinxs somos hermanxs, y como buenxs hermanxs nosnprestamos la ropa, nos compartimos la comida, nos prestamos los juguetitos YYYYY nos enojamos a mares cuando alguien que no es nuestrx hermanx (europeos o gringos) agarra nuestra ropa, juguetes o comida. factos.

[hibrydvisions]

Ahora si, contexto (ESP)

Creo que sería buena idea dejar algo de contexto sobre el personaje principal de este blog, así que…

¿Quién es esta?

Sonidy es el OC más soso y aburrido en el mundo, un maldito Sonic recoloreado con 2 cosas mal pegadas y ni siquiera con un nombre cool o bonito.

Aun así, yo la quiero mucho no la cambiaría por nada. Déjenme contarles un poco sobre el proceso que recorrí cuando la cree.

Originalmente era solo un avatar para poder usar en un canal de Youtube. Con el simple pensamiento de “Me gusta Sonic, no me convence usar los personajes existentes, ¿habrá alguna forma de hacer el mío propio?”

Y entonces descubrí aquel antiguo juego de “Furry Dollmaker”, que justamente servía para lo que quería, pues el diseño de personajes era claramente siguiendo el estilo de Sonic.

El juego se hallaba en Deviantart. Me parece que ya no funciona en el sitio debido a la muerte de Flash, pero creo que aún pueden probarlo en la wayback machine si les interesa

Ese fue el primer diseño que tuvo (le puse el color de mi pelo, ojos,  y  más o menos lo que llevaba puesto ese día, si incluso los guantes), tal vez no era el mejor, pero seguro muchos opinarían que al menos no era robo de arte ¿no?

Estarían en lo correcto, sin embargo como sabemos, algo me hizo cambiar de opinión.

Como dije antes, el objetivo era crear un avatar para representarme en diversas plataformas. Realice un video para YouTube que era lo que más me ilusionaba en ese momento, pero digamos que no era bueno, nada bueno, incluso para los estándares de ese entonces en el nicho que quería entrar. (Por si se lo preguntan, el video ya no existe ya que nunca lo subí, ni siquiera lo renderize porque no me había gustado. Aún recuerdo un poco de ello pero era aburrido, créanme).

Y lo que me hizo decidir no usarlo al final, es que me parecía muy rígido e inexpresivo. A día de hoy no estoy segura porque me importaba eso, pero si, digamos que eso es lo que más me molestaba.

Así que, pensando en soluciones, recordé Algo.

Veran, dentro del nicho de “youtubers” en el que quería entrar, había otro nicho más profundo, que justamente trataba de otros creadores que utilizaban específicamente avatares de Sonic, pero de distintos estilos, y colores.

Cabe aclarar que todo esto ocurrió cuando tenía alrededor de 12-13 años, y desconocía muchas cosas de cómo funcionaban ciertas herramientas. Así que investigando un poco, gracias a un tutorial hecho por un usuario llamado “Fedesonic” (Actualmente el usuario ya no existe), pude aprender a usar Photoshop para modificar imágenes (De hecho, si conocen ese corto de Sonic paradox, básicamente me paso lo mismo). Obviamente, lo use para pintar por encima frames de Sonic X, que era lo que se usaba en ese momento jaja.

Este es el primer recolor que hice, aunque tuve que simplificar el vestuario ya que por si no lo han notado por todo lo dicho, no tenía la más mínima noción de cómo dibujar, así que no era capaz de ponerle tantos detalles (además súmenle que tendría que hacer todo con el mouse y apenas entendía cómo funcionaba el programa, definitivamente me parecía imposible en aquel momento).

Y así, finalmente pude empezar con el hobby de crear videos durante unos años (creo que fueron 2 o 3) mantuve este avatar recoloreando principalmente frames de Sonic X como había mencionado ya que tenían una gran variedad de poses y expresiones. Aunque tengo que admitir que también llegue a usar fanarts de otros artistas, principalmente por el desconocimiento de que eso era algo malo (aunque nunca proclame haberlo hecho yo, ¿eso ayuda?).

Seguí con mis asuntos, planeaba hacer un tipo de “serie” (un modo historia xD) sobre ella y otros personajes para hacerlos más interesantes dividí eso en 2 partes, pero mi pc estallo en llamas justo después de que publique la primera, dejándome varada. A pesar de que logre salvar la mayoría de mis archivos, no tenía donde realizar mi proyecto.

Así, tuve que pasar varios años sin poder hacer nada más que fantasear con lo que quería hacer. Pero a día de hoy, me parece que tal vez fue una bendición encubierta. Ya que en ese tiempo se me ocurrían cosas que tal vez de otra forma nunca hubiera pensado.

La historia que imaginaba se hacía más compleja, y ¿en serio debo depender de las poses y expresiones que alguien más haya creado? Tal vez tenga que modificar la imagen mucho, eso podría quedar feo, tal vez nadie haya hecho exactamente lo que yo quiero, ¿qué demonios haré entonces?

Así que, para mi desgracia, Si quería que mi visión fuera exacta, la solución era bastante obvia: Tenía que aprender a dibujar.

Ahora, seguro los que lean esto dirán “Duh” pero bueno para mí fue una revelación terrorífica déjenme en paz >:[ Nunca fui buena dibujando ni tenía especial interés por ello. Por lo que darme cuenta que debía iniciar de cero a los 15 años en algo que no era para nada hábil, cuando muchos a esa edad ya tenían todo el talento del mundo, me hacía sentir bastante insegura y envidiosa a decir verdad.

Pero, sabía que al final estaba por mi cuenta. Quería ver mis pajas mentales realizadas y si yo no hacía el esfuerzo, nadie lo haría por mí. Así que básicamente me aplique un “Échele ganas mijo”

No encuentro el cuaderno donde tenía los primeros intentos de dibujo, pero eran feos, muy feos (como cabría esperar). Recuerdo pensar que sería solo “oh no puede ser tan diferente, aprenderé a dibujar a Sonic y luego solo agregaré los otros detalles y el color distinto” Y tremendo error que fue creer eso, que tortuoso fue todo. (A todo esto tengo una cuenta antigua de deviantart donde hay dibujos bastante viejos si alguien quiere ver)

En fin, cuento corto, pase varios años aprendiendo en papel, desarrolle una mejor trama, logre conseguir un pc nuevo, para ese momento ya le había agarrado gusto a dibujar así que tuve la estúpida idea de aprender a hacer animación también, así como hacer rediseños más lindos y complejos ya que “pues bueno, ya me lo puedo permitir”.

Sin embargo, nunca modifique demasiado a Sonidy a pesar de tener la posibilidad. Lo intenté, créanme, pero no importaba que tanto la adornara, o que forma nueva le diera, nunca me gustaba.

Así que decidí dejarla tal cual estaba con muy leves modificaciones. Después de todo, ya no es un recolor si lo estoy haciendo yo desde cero, ¿verdad? >:]

Así que, esa es toda la historia técnica, aplausos. Solo para aclarar porque le tengo tanto aprecio a este montón de pixeles feos. Tenemos historia.

Pero, pero, a pesar de haber nacido de un avatar, eventualmente desarrollo su propia personalidad y características, que si bien algunas aún son similares a las mías, ella ya es algo aparte.

Así que, aquí hay un par de cosas sobre el personaje en sí:

Sonidy

Es una hibrido de Erizo/Lobo (que original) de pelaje café y ojos verdes. Ingenua, normalmente animada (aunque hacerla enojar es bastante fácil) y bastante emocional en general.

Le gusta descubrir cosas nuevas, pasar tiempo con sus amigos, buscar aventuras, y aunque no es estrictamente malvada, le encanta hacer travesuras y causar problemas. No le gusta tanto hacerse responsable por ellas.

Dentro del lore de hecho tiene un motivo para parecerse tanto a Sonic, y es que básicamente ella es una de tantas fangirls del erizo azul (él es como una celebridad, tal cual como en el propio universo original de Sonic). Ve un modelo a seguir e inspiración en él así que le copió el estilo.

Ella tiene entre 12 y 26 años. Una brecha muy grande pero no es por indecisión, me refiero a que su historia comienza a sus 12 años y hasta el punto donde la tengo planeada llega a los 26. Como nota: su personalidad y apariencia cambian más o menos dependiendo de en qué punto de su historia se encuentre, pero digamos que esta es una descripción inicial.

Actualmente vive en una isla cercana a una gran ciudad, junto con sus primos. Donde le pasan todo tipo de cosas.

Como último dato inútil, Sonidy tiene 2 historias: Una canónica (a la que le he puesto más esfuerzo, con personajes y lugares originales), y una alternativa (que en realidad era el concepto que inicialmente había planeado para ella. Donde más bien la insertaba a ella en el universo de Sonic y todo tenía más que ver con esos personajes. Un fanfic típico básicamente). Lo menciono porque después de mucho pensarlo creo que intentare rescatar lo poco interesante de esa historia alternativa, y este blog es el único lugar donde me siento en más confianza para poner algo así.

Yyyy ya. Terminamos, gracias por llegar hasta acá a quien se haya tomado el tiempo de leer esta biblia. Espero subir algo más corto e interesante luego.

[beeprim21]

Ah no puedo más con esta mierda llamada vida. No entiendo como me puede ir tan mal en todo, me salaron o que? Cómo es posible que me vaya tan mal?

Tantas computadoras en mi trabajo y la mía tiene que fallar despues de estar funcionando perfectamente???

Bueno okay me cambio de computadora, aunque lleve tiempo en que se ajusten mis datos, está nueva computadora no me deja está lejos del pizarrón así que no veo por qué soy una p3rr4 miope y con astigmatismo. Okay no pasa nada, le puedo preguntar a las personas al lado de mi, que No conozco y que por esto me voy a estresar mucho, pero pues nimodo me chingo y ya. Ah pero la nueva computadora es lenta como la mierd4, no le sirve el mouse y su pantalla tiene el brillo y contraste tan desajustado que no veo nada. Aparte que no abre edge que es el único maldito navegador que no está bloqueado por la empresa y que me permite abrir traductor Google, para estar 100% segura de que mi gramática es correcta.

Quiero escribir novelas o programar desde casa, no puedo estar con la gente me estreso mucho al sentirme observada, se que desde la perspectiva de mis compañeros fue gracioso y nadie tomo esto como una molestia al retrasar la capacitación pero yo no puedo evitar estresarme por todo.

[hansolsticio]

✦ — "GAM3 BO1". ᯓ j. wonwoo.

— namorado gamer ! wonwoo × leitora. — 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗴𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗮: smut. — 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 3134. — 𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗼𝘀: neologismos do mundinho gamer, orgasm denial, sexo desprotegido, linguagem imprópria, wonu sub, pain kink (?) & 'filhadaputagem'. — 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗮𝘀: não assumo homem que joga lol (🚩🚩🚩🚩) [assumo sim, nonu... feliz aniversário, amor! ♡]

Foram incontáveis as animadas exclamações que o seu namorado te fez escutar, todas referentes ao bendito evento que aconteceria no jogo favorito dele. Wonwoo dizia e redizia os detalhes sobre como tudo aquilo aparentemente seria ótimo para que ele pudesse acumular experiência e o quão lendárias seriam todas as skins limitadas que ele seria capaz de conquistar nesse meio tempo.

Sendo muito honesta, a maioria de todas aquelas palavras não faziam o menor sentido para você, mas Wonwoo estava feliz e isso significava que você automaticamente também estava — tinha noção de todo o amor que o homem alimentava por esse universo e fazia questão de dar o maior suporte possível aos interesses do seu namorado. Sem contar que era adorável de se ver: as orbes brilhantes que te encaravam por trás dos óculos enquanto ele usava meia dúzia de neologismos para te explicar a mesma coisa pela vigésima vez faziam ele parecer um garotinho — se derretia inteira com a fofura do homem. Só que dessa vez, você mal sabia onde estava se metendo.

Tudo começou até que bem. Wonwoo era calmo, nunca foi de fazer muito barulho, mesmo jogando. Você aproveitou o dia para se cuidar e dar conta de alguns projetos pessoais parados — era fim de semana, não havia muito a ser feito. Uma vez ou outra paparicava seu namorado com alguns lanchinhos e beijinhos roubados.

Admitia que ele era atraente demais jogando. O rostinho que, na maioria dos casos, permanecia inexpressivo mal transparecia qualquer tipo de tensão e isso contrastava perfeitamente com os dedos velozes que domavam o teclado e o mouse de um jeito muito experiente. Wonwoo também não era de falar muito, restringindo-se ao que pareciam ser orientações referentes ao jogo e alguns palavrões seguidos de um movimento muito mais rápido das mãos dele — era interessante de se ver.

As horas passavam e você começava a se questionar quanto tempo, em média, esses eventos costumavam demorar. Já havia até mesmo saído para comprar umas coisinhas com algumas amigas suas, voltando mais cedo para ter tempo de jantar com o seu namorado — tudo isso só para encontrá-lo na mesma posição que o deixou anteriormente sob a alegação que já havia comido uma besteirinha qualquer.

Você fez o melhor que pôde para esconder a chateação. Não queria ser excessiva, mas era dengosa. Gostava de ter a atenção do seu namorado aos fins de semana — já que vocês nem se viam direito por conta da rotina cheia. Wonwoo sabia muito bem disso, pois ainda que não abrisse mão dos próprios hobbies, sempre tirava um tempinho para te mimar.

Dito isso, tentou ganhar atenção por conta própria. Alongava os beijinhos ou até mesmo pedia colinho — queria seu Nonu te tocando a todo custo. E ainda assim, as mãos do homem não deixavam o maldito joguinho em paz. Era uma situação irritante (e até meio humilhante), não sabia se Wonwoo havia desenvolvido uma espécie de visão em túnel ou se só fazia um ótimo trabalho em te ignorar. Só sabia que estava inconvenientemente carente e a postura desapegada do seu namorado só fazia a situação ficar pior.

E problemas modernos exigiam estratégias inovadoras. No entanto não havia nada de inédito no seu plano, na verdade era bem simples: Wonwoo era atraído por você e você era atraente. Xeque-mate, certo? Deveria ser. Para estrelar o seu grande esquema você havia escolhido uma das peças que comprou na sua ida ao shopping. Não planejava usá-lo hoje, queria guardar para algum momentinho mais especial entre vocês dois. Só que Wonwoo não estava te ajudando, então teria que apelar.

A peça era curtinha, mal cobria seu corpo. O tecido num cetim brilhante harmonizava muito bem com as partes feitas de renda. Os detalhes não importavam, Wonwoo com certeza não prestaria atenção neles. Havia até um conjunto de lingerie que combinava com tudo, mas esse você sequer vestiu — não condizia com os planos que você tinha em mente. Inicialmente, a postura fechada do seu namorado te deixou receosa em falar. Mas estava convicta de que não ganharia nada ficando em silêncio:

"Amor?", era audível o suficiente. O moreno alcançou o fone, afastando-o de uma das orelhas e clicando em um botão logo em seguida — provavelmente silenciando o próprio microfone.

"Hm?", mal se moveu, mas os dedos não paravam.

"Comprei aquele conjuntinho que eu te falei."

"Foi, amorzinho? Que bom.", haviam dúvidas se ele realmente te escutou falar alguma coisa.

"Não vai olhar?", a paciência que já estava por um triz se esgotou de vez quando seu namorado se virou rápido demais pro seu gosto — certamente não havia visto nada. "O que você achou, Nonu?", era um teste.

"Tá linda, amor. Você é sempre linda.", a afirmação foi imediata. Ele murmurou um palavrão, parecia não estar indo bem na partida.

"Você nem tá me vendo!"

"Mas eu tô de óculos, amor.", argumentou — a cabecinha focada demais para ser capaz de raciocinar que esse claramente não era o problema.

"Eu sei, só que você mal olhou pra cá.", nem se esforçou mais para esconder o desapontamento, soando manhosa. Detestava não conseguir o que queria — não estava a fim de dividir seu namorado com os jogos hoje.

"É que eu preciso me concentrar, princesa. 'Cê consegue esperar seu Nonu terminar?", ele também forçou um tom doce, conhecia seu jeitinho birrento de longe. Você não quis mais discutir, se jogando na cama dramaticamente. "Voltei, tava falando com a minha mulher.", disse ao reativar o microfone, mas nem o apelidinho carinhoso conseguiu te amolecer.

O apelido, inclusive, possuía uma origem interessante, Wonwoo começou a te chamar assim ainda muito cedo no relacionamento. Inicialmente, você até tentou questioná-lo — afinal isso poderia causar confusão em quem não soubesse que vocês ainda não estavam nem perto de serem casados —, tudo isso para ter todos os seus argumentos anulados com um "Você é mulher e é minha, então eu 'tô certo." e a conversa acabou bem aqui.

Farta, foi no meio dessas e de outras memórias que você caiu no sono, cansada de forçar suspiros cada vez mas arrastados e teatrais, afinal ele sequer parecia escutá-los.

[...]

Ao acordar com o barulho do chuveiro você foi rápida em presumir que havia vencido: finalmente teria seu homem de volta. Quando a silhueta muito bem conhecida atravessou a porta do banheiro, você sentiu sua boca salivar. Os leds coloridos que adornavam todo o set-up de Wonwoo não ofereciam uma boa iluminação para o cômodo, mas eram o suficiente para te deixar enxergar as gotinhas de água escorrendo pelo abdômen branquinho e detendo-se na barra da toalha que adornava o quadril do homem. Nem se recordava mais o motivo de estar brava com ele, aliás sequer sabia se em algum momento esteve realmente brava.

Assistiu-o vestir-se com um short folgadinho e um moletom qualquer. Inconscientemente afastou-se, abrindo mais espaço na cama. O corpo inteiro vibrava, iria se divertir tanto com o seu Nonu. A expressão de desapontamento que pintou o seu rosto quando o homem andou até o computador novamente sem sequer olhar na sua direção era digna de risos. No entanto, você era persistente. Resolveu dar-se ao luxo de ter esperança: quem sabe ele só tivesse esquecido os óculos ou quisesse desligar o aparelho, talvez os dois.

O burburinho incessante do teclado somado ao murmurar quase inaudível da voz do seu namorado — que provavelmente ainda achava que você estava dormindo —, enterrou qualquer tipo de expectativa que você tinha. O aborrecimento pareceu voltar três vezes mais forte e, para piorar a situação, veio acompanhado de vários tons de implicância. Você não se sentia mais capaz de 'deixar barato'.

Wonwoo havia cometido um erro fundamental enquanto jogador: esquecer-se de que ele não era o único capaz de jogar — você poderia entrar na partida se quisesse. Era a oponente perfeita, sabia colocar seu namorado no bolso se estivesse motivada o suficiente. Tinha todas as fraquezas do moreno tatuadas na memória de trás para frente, sabia muito bem quais botões pressionar.

Serpentou cuidadosamente até a cadeira, tinha todo um plano em mente — surpreendia-se com o que sua cabeça conseguia desenvolver em situações de tensão, especialmente quando Wonwoo era o alvo. Ocultou o rostinho astuto, a expressão dando lugar à uma carinha dengosa e sonolenta. O moreno não se assustou com a sua aparição repentina, parecia ser capaz de ouvir o que acontecia no quarto inteiro, mesmo com os fones.

Usou dos mesmos maneirismos preguiçosos e inocentes de mais cedo para pedir colinho novamente. O homem te deu espaço para sentar por puro instinto, não parecia notar nada fora do comum. Isso era excelente, precisaria da postura suscetível para manipulá-lo. Além disso, tinha noção de que não seria necessário muito esforço para deixá-lo do jeitinho que você queria. Wonwoo era fraco, vocês dois sabiam disso.

Começou com um ou outro beijinho inocente no pescoço cheirosinho. O aroma gostoso do sabonete quase te embriagou, o moreninho era uma delícia. Ajustou a posição, o íntimo totalmente descoberto ficando bem em cima do volume adormecido — a camada fina do short dele sendo a única barreira que separava vocês. Talvez isso tenha deixado suas intenções um pouco mais evidentes, tanto que ganhou um olhar desconfiado do homem acima de você. Precisava ser mais ligeira, afastou um dos lados do fone, indo de imediato ao que interessava:

"Você foi tão malvado comigo, Wonnie.", sussurrou o mais bonitinha que conseguiu. As mãozinhas entraram por baixo do moletom, o corpo grande tensionou mais ainda. "Nem me deu atenção direito.", mordiscou o lóbulo cheinho, ouvindo-o suspirar — queria rir do quão sensível ele era. Fazia questão de ser silenciosa, estrategicamente escolhendo o lado mais distante do microfone. "Passei o dia inteiro pensando em você.", as unhas afiadinhas corriam pelo torso dele. "E eu fiquei tão molhadinha, Nonu. Tive até que trocar de calcinha."

"Amor-"

"Presta atenção no jogo, Wonwoo. Fica quietinho.", alertou e ele arfou afobado, lembrando-se do maldito microfone. "Soquei meus dedinhos nela até gozar, amor. Mas foi tão ruim...", choramingou, as unhas perto demais da pelve do seu namorado. "Eu não sei fazer igual você faz, Wonnie. Não consigo ir lá no fundo.", subiu as mãos lentamente, acabando com as esperanças do homem por uns segundos. "E você sempre vai tão fundo, amor, me deixa tão cheia... eu fico te sentindo por um tempão depois.", sua cintura se moveu por conta própria, acompanhando o ritmo lascivo das palavras.

Era ridiculamente previsível que você ficasse tão afetada quanto o homem, só não imaginava que seria cedo assim. A cabeça era atormentada pelas próprias fantasias, arriscaria dizer que toda a sujeira que falava surtia mais efeito em si própria do que em Wonwoo. Estava vergonhosamente melada, mal podia crer. Culpava seu namorado por tudo isso, se não fosse tão apaixonada por ele diria que o relacionamento inteiro de vocês era um episódio muito preocupante de 'amor de pica' — algo nele te tirava do eixo.

"Responde seu time, Nonu. Eu consigo ouvir eles daqui.", sequer conteve o sorrisinho maldoso, ouvindo o burburinho que escapava pelos fones. Também não se esforçou em dar abertura para que ele falasse, as unhas corriam impiedosas pelo peitoral do homem — resvalando nos biquinhos sensíveis. Da mesma forma, a cinturinha não cessava. Esfregava a bucetinha no relevo agora evidente, sabia que ele podia sentir o quão quentinha você estava.

"Merda, eu tô descendo! Espera só eu recarregar.", tudo saiu esganiçado, os dedos se moviam totalmente desordenados em cima do teclado.

"Muito bom, Nonu. Fica tão bonitinho sendo obediente.", zombou. Wonwoo soltou o mouse rapidamente, só para te dar um apertão na cintura — era em tom de aviso, mas você não poderia se importar menos. "Não gosta de ser obediente?", os risinhos vieram em maior intensidade. Ele limpou a garganta, uma vibração grave reverberando por todo o torso. "Porra, eu adoro esse teu jeitinho, Wonnie.", esfregava o narizinho no maxilar do homem, o cheiro de shampoo ainda não havia deixado o corpo dele. "É tão machão, amor. Mas fica todo molinho quando eu 'tô sentando.", selou o cantinho da boca.

Se afastou um pouquinho para ser capaz de ver o rosto do moreno, mas sem cobrir a visão da tela atrás de você. A mão sorrateira entrou dentro do short, não foi uma tarefa complicada achar a cabecinha sensível. O pau pesado babava abundantemente, pronto para esporrar gostosinho.

"E eu tava com tanto tesão hoje mais cedo, Nonu. Tanto, tanto... Caralho, eu gozei pensando em te mamar, Wonnie.", o corpo grande retesou, não era difícil achar os pontos fracos do seu moreninho. "Você gosta, amor? Gosta de me dar porra na boquinha?", os olhinhos duplicaram de tamanho por trás dos óculos, Wonwoo te olhava incrédulo. "Que foi, amor?", a pergunta era retórica. "Quer minha boca aqui, Nonu? Tá sujando minha mão inteirinha... droga, eu queria tanto...", envolveu a extensão firme numa punheta lentinha.

Os olhos do homem quase se fecharam. A cintura forçava-se contra a sua mão, tentando se foder no círculo quentinho que seus dedos faziam. Os cliques do teclado se tornavam cada vez mais espaçados. Seu homem mordiscava os próprios lábios, era tão sexy de se assistir.

"Só que você foi um namorado tão ruim hoje, Nonu. Não sei se ainda quero brincar com você.", manhou diminuindo a velocidade do estímulo — ainda fazia de tudo para ser silenciosa. As orbes semicerradas abriram-se de imediato, Wonwoo murmurou um "por favor" quase inaudível. O rostinho carente fez seu corpo inteiro esquentar, ele estava tão entregue — dava para ver na carinha dele, faria o que você quisesse.

"Wonwoo, porra! Tá com a mão no pau? Usa o caralho da skill.", uma voz raivosa cortou o ambiente, era alta o suficiente para reverberar através dos fones. Seu namorado torceu o rosto em estresse, reposicionando o microfone perto da boca.

"Calma cacete! Eu tomei stun.", tentou justificar, só agora realmente prestando atenção no que acontecia na tela atrás do seu corpo. Você quis rir, mas conteve. Apertou as bolas cheinhas ouvindo-o produzir um som quebrado — que ele logo justificou com uma tosse fingida. Voltou a sua posição inicial, a boquinha estrategicamente posicionada ao pé da orelha do homem.

"Por que 'cê não me recompensa, hein? Me deixa usar seu pau até gozar de verdade dessa vez? Eu mereço, Nonu?", sugeriu, vendo-o concordar com a cabeça meio desesperado. "Posso socar bem no fundo até machucar, Wonnie? Posso?", quase miava. Wonwoo achava que iria enlouquecer, nunca escondeu o tesão que tinha na sua voz — e você fazia uso dessa informação desde que percebeu o fato.

Retirou o falo pesadinho dos tecidos assim que recebeu sinal verde. Seu namoradinho tensionava o abdômen, já sobrecarregado. Certificou-se de cuspir na sua mão de um jeitinho barulhento, só para ver o pau dele espasmar — também tinha noção do quão sujas Wonwoo gostava que as coisas fossem. Sentou sem fazer muita cerimônia, ele sempre te abria muito gostosinho. Droga, queria dar 'pra ele até chorar, mas precisou conter os próprios impulsos — tinha que seguir com seu plano inicial. Choramingava, a cabecinha avantajada fazia uma pressão meio incômoda.

"Eu quis isso o dia inteirinho, Nonu.", experimentou quicar algumas vezes, ia devagar, tirando ele quase inteiro só para encaixar tudo de volta. Todas as provocações ficando presas na garganta — inferno de pau gostoso. Sentia-se embriagada com os estímulos, as bolas pesadas acertavam a parte de fora da sua bucetinha, deixando claro que ele estava todinho dentro de você.

Não se aguentou, puxando-o para um beijo melado. Arfava contra a boquinha gostosa, praticamente fodendo sua língua dentro da cavidade. Seu namorado sugava tudo, tão faminto quanto você. Os óculos incomodavam, mas ninguém parecia se importar, focados em continuar o contato lascivo.

"Wonwoo, eu juro por Deus...", uma voz masculina soou novamente através dos fones.

"Puta que pariu.", reclamou, finalmente perdendo a paciência. Mutou o microfone de vez, puxando os fones sem cuidado algum até que ficassem somente em volta do pescoço. O jogo poderia ir pro inferno, abriria mão de qualquer coisa por uma foda gostosa com você.

As mãos grandes finalmente livraram-se do teclado, indo direto para sua bunda — queria te fazer sentar mais forte. Você se libertou do aperto, olhando-o em tom de advertência. Ele entendeu, firmando-as nos apoios da cadeira. O rostinho sofrido era adorável, os lábios sequer se fechavam, arfando de um jeitinho desesperado.

"Amor, senta mais forte, senta? Só um pouquinho...", você desacelerou de propósito, agora rebolando sentadinha, sentindo ele por inteiro. "Porra, assim não... deixa eu te foder, por favor, deixa? Amor..."

"Me faz gozar, Nonu.", choramingou no ouvido do seu namorado que entendeu de prontidão. Os dedinhos habilidosos logo entraram no meio dos corpos de vocês, Wonwoo sabia brincar com você como ninguém. Esfregava seu pontinho de um jeito gostoso, beliscando vez ou outra só para ver seu corpo saltar. "Nonu, assim... Ah!", o corpo já amolecia, mas movia a cintura rapidinho. A cabecinha esvaziava, mas se sentia tão cheia. Queria ter forças para sentar rapidinho, mas as pernas já tremiam. "Droga, eu vou gozar... Wonnie."

O corpinho fraco travou, logo convulsionando gostosinho no colo do seu namorado. A sensação te tomava inteira, até mesmo soltou um risinho molenga por puro tesão. Se obrigou a lutar contra a sensibilidade, voltando a sentar — havia algo que você precisava terminar. Wonwoo grunhia manhosinho, os olhos nem se abriam mais. A testa franzidinha e suada deixam explícito que ele estava perto, muito perto.

Só foi sentir a extensão quentinha expandir que você simplesmente tirou-o de dentro de si, sem dar aviso algum. O moreno até se assustou com a ação, abrindo os olhos de um jeitinho meio cômico. Te olhava totalmente confuso, a boquinha se mexia sem saber o que dizer.

Ácida, você arfou ruidosamente de um jeitinho exagerado, a boca abertinha em "O" imitava a expressão de surpresa do seu namorado — como se estivesse tão pasma quanto ele. Wonwoo te olhava desnorteado, os olhinhos perdidos deixavam claro que ele não sabia como agir. Não demorou para que a sua surpresa se desmanchasse num risinho debochado.

"Que foi? Te atrapalhei?", dissimulada, consertou os óculos no rosto do moreno — estava torto, quase caindo pelo nariz. Você fez menção de levantar do colo dele e o homem agarrou sua cintura de um jeito possessivo, foi impedido quase que imediatamente — suas mãozinhas puxando as dele só para colocá-las nos apoios da cadeira. "Nem tenta.", repreendeu, os olhos fixos no rostinho penoso. Selou a bochecha corada, finalmente se levantando. "Bom joguinho, Nonu."

As orbes do homem estavam completamente vazias, ele nunca havia se sentido tão à deriva. Todos os sentidos estavam aguçados de uma maneira desconfortável. O pau pulsava dolorido, babando um líquido transparente. As vozes através do fone mal eram ouvidas, enquanto Wonwoo encarava a tela brilhante adornada com um emblema avermelhado que lia "DERROTA".

# — © 2024 hansolsticio ᯓ★ masterlist.

[kahecha82]

E3 .............. yo elijah soy chileno............. pero llego el maldito día no existen las consolas portátiles para juegos triple a............. pero hay 3 alternativas........... steam deck........... rog ally............. Lenovo legion go......

Son .......ryzen 7 ............ 16 gb de ram......... su precio infinito de millones de dólares.......... pero a solo 700 mil pesos..........

Pero hay una sorpresa se conectan al televisor........... con teclado y mouse ..............

Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja Jajajaja

[willywonderfan]

Willy's Wonderland vampire hunter au part 14

(It is the next morning in Hayesville, Knighty Knight is making an announcement with Tito and Sara tied up next to him.)

Knighty Knight: Everyone, I've got an announcement to make!

Tex Macadoo: What is it!?

Knighty Knight: I'm done with my break from hunting vampires!

(The people of Hayesville cheer in rejoice, Knighty Knight, draws out his sword and stabs Tito's heart.)

Tito: ¡Maldito traidor! (You fucking traitor!)

(Tito's body is reduced to dust, leaving only his clothes.)

Sara: Tito!!!

(Sara looks up to see Knighty Knight about to do the same thing to her.)

Sara: Knighty Knight, please don't kill me!

Knighty Knight: I'm sorry, but I'm a vampire hunter, this is my job.

(Knighty Knight stabs Sara in the heart.)

Sara: I thought we had something....

(Sara is turned into dust, only her clothes remained, Knighty Knight starts to regret his decision. Freddy puts his hand on Knighty Knight's shoulder.)

Freddy: You did the right thing Knighty Knight!

Knighty Knight: Then why does it feel so wrong?

Freddy: Probably because your love is still messing with your head, don't worry, I've set you up on some dates with NON vampires to help you get over it.

(The Bloodmoon Elite find out about Knighty Knight choosing his reputation and killing Tito and Sara, Willy was in so much shock he couldn't speak and everyone else was crying. Toki's sadness quickly turned in vengace fueled rage.)

Toki: I shall avenge my husband and my friend, and killed that heartless bastard!!!

(It cuts to Knighty Knight on his 3 blind dates, the first date was with an accountant mouse named Jamie who he found to be so boring, the second date was with sassy flamingo named Mavis who he thought was such a bitch, he was missing Sara even more , then the third date showed up and it was a zebra named Eleanor, and she was a lot like Sara, she was cheery, kind, loved to laugh, and so full of life. He settled for her because she was closest person to Sara that he could be with now. Three years have passed.)

Eleanor: These have been the best 3 years of my life...

Knighty Knight: I was thinking the same thing...

(Knighty Knight was lying but he just desperately wanted to be with someone that reminded him of Sara.)

Knighty Knight: Eleanor, there's something I want to ask you.

Eleanor: Really, what is it!

(Knighty Knight bends down on one knee holds out a ring.)

Knighty Knight: Will you marry me?

Eleanor: Oh my god yes!

(They get married soon after and settled down in Knighty Knight's house. 20 years have passed, Knighty Knight's massive wave of guilt from killing Sara and Tito and from only being with Eleanor because she reminded him of Sara was starting to take a major toll on him.)

Eleanor: Knighty Knight it's been 3 years since we slept in the same bed, do you not love me anymore!?

(Knighty Knight didn't answer, he just kept thinking about what could've been if he chose love instead of his reputation.)

Eleanor: Ugh, it pisses me off that I can't even have a conversation with you anymore!

Knighty Knight: I never truly loved you, I just decided to be with you because you reminded me of Sara!

Eleanor: What the fuck did you just say, you vampire simping son of a bitch!?

(Their 16 year old son tried to calm Eleanor down.)

Jacob: Mom, please chill out!

Eleanor: Pack your things son, your dad and I are getting a divorce!

(She grabs Jacob and takes off.)

Jacob: No, please don't take me from dad, please no, father!!!

(Knighty Knight could only watch Eleanor take Jacob away from him. A year after Knighty Knight lost everything and ended up on the streets, Toki found him, still wanting to avenge Tito and Sara.)

Toki: I finally got you right where I want you, ya son of an asshole!!!

Knighty Knight: Just kill me...

Toki: Wait, you want me to kill you!?

Knighty Knight: Yes, I've drove my wife away, she took Jacob in the divorce, and I lost my house because I was too depressed to pay the bills, I want to die because I no longer have anything to live for, so please kill me!

Toki: Alright then, here comes what you deserve!

(Toki rips Knighty Knight apart, as Knighty Knight is succumbing to his injuries he utters his final words.)

Knighty Knight: I should've chose love....

(In the afterlife Knighty Knight sees Sara and Tito, he runs up to talk to them.)

Knighty Knight: Sara, Tito it's great to see you again!

(Tito immediately punches him.)

Tito: Well it's awful to sees you again you asshole!

(Sara walks up to Knighty Knight and he smiles.)

Knighty Knight: Sara, I just want to say I'm sorry and-

(Sara slaps him without hesitation.)

Knighty Knight: Ow!

Sara: It's too late to apologize you prick, I don't know what I ever saw in you!

Tito: Come on Sara, let's get the fuck away from this guy!

(The both start walking away and Knighty Knight frantically ran after them trying to apologize while in tears, the screen fades to white.)

The end...

Is what I would say if this wasn't just a dream!

(Knighty Knight wakes up in his room, he looks around and sees that Sara is still in his bed.)

Knighty Knight: Oh thank God, it was only a nightmare, but it felt so real, if that's what the future could be like if I chose my reputation, then I don't want to be a vampire hunter anymore...

The end of part 14

[obscuritte]

way it goes

sol entrando pela fresta da janela que eu esqueci de cobrir na noite anterior. aquele quê de poesia que só um café ralo fruto da cara amassada de sono exibe. esbarrar no mouse e abrir a câmera do meet. reparar a pronúncia incorreta de bicabornato. malditos fones da apple superestimados. desistir. insistir. desistir de insistir. a pura e singela graça da teimosia.

[naptoons]

Lockdown - Zabdiel De Jesus

Theme: fluff and angst I guess & google translated spanish.

Warnings: cute shit with a little sad shit

A/N: okay this song is literally the cutest and I couldn’t imagine anyone fitting this concept but zabdiel🥺 I hope you guys like the angst / fluff🖤 I love you all.

You’ve always had a crush on Zabdiel, he was always there to help you through whatever you were comfortable with telling him. He knew you sometimes better than yourself. You hated to admit you like him. Because you knew you’d end up like the other girls. Either becoming his weekdays or his one time. You didn’t want to be either. You didn’t want your heart broken again. The pain was unbearable last time, you fell hard for your ex-partner. Now you were crushing big time. Zabdiel walks over to you placing the covers over your body, laying your head on his thighs while his fingers caress your earlobe, basically helping you fall asleep faster.

“You look so tired nena, whats got you up late at night?” His voice soothing you deeper into your slumber, you brain urged you to comment “you” but your fear wouldn’t let that happen.

“Work stuff” you mumble, Zabdiel settling for a soft hum, he just draws circles on your lower back, as your ears drown out the music and laughter.

Twenty minutes later the sound of cursing and shouts dawn upon you. Later followed by Zabdiel’s voice “shut the fuck up, y/n is trying to sleep” smiling you slowly sit up snuggling yourself in the covers. Zabdiel peeks his head in the room sighing at the sight of you being awake. “I apologize for them, supposedly uno is super intense you have to scream and jump on couches” he jokes with you.

“It’s okay, I guess I slept too long anyways” you smile fixing the hoodie you had on. Time couldn’t be more awkward then it was now.

“Is that my hoodie? Wow I was hoping I didn’t lose it” his smile beams, your face turning hues of red from your nose to the tip of your ears.

“Mhm” was all you could answer, Zabdiel flops down next to you, his arms rested on the back of the couch. “So we’re going out tonight, we’re going to club then the beach, so get dress nena” his fingertips caressing your exposed skin burning you up in size. You felt like the angel in you burned the wings off. Hit too close to the candles flame. Nodding your head Zabdiel helps you up from the couch, opening the door for you to walk out. He’s a gentleman. The type any girl would fall for. His energy is contagious. The butterflies were to powerful. You’re surprised they haven’t exposed you. Richard turns his head your direction smiling.

“Sorry we woke you up precioso” he engulfs you in a hug “it’s okay, I was waking up anyways”

“Yeah Zabdiel was about to beat us up for waking you up” Joel comments very humbling

“This man hella overprotective of you, makes me think it’s something more than just a friendship” Christopher sticks his tongue out in a very nsfw gesture Zabdiel walks over to him but Christopher gets up before he can lap around there. Laughing at how they’re playing a game of cat and mouse, I walk upstairs to my room. They all decided to come over, we were watching a movie in that room and you got tired. Opening your closet door you grab the most simple but elegant. A lace bodysuit tucked into black ripped jeans. And a pair of boots.

After your shower you think about what Christopher said, those words made you feel fuzzy inside. Made you question some things and even jumped to conclusions. But you’ve cane to realization, Zabdiel is just a flirty person by nature, even his fans know that. So makes you any different? Settling for to pieces of hair laying down on each side of your ears and a slick back ponytail. Looking through the mirror you see Zabdiel slender body “maldito bebé te ves bien” [Damn baby you look good], Zabdiel stands behind you kissing your temple. Smiling you lean back on his chest playfully. Zabdiel digs his fingers into your waist adorning you from head to toe.

Zabdiel knew he needed to tell you, he felt just a strongly as you do about him, but he knew his reputation might have messed that chance up for him. “Cmon lets go!” Grabbing your hand he pulls you towards the exit, while you grab your phone and wallet in the other hand. The rest of the boys were sitting on the couch debating about something, but got quiet as we entered the room. “Aren’t y’all obviously talking about us” Zabdiel laughs.

“No se de que estas hablando” [ I do not know what you are talking about] Christopher smugly replies, you only understand half of that sentence, more or less three words. Richard gets up walking towards the front door “erick should drive, since he can’t do shit” Richard pokes fun at him, You put on a pout face seeing how they bullied him. You walk over and hug him around his waist, cheek on his chest.

“Don’t worry, at least we don’t need alcohol to have fun” you back him up

“Yep, you’re right about that” he smiles wrapping his arms around your shoulder. Zabdiel stood in the background feeling a little jealousy brewing in him. Turning on his heel he walks out the door, swiping the keys on your table you follow pursuit.

“Someone has to sit on a lap” Erick shutters

“You’re thé driver, you ain’t got nothing to worry about, I call shotgun!” You yell just as you’re about to hop in the front seat Zabdiel pulls you into him. “You’re sitting on my lap” without any hesitation he pulls you on his lap, while the rest sit down in the seats. Erick looks back at you smiling.

“Watch your head Zabdiel is built like a jungle gym” he enlightens the situation

“Start climbing y/n, see what lies at the top” Christopher chimes in, getting a smack to the back of his head from Zabdiel. You have no choice but to laugh. You feel his hand on your waist pulling you in closer. “You comfortable?” You ask looking back at him

“Yeah I’m good you?” He asks

Smiling you reply “yes”

Arriving at the club, you saw a couple of his friends, including the girl he’s friends with benefits with. She looked beautiful nevertheless, she smelled like coco Chanel, mixed with the breeze of coconut. She was never bitter to you. I guess cause you hid your feelings so well she wasn’t aware you had the biggest crush on him. Zabdiel walks over to her engulfing her in a hug, her fingernails rubbing up and down his back. It was painful to watch so you softly shoulder bumped Erick and he did the same. “I’m hungry” you complain to him

“Yeah same let’s go eat” you and Erick start racing to the dinner part of the bar, Zabdiel watched you in the distance. Smiling at your happiness even if it wasn’t with him. “Zabdiel, Cmon lets get some drinks” Isabella grips onto his arms. Zabdiel nods follow her over to the bartenders. After you finished eating Erick wanted to dance at first you declined feeling socially awkward by the crowd, but Erick promised if it was too much you guys could go back to sitting down and play with the darts in the back of the club. Erick and you started dancing the rhythm of the beat. Y’all bodies grinding and sticking to each other, blending in just like everyone else. It wasn’t so bad you thought to yourself.

“See! Was it so bad?!” Erick shouts over the music, giggling you shake your head in rejection. “No! It isn’t!” Zabdiel was on the couch with Isabella watching how you guys were glue to each other’s body. He wanted that with you. Isabella and Zabdiel are both in a jealous rage. Isabella understood that he didn’t love her, he loved you. She wanted to make your heartbreak so you’d stay away from him. Erick has left to go use the bathroom, Isabella took the opportunity to speak to you. Kissing Zabdiel on the cheek she gets up from his lap making her way over to you.

“Hey y/n how are you?” She asks

“I’m fine, hot is all” you reply

“Yeah it is hot in here, listen sweetie I have something to tell you” her hands lifelessly laid upon your arm “Zabdiel isn’t ready for a relationship, he’s told me that he only sees you as a friend, he couldn’t cross that brother-sister boundary, you know he’s the flirty type don’t take it personal” if you could throw up flowers like a Hanahaki disease. This would be the moment. All this scenarios they played in your head turned from maybes to imaginations.

“Oh, well thanks for tell me I guess” upon hearing your somber tone on the inside she was quiet glad now you would turn away from her “man”

“I’m sorry baby, I know you liked him a lot, but he isn’t worth giving your heart too, he’ll just break it” Isabella pats your back walking back over to Zabdiel” your ears becoming numb to the blaring sound of the music. You watch her sit down on Zabdiel’s lap his hands wrapped around her waist. Smiling as they have a conversation. You told yourself not to fall hard for him. Just in case something like this were to happen. Erick comes out smiling, but that smile soon fades upon seeing the way your lower lip poked out in despair.

“Hey y/n are you okay?” He asks caressing his thumb on your forearm

“Erick.. May I be alone for fifteen minutes? I’ll be at the beach okay?” you force a smile, his eyes downgrading in shades of concern.

“Sure, I’ll come get you in fifteen minutes” Erick smiles, he kisses your temple watching you walkout the door before he turns around heading straight towards Zabdiel.

Zabdiel stops laughing once he sees the look upon Erick face, he knows somethings wrong. “Que Paso ?” [what happened]

“Something happened with y/n, she looked hurt, like she heard something and was disappointed by it” Zabdiel pushes Isabella off of him. She tries to grab his hand but he swings it away.

“What did you say to her?” Zabdiel growls, usually it would cause a bundle of joy in the pit of her stomach, but this sounded like a raging monster.

“Papi I didn’t say anything, maybe she was just thinking about something” she lies, Richard smugly drinks from his cup

“pequeña eres una gran mentirosa” [ little girl you are a big liar” Zabdiel turns in his direction “bro she went and told y/n you’re not in love with her, and that you aren’t ready for love, she also said you’d just hurt her” Zabdiel’s fists balles up wanting to punch a wall or a table but calms down ready to tell her off “when I come back home, I want your shit gone, I’m changing my number as well, get the fuck outta my face” Zabdiel looks back at Erick asking where you’ve gone too.

You were sitting close by the shore not to close to be swept away but close enough the waves crashed against your toes. Wiping the tears from your eyes that blended in well with the salt water in front of you. Why did you have to get your hopes up? You thought to yourself. Hearing the sound of feet against the sand you sniffed and dried your eyes. “It hasn’t been fifteen minutes yet Erick but I’m coming” you get up from your position as you turn around you realize it’s not Erick. But the boy you’ve fallen in love with.

“Oh hey Zabdiel” you couldn’t talk to him right now, you didn’t know how you could talk to him. Things would be awkward. It already was awkward but you always played it off by flirting back. Now you couldn’t do that. Trying to walk past him he grabs your wrist making you stand in front of him, as he towers over you. “What don’t you wanna go back inside? Your girlfriend is probably worried”

Zabdiel rolls his eyes “you know damn well she isn’t my girlfriend”

“Well Isabella is waiting”

“Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck about her? Y/n I’m here cause Erick told me you were out here”

“Your point?” You didn’t mean to be cold,but you wanna let him get close, your heart is already broken. Twice could make you run away from him.

“For fuck sakes y/n I like you” Zabdiel bluntly comments.

Shaking your head you feel the tears roll down “no you don’t Zabdiel, I don’t wanna be just another girl to you, I want more then that I deserve more than that, I don’t want to feel my heart break no more” your voice floating in the window “cause the minute that we touch lockdown, Zabdiel because I am in love with you, I might never want to let you go”

Sniffling you drop your arm still in his grasp “just tell me please, you got someone else, so I can make easy to not go there” you let out one last comment.

“ I can’t lie to you. I don’t have anyone else and I’m not in love with Isabella, it’s always been you, you idiot” not giving you anytime to respond, the sun and the moon met, as his warmth cascade over you, his fingers placed gently on both sides of your cheek, holding the both of y’all together like glue, the waves crashing against the both of your feet’s. A gust of wind flowing in between you two. It was something and more you’ve always dreamt of. Pulling away from your space, a string of saliva becomes a divider between you two. His eyes swimming in love, but also in beauty because of you. “Y/n i meant what I said, I’m deeply and utterly in love with you, fuck more then I should be, it scares the hell out of me, but feeling that jealousy tension today I know that this feels right”

“You were jealous?” You ask curiously

“That’s all you heard?” Zabdiel laughs “yeah, I got very jealous today, what Christopher said is true, I’m very overprotective of you”

“I love you too” honey voice came from your lips, instantly melting Zabdiel, his smile so milky and delicate. Leaning in he crashes his lips upon yours with only one hand on your jawline.

Erick has to drive us home, everyone was drunk besides him and I. Zabdiel was tipsy he could’ve drive but he wanted you to sit on his lap again. Getting out the car the cold wind hit my body. We said out a little longer, playing with the water, kissing, watching the moonlight against the water. It was something that only happened in movies. “Here” Zabdiel wraps you up in his jacket, smiling up at him he kisses your forehead. Something that always gave you butterflies. Even with him bring your boyfriend now. Erick Opens the front door for us, while everyone followed pursuit.

“Finally you told her z! Told you she felt the same” Christopher slurs his words, You giggle in how shy he is by that comment but he just picks you up taking you to his room. Closing the door behind him you scope out the room. He’s done some remodeling there were things you never seen before in his room.

“I added something you’ll love” he speaks

“Hm, what is it?” You reply

“Change into my hoodie and you’ll find out”

“I’ll do that if you take a warm shower with me” innocently you plead

“Oh, already?” Zabdiel jokes with you.

After the shower you and Zabdiel were cuddled up in his bed “so where’s the surprise?” you ask he reaches over on his nightstand grabbing what looked like a remote. He clicked it and stars appeared on the celling. Looking just like the skies you saw at the beach. Astonished by the view your eyes turn into a galaxy. And he loved it.

“How is that for a surprise?” He mumbles against your skin “so now when you come over, we can do just this” he wraps his arm around your shoulder pulling you into his chest.

“What more would you do for me?” You smile

“Whatever you want me to do, you have me on lockdown”

[senig-fandom]

Hola amigos XD( o dios soné como mikey mouse :v) hoy les vengo a hablar un poco mas de GAFE y acompañado de SEDENA, o mas bien ellos hablaran un poco de ellos y luego se retiraran a sus puestos. Tengo que decir que me la rife re chido con lo trajes XD, ni yo me la creo jajajajaja.

y solo espero y les guste XD, y por favor, alguien que tenga cuidado con SEDENA que hace desmayar a todos :v ese cuerpazo no es de cualquiera XD

___________________________________________

Anteriormente, no somos lo que somos ahora, en una época muy, pero muy lejana, a oscuras de la historia de este pías, había un reino, no, un imperio, llamado Azteca. Ese imperio, no era perfecto, como ninguno imperio anterior a lo que los represente ahora. Azteca era alguien que sacrificaba a seres humanos para los dioses, pero acaso estaba mal, no, para muchos en esa poca era un honor morir para la fertilidad, el poder y el crecimiento de nuestro pueblo. Y yo lo se, o mejor dicho, ambos lo sabemos, pues eramos los mas sacrificados en la época, y acaso lo odiamos, no, para nosotros era un honor y un placer. Le somos fieles a nuestro gobernante, a nuestro líder, a nuestro país y lo seguiremos siendo, hasta el final.

-Mi nombre es GAFE, y este es mi compañero SEDENA, ambos somos guerreros de la antigüedad, viviendo horribles escenas a la cual la gente llamaba ´´evolución´´ . Para mi no hemos evolucionado en nada mas que armamento, y ya. Si evolucionamos, porque no mejorar otras cosas, la salud, la vivienda, la calidad, seguridad, etc etc.

-Para nuestra suerte, a diferencia de otros, somos los únicos sobrevivientes de lo que quedo de Azteca, y de su historia, no hemos visto a otros como nosotros, ni siquiera gente antigua como nosotros en otros países, todos son tan jóvenes y crédulos.

-SEDENA...

-Lo lamento.

-Bueno, yo anteriormente era un guerrero Águila, uno de la gran élite, en su tiempo,  me llamaban  Tzilacatzin y pertenezco Tlatelolco- Tenochtitlan. También me conocían como el terror de España, y pues con mucho respeto a España...espero y lo hayas sufrido mucho jajaja. Aunque no lo crean, tambien soy parte de una historia anterior tambien llamándome como Cuauhpilli, el primer guerrero águila.

-Yo por otra parte era un guerrero jaguar, un luchador indomable,me llamaba Temoctzin y tambien soy originario de Tlatelolco- Tenochtitlan.Y como mi querido amigo, tambien fui llamado ocelopilli el primer guerrero jaguar. Aunque irónicamente, nos llamaban por los nombres de los guerreros mas destacados, cuando somos la representación de estos guerreros imparables, dirían algunos.

-Para algunos que pregunte, somos los únicos que se adaptaron a la ´´evolución´´  de nuestra raza.

-Oye y que paso con Tzoyectzin...

-Lo mataron no lo recuerdas...

-Ho es verdad...

-Esa cicatriz en el ojo te esta afectando mucho.

-Lo dice que tiene el ojo dañado. Ademas agradecerlo a España y a todo su ejercito anterior, por darme un espadado en el ojo, antes de que huyeran.

-Tuvimos suerte esa vez, eso creo...

-Agregando mas cosas, anteriormente tambien, formamos parte de mucho revuelo en la Nueva España, tuvimos que aparentar muchas cosas en esa época, solo para poder encontrar a nuestro rey, aunque siendo honesto nunca espere que fueran tres... yo recordaba a 1 y luego resulta que salieron otros dos.

-Por lo que me dijo Centro, el los encontró en la tierra, siendo apenas unos bebes, ya sabes, paso lo mismo cuando encontramos a Tenochtitlan, que actualmente es CDMX, por su puesto.Y su opinión de su aparición fue que representaban a los hijos de indígenas con españoles, era la razon por la cual Centro estaba débil, pues tenia que adaptarse a su nuevo yo, y aceptar a los mestizos, de esa época.

-Hablando de la Nueva España, recuerdas nuestra bandera del ejercito Trigarante, fue gracias a ella que nuestro querido reyes sean tan guapos.

-Oye, sabes bien que lo heredaron de Azteca, el si siquiera vivo, apuesto que los artistas querrían dibujarlo, tomarle muchas fotos, hacerlo pasar por pasaderas, hablar de el, etc etc. Con ese gen Centro atrae a todos los países, no ves lo rápido que resolvió todo.

-Define resolver, viejo amigo...

-Tu sabes a lo que me refiero, aunque bueno aun se discute ese tema no. Siguiendo con esto, ,nosotros dos, hemos vividos milenios, desde la época de nuestro imperio Azteca.

-Oye crees que la gente le guste que digamos ´´nuestro´´ a nuestro Azteca...hay dios tambien lo dije...

-Pues si es nuestro, y tu sabes bien, el cariño que le tenia a el, a pesar de sus decisiones, porque recordaras el trato de el con Maya, y el como me dolió su interés por el hispana ignorante.

-A todos nos dolió esos dos golpes...

-Es natural en nosotros, lo amamos y respetamos con todo, y no es algo viejo, en la actualidad tambien lo es, ya vez a MARINA, no puede ni abrazar a Sur, sin que este la quiera matar. Y pobresita,  ya quisiera yo ayudarla a desaparecer al bastardo de Narcotraficante, pero ya sabes, México es enorme, y no puedo estar en todos lados, ademas de que tengo que ver por Centro, ya lo han secuestrado 15 veces estos meses.

-Y luego yo, tengo que organizar a GN, y pobresito, siendo tan joven, tiene que enfrentarse a cosas demasiado duras, el pobre casi no sabia ni que hacer, y mira que antes a nosotros nos ponían a los 7 años a ya saber de literatura, matemáticas,filosofía, botánica, astronomía, y el pobre con 600 personas, ya tenia que hacer cosas que ni el mismo se dio cuenta de que hacer. 

-Oye es verdad, antes nos hacían todo eso, y mas claro jajaja, que buenos recuerdos, yo me sentía como rey en esa época, ahora parezco esclavo que ironía.

-Claro lo dice el águila, mientras que yo vivía patrullando el pueblo todos los días, tu vivías como rey...maldito, hubiera dejado que me muriera para no soportarte.

-jajajaja, lo dice el jaguar, que tambien vivía de lujos, que hay de la cantidad de mujeres con las que te acostabas idiota.

-TU TAMBIÉN MALDITA SEA!!!

-JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA...hay dios, eras buenos tiempos no...

-Cállate, eso me duele mas que cuando me arrancaste mis colmillos de jaguar...

-También te arranque el ojo...y gritaste de dolor a no mas no poder..

-Bueno eso tambien.

-Que mas le podemos decir a nuestros espectadores...

-Que confíen en nosotros, y que nos tengan fe, que vamos por buen camino,por el momento, y que tambien, por favor dejen de aventarle piedras al ejercito y a la MARINA, que solo hacen su trabajo, no queremos hacerles daño, se los juro, seré salvaje y todo, pero los derechos humanos son los derechos humanos...

-La odio a la maldita bastarda...

-Yo igual, pero tenemos que decirlo, si no nos reporta el bastardo inútil...

-hagg..como si ella fuera de lo mas santa, tiene la cara de traicione al pueblo, y me baño en dinero y bailarines eróticos en todo su cuerpo y cara.

-Eso y otros mas...a mi no me importa sus relaciones sexuales, mientras sean fieles a México, por mi bien. Ya ves al Ejercito Mexicano, por lo de la masacre de Tlatelolco, fue evidenciado, y ahora Centro lo odia con todo su ser, bueno, no lo odia, pero si no se lo perdona aun...y por ello al wey tiene que hacer un montón de cosas para recuperar su aprecio, como anteriormente lo era.Aunque gracias a nosotros, Centro no lo odia tanto...ya sabes por nuestra rara forma de proteger a nuestra bandera. 

-Fue el y otros bastardo no, como se llamaba, era algo de olimpiadas...

-Ni me lo recuerdes al bastardo, cuando me di cuenta, ya era demasiado tarde para detenerlo, y para detener la orden que le dio el presidente Gustavo Díaz Ordaz, al Ejercito Mexicanos.Y me culpo de ello, si hubiera sido por mi, eso nunca hubiera pasado...juro que si volviéramos atrás, y ante todas esas cosas, yo nunca aceptaría eso...

-Recuerda que aun no sabias manejar eso, tomaste ese puesto en 1821, y eras muy agresivo en ese entonces o mejor dicho, fuiste agresivo muchos años, hasta 1821 jajajajaja...

-HAY TE ODIO!!!

-Igualmente colega.

-Terminemos esto, que tengo que volver al trabajo, y soportar a la CIA y a la ONU, con sus calificadores de mierda...

-Si yo tambien, creo que volverán a secuestrar a Centro en el AMLOFEST, de hoy, así que para terminar, cualquier duda de nosotros..

-O nuestros colegas militares y defensores...

-Déjenlo en los comentarios, es un gusto conocernos,y esperemos volver pronto, y...

¡¡¡¡¡QUE VIVA MÉXICO!!!!!

[tabuartesanal]

Hablemos de Ghibli: El castillo de Cagliostro

No creo que sea necesario presentar al estudio Ghibli, después de todo, no por nada se han convertido en el fenómeno cultural que son ahora. Ver a totoro antes de una película, es un indicador de calidad único e inigualable, que se ha ganado su prestigio a base de películas de calidad, visualmente impresionantes y con historias que te dejan deseando más. De hecho, se podrían hacer mil análisis sobre las películas de Ghibli, desde cómo Miyazaki construye el mundo que rodea a sus personajes, como se considera la religión dentro de sus películas, cuáles son los mensaje políticos mas prevalentes, e incluso análisis más técnicos, como el estilo de animación, o el detalle del dibujo, etc.  Pero hoy no escribo para inventar la rueda, sino para revisar un par de trabajos del gran Hayao Miyazaki que quizás han pasado mas desapercibidos que otros grandes como El castillo de Howl, El viaje de Chihiro o Mi vecino Totoro. Hoy les presento la primera película dirigida por Hayao Miyazaki: El castillo de Cagliostro. 

Primero que nada, hay que entender que esta verdadera obra maestra se enmarca en la franquicia de Lupin III (dejo el link a wikipedia, porque intentar explicar 6 temporadas y mas de 42 películas se me haría imposible en un solo post que además quiere hablar de Hayao Miyazaki). Un manga creado en el 67 por Monkey Punch (RIP), y posteriormente llevado al animé en el 71, de la mano de tres directores: Masaaki Osumi, Hayao Miyazaki e Isao Takahata. La serie trata del nieto del ladrón de guante Blanco Arsene Lupin, un personaje ficticio creado por Maurice Leblanc. 

Lupin III tiene a junto a él a su pandilla de simpáticos personajes, esenciales para entender cualquiera de sus aventuras, y estos son: Jigen Daisuke, un pistolero que es capaz de disparar su magnum en 3 segundos, Goemon Ishikawa, un samurái que posee una espada que puede cortarlo todo y Fujiko Mine, una ladrona y estafadora femme fatale, rival e interés amoroso de Lupin. Y siempre son perseguidos por Koichi Zenigata, de la interpol, quien quiere meter a Lupin a la cárcel para reformarlo y reinsertarlo a la sociedad como un buen ciudadano.

La trama de la película es bastante simple:  Luego de un exitoso robo de dinero a un casino, Lupin nota que los billetes son falsos. Para desentrañar este misterio, se dirige a Cagliostro, un país ficticio europeo, donde conoce a Clarisse, una princesa a punto de ser forzada a casarse con un sospechoso Conde. A partir de aquí, todo es aventura, sentimientos, paisaje bellisimos, persecuciones, enfrentamientos y diversión.

Si vemos la película pensando en que es la primera de Miyazaki, nos damos cuenta que tiene todos los elementos recurrentes en la filmografía del nipón. Aviones, barcos, agua, naturaleza, motores, máquinas. El diseño de Clarisse también es muy reminiscente de Ghibli, y a lo largo del filme la vemos usar mas de una expresión típica del estudio. Particularmente, me gusta cuando para el final de la película, Clarisse abraza a Lupin y a este se le ponen los pelos de punta, y comunica un sin fin de emociones con su lenguaje corporal, otra de las grandes características de las películas de Hayao. Podemos decir que la trama no es tan “Ghiblesca”, acá si hay buenos y malos (un malo al más puro estilo de los 70, con bigote y capa), no existe una dimensión ambigua en la que comprendemos al tipo malo, como si pasará en los futuros largometrajes del joven y talentoso Hayao. Además, si prestas la suficiente atención, te das cuenta que la producción apresurada de la película (solo 5 meses para hacerla), o de los alcances de la tecnología de la época, pero esos son detalles que apenas se notan la hora y cincuenta minutos que dura la película.

Y aunque podría seguir alabando el arte de la película por cinco párrafos, la música también merece una mención honrosa. De la mano de Yuji Ohno, el icónico tema de Lupin III, o la siempre agradable “Samba Temperado”, quizás la mejor canción escrita para un animé. Mezclado también con una balada de la época, que le da ese nivel de cursilería necesaria a una película de animé. Claro, no es Joe Hisaishi, el recordado compositor de las películas de Miyazaki que ha compuesto un sin número de piezas etéreas y nostálgicas, pero no es menos disfrutable o apreciable, solo distinto.

Si tuviera que hablar de mi conexión emocional con la película, la remito al maldito ladrón Lupin III. Sin duda, de mi top 5 de preciosos husbandos del animé. Su carisma y actitud lo hacen un personaje muy agradable, . La animación es maravillosa, y la música es perfecta, gracias Yuji Ohno por inventar el jazz. Pero no me escuchen a mi, vamos a guiarnos por los hechos y datos duros, después de todo el arte es subjetivo… ¿o no? La película no fue muy exitosa en taquilla, pero si hablamos de impacto cultural, entonces es otro cuento.

El legado de Cagliostro es enorme, si ENORME, me atrevo a decir que es una de las películas de animé esenciales, incluso de la animación en general.  John Lasseter de Pixar la cita como la película que lo abrió a Miyazaki y lo hizo querer explorar y experimentar más profundamente con la animación. En la película Policias y Ratones (o The Great Mouse Detective) de 1984, la escena del enfrentamiento final entre Basil y Ratigan en la torre del reloj, está inspirada directamente en la escena de la torre del Reloj con el Conde y Lupin. También la escena de la película de Los simpson en la que bart se cae del techo, una referencia a Lupin en el techo del castillo. Incluso, Shinchiro Watanabe, creador de Cowboy Bebop, admitió inspirarse directamente en Lupin y su pandilla para crear a Spike y sus amigos, incluso en el jazz que llena el aclamado OST de los vaqueros espaciales. 

Finalmente, decir que para escribir lo que sea que es esto, vi la película de nuevo, y saben? La sigo disfrutando tanto como la primera vez. Aún me maravillo con la paleta de colores del casino, y aún esbozo una sonrisa cuando escucho los efectos de sonido de Lupin saltando mientras corre. Soy fan de ambos, la obra de Monkey Punch y la obra de Hayao Miyazaki, y no podría pedir un producto más perfecto como el que nos fue entregado, es realmente sorprendente lo bien que se mantiene una película del 79, y como aún podría enfrentarse y salir victoriosa frente a nuevas animaciones hechas en un mayor lapsus de tiempo y con mayorr tecnología.

[dead-man-walking]

strikecxmmander replied to your post “strikecxmmander replied to your post “3” ...”

Under different circumstances - someone else being within earshot, for example - he would've shushed his friend and reminded him not to call him "Jackie", but since they were alone... Continuing to watch the man, Jack bites his bottom lip to hold back the laughter he's about to burst into. "What're we talkin'? Got a mouse in your room?" He figured it must've been some kind of animal Gabe had been trying to kill when he arrived, even if he hadn't seen any. Grin melting into a smile as he hears Gabriel's mother tongue, he steps aside so the man can leave. Jack knows he shouldn't be amused by his anger, but more often than not there's something that he has no other word than 'adorable' for about the other when he's cussing and throwing things across the room. It reminds him of a teenager that wasn't allowed to go to a party or a kid that didn't get their candy. The lack of malice was probably a factor. Following him, he shakes his head, then catches up to the man. Looks like he's going to share his cookies once the meeting is over. Maybe it cheers him up.

“If It was a mouse I would have been able to shoot it.” Gabe snarls. Mouses had flesh to them, sure it would cause a mess, but it would have been possible. “Or if I was in a mood, a mousetrap, but nooo, no it had to be a maldito culo spider!” He huffs. And this one seems to like pissing him off. Perking up, Reyes looks over. “Hey, let me use your visor.” Something had to die tonight.

“ Estúpido hijo de puta. ” The Commander mutters. One day, very soon, that spider will die. Looking over to see the blond smiling, he squints. “What’s so funny? Want me to put it in your room when I finally get it?” He threatens. Putting his sweater hoodie on he slides a hand in and holds his coffee in the other as he stomps.  “So what is it about this time. The governments want to cut our budgets or have their own pesks they want us to deal with?” Gabe wasn’t in the mood for childishness. 

[alisonbabinski]

O dia em que meu amigo se drogou! (REMASTERIZADO)

Olá amigos. Hoje vim através do meu humilde Tumblr, relatar o dia em que um grande amigo meu acabou lamentavelmente se drogando (sempre lembrando que essa página é uma página de família e é contra a apologia as drogas). E para não identificar e nem comprometer esse pobre narcótico, darei um nome fictício a ele: Luiz.

Era uma bela manhã de Abril, onde antes do sol nascer eu já estava em pé, pois acordava as 5h00 para pegar o ônibus e ir a faculdade para mais um dia de estudos. Porém nesse dia acordo e lembro que teria somente uma mísera aula. Começo a refletir comigo mesmo ''Vou pra uma aula?Fico ali dormindo?Vou la só pra ficar assizzzZZZZzzzZZzzzZZZzzzzZ'' nesse momento devo ter recebido uma interferência divina onde recebia uma sinal dizendo ''Vai cara!''. E como não é todo dia que você recebe um sinal desses eu fui, meio confuso, mas fui. Chegando la fui diretamente para a cantina me deliciar com o café com gosto de chorume e conversar com alguns colegas antes do início da aula. Papo vai, papo vem, mais alunos chegando, até que chega uma das ultimas frotas de alunos, e nela está o Luiz. Ele chegou e já não parecia estar muito agradável consigo, mas a princípio ninguém ligou, faculdade faz essas coisas com a pessoa. Ao chegar ao nosso grupo, ele já declara ‘’Meu… (pausa longa para respiração) não to muito bem!''. No que alguns dos colegas se foram para suas aulas, eu fiquei mais alguns minutos degustando do ótimo café e da conversa com meu amigo Luiz. Então para ser um cara atencioso , lhe pergunto: ''Que que deu cara?''. Então a verdade vem a tona: ''Fui tomar meu remédio, e minha mãe me deu o remédio errado, ela deu o calmante do meu vô''. Naquele momento parei e refleti: Sim, ele estava dopado! Eu como só tinha a última aula, me prestei a acompanhar ele na aula dele para garantir que ele não começasse a fazer coisas que poderiam comprometer o semestre dele. Na ida até a sala ele me relata que ele quase tropeçou na escada do ônibus, o que a principio nao achei nada demais, pois me surpreendo como ele consegue andar com aquelas canelas retas iguais banana. Alguns metros depois na rampa que dá acesso a ao bloco , ele começa a sentir uma falta de força na perna e quase cair. Cara!!! Ele tava quase se agachando!!! (Pausa na escrita aqui pra rir sozinho). Eu achei que ele estava sendo um menino serelepe e zueiro ao descer a rampa flexionando cada vez mais as pernas, MAS NÃO ELE TAVA CAINDO, CAINDO VEI HAHAHAH!

Passado esse incidente inicial, entramos na sala e sentamos ao fundo pra garantir qualquer problema. As primeiras aulas eram uma matéria onde era só necessário fazer um projeto, sem muita explicação ou colaboração da turma, o que era bom pra mim, pro Luiz e pra toda a sala. Como de costume em 2010, você ligava o computador e a primeira coisa que fazia era abrir o Orkut, só pra dar uma olhadinha se havia um recadinho novo, algum depoimento com alguma safadeza que ninguém podia ver, ou alguma outra coisa de interesse pessoal. Mas antes de todos esses privilégios, Luiz teria de passar por um duro teste de concentração e resistência: Digitar a senha. Meus amigos, pelo que eu conheço o Luiz, o modo de ele criar uma senha era um negócio tão complexo que as vezes acho que ele definiu ela quando limpava o teclado do computador. Enfim, logo após conseguir digitar corretamente www.orkut.com.br (Momento bastante celebrado) ele começa uma das batalhas mais inesquecíveis da rede mundial de computadores. Naquele momento parei para observar calmamente o que ele fazia. Na primeira tentativa ele digitou calmamente: ERRO! Na segunda: ERRO! Ele sabia que estava sob o efeito de remédios, portanto teria que ter calma e tentou outra vez: ERRO! Ele precisava respirar fundo, colocar toda sua concentração e sua mente na ponta dos seus dedos para digitar a senha correta em seu notebook Positivo. Ele fez nova tentativa… ERRO! Depois deste erro, tudo sobre remédio e calma foi substituído por uma fúria misturada com uma grande malemolência nos dedos que fez resultar em (SEM MENTIRA) 10 tentativas frustradas.  Até que com um milagre, ele conseguiu entrar na tão desejada rede social. A partir dali um momento de grande calma e silêncio tomou conta de Luiz. Por alguns momentos fiquei concentrado no meu notebook , quando olho Luiz observando álbuns de fotos de jovens moças. Observando foto por foto ele se depara com uma fotografia de duas amigas se abraçando. E digamos que por essas usuárias da rede ele tinha um ''apreço imenso'', e quis demonstrar ali mesmo. CALMA LEITOR, ele não tirou a mão do mouse e fez o que você está pensando. Ele simplesmente selecionou para 'marcar alguém nessa foto'(uma das novas e mais fodas funções do orkut naquele tempo) e selecionou toda a região da cintura das duas e marcou ele mesmo. Nisso, ele comenta na mesma foto a frase que ficou eternizada: ’’ME MARQUEI EM UM LUGAR MUITO ESPECIAL’’. Naquele momento eu comecei a me questionar sobre impedir ele de fazer isso , pois eu estava lidando com alguém dopado sob efeitos de fortes remédios. Passaram várias coisas em minha mente , meu coração falava 'Ele é seu amigo , ele pode se arrepender depois' e minha cabeça dizia ‘HAHAHAHHAHAHA, olha a naipe desse maluco'. Consultei meu amigo Luiz se ele tinha certeza do que fazia, e ele me afirmou que estava ciente do que fazia, portanto: Esta tudo tranquilo até ai! (Spoiler: Ele se arrependeu depois).

No meio de todos esses acontecimentos, chega Patriky, colega do Luiz para fazer trabalhos e projetos em grupo. Ele sentou ao meu lado onde ficava um pouco distante do nosso narcótico. Logo após chegar comentei ''Cara , ele não ta muito bem'', e logo nisso Patriky pergunta: ''Cê ta bem cara?''. Luiz como uma pessoa muito educada responda ''Tu é uma bicha , baitola do c***lho!''. E foi assim durante toda e qualquer citação ou pergunta de Patriky, Luiz respondia falando sobre sua possível homossexualidade, sentir prazer em homens e cheirar virilhas.

Como Luiz estava na faculdade, ele ainda sim sabia que aquilo não era lugar para sua vida social ou marcações especiais e sim para estudar. Nisso ele chama a professora para consultar seu projeto se havia algo de errado e fazer algumas perguntar. Era aí que eu entrava em ação! Estava assistindo South Park e já tirei um fone pra garantir que não haveria uma discussão que começasse com ''Ah, cala boca professora , olha as merdas que você ta falando, vai pra casa faze teu almoço vai...''. Após pergunta ali, pergunta aqui, resposta ali resposta aqui, a professora se foi mas não antes de rir de mim por eu estar assistindo ''deseinho''. Depois de todas essas dúvidas, la vai Luiz compilar todo o código com sua malemolência e destreza, enquanto eu ria e pensava ''PQP, com o que ele ta escrevendo ele vai ter que...'' COMPILOU! O MALDITO TAVA DROGADO, NÃO TINHA NEM NOÇÃO DO QUE TAVA FAZENDO, NÃO SABERIA ANDAR EM UMA LINHA RETA, MAS CONSEGUIA PROGRAMAR… EM DELPHI!!!! 

Depois disso confesso que fiquei um pouco confuso e acabei mais nem prestando tanta atenção nas suas atitudes. Fomos para o intervalo e fiz uma tentativa de chamar ele pra jogar sinuca comigo e filmar, mas parecia que naquele dia ele não estava muito afim. Depois de mais algum tempo fui pra minha aula e ele já mais estável não aprontou mais nada. ''E no resto do dia Alison?'' Segundo o próprio , a tarde e a noite o estado piorou e é provável que tenha sido mais cômico. Ai a gente para e pensa ''O que passava na cabeça daquele pobre Luiz''. Ai eu te respondo: Só Deus sabe!

Aqui termino meu testemunho dessa bela história de destreza com envolvimento nas Drogas. Mas ainda gostaria de agradecer a Bel por ter sugerido relatar isso , ao Luiz que me permitiu relatar esse triste episódio de sua vida. Mas principalmente meu agradecimento vai ao PROERD que salvou o Luiz e muitas pessoas do caminho das drogas. E lembre-se: 

-Nunca se auto medique

-E muito menos deixe que sua mãe faça isso

-Caso aconteça, evite redes sociais.

-Evite descidas íngremes também

-Tente programar drogado

Por hoje é só.

Um até mais a todos meus queridos leitores.

[jackallate]

Creo que alguien necesita una mano derecha nueva🤔

Maldito mouse y túnel carpiano (?

¿Pensaban que iba a hablar de las pajas? Jajaja y si pero lo tenia que disimular

[crosoverlandstudios09]

Que fue la cosa más vergonzosa que hiciste en público ?

Creo que exponer y que se me salga la voz de Mickey mouse..... malditos gallitos de mierda....

[m4ni4tic-leo]

OMG FINALLY!!! I REALLY HATE TO PAIT WITH THE F*CKING MOUSE BUT I HAVE NO CHOICEEE!! Anyway, I mas making this for @funnylunetta when she was sad and It took me forever, but I finally did it.I frikin’ love Fernando’s Hair... HEART QUEEN,YOU’RE A LUCKY GIRL XDDDD @moymoy-w-rat -------------------------------- Español -------------------------- OMG POR FIN! REALMENTE ODIO PINTAR CON EL MALDITO MOUSE PERO NO QUEDA DE OTRA! En fin, estuve haciendo esto para Funnylunetta cuando se encontraba triste y me tomó una eternidad, pero finalmente lo terminé. Amo el cabello de Fernando. Heart Queen, eres una chica con suerte.

PLEASE REBLOG AND FOLLOW ME TO SEE MORE ART LIKE THIS!

[pengychan]

[Coco] Alebrijes

Title: Alebrijes Summary: Some people have an alebrije, some have more than one, and some get none. Much like life, death is not fair. [Oneshot] Characters: Ernesto de la Cruz, Imelda Rivera, Héctor Rivera, Miguel Rivera, Dante, Pepita, Chihuahualebrijes. Rating: G Status: Complete

A/N: This started out as an excuse to make Ernesto cry over dead dogs and somehow developed into this. I might have mentioned before that I have just about no control over my own writing.

***

Pepita had first showed up only a few weeks after Héctor had left.

Back then, Imelda hadn’t been worried. She wasn’t glad to see her husband go, of course, but she knew it was something he and Ernesto had wanted to do since they were children - and that, if successful, would benefit their little family a great deal.

“Only a few months at most,” he’d said, holding her hands. In the next room over, she could hear Coco giggling ceaselessly as her brothers played their old-and-tried trick of pretending to be each other. All was right in the world, and she’d believed him. Why wouldn’t she?

“Don’t let Ernesto get you in too much trouble,” she’d said in the end. Héctor had laughed, kissed her, promised her that they’d stay out of serious trouble, that he’d write every day.

The letters had come; not every day - it had to be hard to write and post out letters that often while constantly on the move, something that made it impossible for her to write back - but at least two or three times a week, both for her and Coco.

She was reading one of those letters, and blushing just slightly because Héctor was being very clear in how and how much she missed her at night - “Maybe it’s for the best that Ernesto snores away all night: if I could sleep well I would dream of you, and God knows what conditions I’d wake up in” - when a meowing sound had startled her.

Imelda had looked up to see a gray and white alley cat sitting at the window, looking at her with calm yellow eyes. She had seen her around before, wandering - the terror of mice, chickens, other cats, and even dogs. She remembered watching her chased that annoying mutt old Rafael kept across the plaza one day, and laughing heartily at the scene.

As far as she knew, the cat was entirely feral and never approached anyone before, and now there she was: sitting at her window, halfway in, a front paw raised in an awkward position. Imelda raised an eyebrow, and the cat meowed again, holding the paw a little higher - a white paw stained with dried blood, and something was lodged in-between the pads; a thorn, most likely, or a piece of iron.

Imelda could recognize a dignified request for help when she saw one, coming from a creature who disliked owing anything to anybody. She could relate to that.

“... I will see what I can do. Scratch me, and you’re on your own. Are we clear?”

They were, obviously, because Pepita - Imelda wouldn’t remember, later, when she’d come up with the name after a quick glance confirmed it was a female - didn’t so much hiss at her when she went to look at her paw, and barely flinched when the thorn was pulled out. She licked her paw briefly, and then nuzzled against her arm, purring loudly, before jumping out of the window and out of sight before Imelda could even stroke her head.

That could have been it, a funny story to tell on how the Terror Cat of Santa Cecilia had turned into a kitten for her, but the next day Pepita was lazing by the well in her yard, a dead mouse in her mouth. Not a pleasant sight, but dead mice were better than living ones; if Pepita was going to earn her keep by getting rid of them and the diseases they carried, then Imelda might consider leaving out some meat scraps for her from time to time. Maybe once or twice a week. Or maybe every day.

In the end, it is every day.

“Gata! Gata!”

Coco laughs, trotting after Pepita in the yard, and the cat lets her approach almost enough to touch her before darting off again, causing her to giggle and start running again. It makes her brothers pale, but Imelda is unbothered; she knows she won’t harm Coco, with complete and uncertain certainty, like she knows that Héctor will be back soon.

Any day now. Any day.

But another letter comes, then another, telling her that Ernesto decided to extend the tour, only a few more weeks.

Another week.

Two more weeks. Maybe three, but no more.

Soon, mi amor, I’ll be back soon.

Soon is too nebulous. Soon isn’t soon enough. Imelda grows angry, money runs thin, and she begins thinking of a way to provide for Coco until Héctor comes back. He will be back, and she will rage at him; he’ll be sorry he ever left and perhaps things between them will never be the same again.

Perhaps this is the end of their life as husband and wife; perhaps they will live in that house as strangers, but he will return, and be a father to Coco. She still cannot contemplate a scenario in which he does not. She cannot imagine her little girl growing up without him.

Any day now, she tells herself, as she stays up at night to learn how to make shoes, growing more and more frustrated with every failed attempt. Any day, she thinks as she keeps letting her child share her bed, telling her over and over that her papá will be home soon, reading to her all of the letters he keeps writing to her, loving words that cannot fill the gap.

Until a day comes when the letters stop coming.

Until a day comes when she knows Héctor is not, after all, coming back.

No post has come for weeks, Coco asks again where papá’s letter is - she no longer asks where he is, she asks for his letters, good God, mere months are years to a child, what were they thinking, why did she let him go? - and Imelda snaps, tears up their family picture, sends Coco off to her room in a flood of tears, and locks herself in her own.

She will regret that outburst for a very, very long time. But she’s only human, not yet twenty-three, with a fledgling business she can barely make work and a child to raise and her husband is never coming home.

She will never know how Pepita gained access to her bedroom, but suddenly she’s on the bed with her, the feral cat who’d sit at the window and refuse to get one step further into the house even when bribed with the juiciest of scraps. She rests down next to her, purring, nuzzling her chin, and Imelda’s silent tears turn into sobs that tear all air out of her lungs.

Pepita doesn’t scratch, doesn’t lash out, hardly even moves when grabbed. She stays still, lets Imelda weep in her fur and then, suddenly, she begins grooming her hair with a tongue like sandpaper. It makes Imelda laugh through the tears, and she pulls back.

“I can’t help but feel I’ve been adopted,” she says, her voice a bit hoarse, and reaches to scratch the cat’s head. She leans into her hand, purring up a storm. Imelda smiles again.

What is she even doing? Crying isn’t going to solve a thing. Coco gets to cry, yes - she is a child and her papá is never come back, all of his loving words weren’t worth the paper they were written on - but what excuse does she have?  Her daughter relies on her. Her brothers look up to her, and she cannot let them down to feel sorry for herself. And over what? Over some músico who decided his music, and playing it for the world, was more important than either of them - more important than watching his own flesh and blood grow up?

No. No, that will not do. He’s made his choice, and now she’s ready to make hers. No more useless waiting, no more crying over herself, no more music. She has a task ahead of her, a child to raise, a business to make work. If she has to do this on her own, so be it.

Imelda rises with the sun the next morning, apologizes to Coco for her outburst, and goes back to work.

At the door of the workshop, a pair of yellow eyes keep watching her every move.

***

The first one just jumps in his arms, literally, during a brief stay in Ciudad Juárez.

Ernesto isn’t yet well-known when it happens. Actually, he isn’t well-known at all. Five months after he’s-- seized his moment -- done what he had to do he’s still travelling Mexico, looking for his big break. It’s taking more time than he hoped, and he’s now nearing a year on the road. Sometimes he’s had to chase away the thought that his moment will never come despite all that he’s sacrificed-- all of it even him oh God was it for nothing how could it be for nothing -- to get to that point.

That wasn’t his worst night, but it was also far from the best; a small crowd and nothing more. If Héctor were here, he’d try to cheer him up and he’d succeed, eventually; he’d tell him tomorrow will bring them better luck. But now… now he can no longer do that.

He wouldn’t have either way. He was about to leave me behind.

That’s right, he thinks - he’d have lost him either way. He lost him before he even slipped poison in his drink, but now he has his songs, and he thought that was all he’d need. The world would embrace him, then, and be his family, one that would never turn its back to him.

Except that it isn’t happening. Except that the world isn’t so much glancing in his direction.

Ernesto forces himself to chase away the thought, sitting on a sidewalk and drinking the last of his beer before he heads back to his motel for the night. Is this all that he can get? Nothing more than what he had already, but friendless and with nights full of nightmares?

Thus far you shall come, but no farther; and here shall your proud waves stop.

Ernesto frowns, staring down at the bottle, wondering where that came from; must have been some leftover memory from an Sunday mass long ago. An odd thing to remember now, but once he’s finished his beer he’ll forget it again, and maybe his sleep will be dreamless. The thought of closing his eyes to find himself in the dark alleys of Mexico City, carrying--

“Yip! Yip!”

“Come back, you devil! This is the last time-- come back here, chucho maldito! I’ll cook you this time, I swear to God--”

There is shouting, and a crash and cursing coming from the next street over. Ernesto turns to look, blinking, to see something running out of it. For a moment, under the streetlights, he thinks it’s an especially large rat - but then the animal yaps and charges straight at him and he can tell, one moment before it jumps in his arms and knocks the bottle on the ground, that it’s a small dog; a chihuahua with tan fur, some gray starting to show on its muzzle.  

“Oye, I had yet to finish that,” Ernesto grumbles, but he’s already starting to grin and the battle is lost the moment the dog places two tiny paws on his chest and tries to lick his face, tail wagging. He’s always liked dogs, so he chuckles and scratches its head. “What are yo--”

“You! Is that devil your dog?”

“Huh?” Ernesto turns away from the stray to see a man standing a few feet from him, panting, his face bright red. He’s wearing an apron stained with grease, and he’s holding something that might be the sad remains of a chicken wing in his left hand. In the right one, slightly more worryingly, he’s holding a knife. Ernesto holds up his arms, alarmed.

“Wha-- no! I had never-- no, stay down-- seen this dog in my-- stop it!” he mutters, trying to get the chihuahua to stop trying to lick his face. “Never seen it in my life!” he snaps, and stands, forcing the dog to jump off his lap. It immediately stands on its hind legs to lean against his leg, looking up at him adoringly, tail wagging.

Looking back later on, Ernesto won’t be able to really blame the man for not believing him.

“Do you have any idea for how long it’s been bothering my clients?”

“Look, I only got here two days ag--”

“How much food it’s stolen from right under their noses?”

“That’s a shame, but this isn’t my do--”

“You will pay it all back, down to the last peso!” the man snarls, taking a threatening step forward. Ernesto looks at the guy, who’s short but broad, and at the knife in his hand. Within moments, he has a plan of action: he grabs the guitar case, grabs the dog, and runs.

Losing the man in the winding streets is a matter of only a minute; losing the dog, on the other hand, proves to be nearly impossible, because it keeps following him. Not that Ernesto tries especially hard: in the end, he sneaks him - a quick check confirms it’s male - in the motel. The small dog wanders around for a few moments, sniffing at his suitcase, before he tries to jump on the bed. He just falls back, too tiny to reach it, and Ernesto rolls his eyes before picking him up and putting him down on the mattress.

The dog immediately rolls on his back, tail wagging, looking up at him expectantly. “A devil, sure,” Ernesto chuckles, and reached to rub his belly. “Very well, Diablo,” he says. The name fits; he remembers old Rafael, back in Santa Cecilia, had a dog called that. It was supposed to keep him and Héctor away from his fruit grove, but Ernesto had befriended him quickly. “You get to stay for the night, but we part ways in the morning.”

They do not part ways in the morning; Ernesto sort of knew how that would turn out the instant he gave him a name. After a night of peaceful sleep, the tiny dog curled up on his chest, Ernesto boards a train to Chihuahua - the irony is not lost to him - with Diablo in one of the pockets of his coat. And then the train after that, and the one after that.

There are no more nightmares. He allows himself no more doubts. He travels Mexico, he plays and sings and begins to attract larger crowds. He meets people who count on the musical scene and, well, on a couple of occasions those meetings are not strictly the professional kind, but it matters not. He’s willing to do whatever it takes, no matter how distasteful, to play in important venues, where he can catch the eye of even bigger crowds and producers. And finally, finally, success comes.

When it does, Ernesto hires someone specifically to look after Diablo’s every need while he travels with him; he stuck with him when-- Héctor did not -- things were bad, he should be rewarded now that everything he’s done - everything he’s had to do, all of it - paid off.

It is a life of luxury for a little stray dog, but it’s short-lived: Diablo dies only a couple of years after Ernesto has known his first true taste of success. He should have seen it coming; Diablo wasn’t a young dog when he took him in, and over time he’s grown more lethargic, less likely to jump up and steal a bite. But Ernesto doesn’t want to see it, and so he doesn’t - until Diablo takes a nap in the backstage of a photoshoot, and never wakes up.

The photoshoot ends there, and his manager hurriedly cancels all of his performances for the following couple of weeks when it becomes clear that the bawling wreck refusing to let go of his dead dog is in no condition to talk coherently, let alone to sing. He’s not wrong: for several days, Ernesto refuses to come out of his hotel room at all. He refuses to see anyone.

He knows he’ll be able to read the same thought on every faces he sees - it was just a dog - but of course they have no idea. It isn’t just about a dog; it’s about being left behind. Again.

Ernesto gives Diablo’s ashes a place of honor in his new residence, and swears he will never have another dog again.

***

“What is this?”

“A pup. Clearly.”

“What is it doing--”

“She lives here now. It’s a girl. Congratulations.”

Ernesto stares down at the ball of white fur that’s peering up at him from the basket, tail wagging and tongue lolling. A long-haired chihuahua, small enough to sit in the palm of his hand. His hands twitch and he almost reaches down, then he scowls and crosses his arms.

“I don’t need a dog,” he says. Having one dying on him was enough. Never again.

“Nesto--”

“I don’t want a dog. Take her back.”

His manager rolls his eyes, and puts down the basket. The dog immediately stumbles out of it and jumps up at Ernesto, who steps back like he’s being attacked by a coyote.

“She’s purebred,” Armando is saying, like Ernesto hasn’t protested at all. “The paper her pedigree is written on weights more than she does and her kennel name is ridiculously long. The breeder just calls her Clara.”

Clara. It’s a cute name. He might just keep it-- no, wait. No. Not a chance. He’s not going to have another dog. Someone else will decide what to call her. “That’s nice,” he mutters, lifting a foot to keep the pup from chewing his shoe. “And why have you taken her here?”

“She’s here so you stop moping and get back on track,” Armando mutters, and frowns. “You’ve cancelled enough performances. You’re famous, but not quite famous enough yet that you can just drop off the face of Earth for weeks. You need to keep going as long as momentum is on your side. You can’t afford to stop - neither of us can - and you know it.”

He does, of course; there is nothing he can argue against that, and Armando knows it. Seeing he’s not retorting, his manager smiles a bit and picks up the pup to shove her in his arms. She immediately tries to climb up his shoulder, and attempts to push her nose into his ear, causing Ernesto to yelp.

“Oh, you’re friends already. I’ll leave you to bond. You’ll be in my office on Monday morning.”

“No, wait--”

“Her pedigree papers are on the table at the entrance. Have fun.”

“I don’t want her.”

“Then leave her in a pound or in the street. I won't take her back.”

“Wha-- I can’t--!”

“Monday, nine on the dot,”  his manager calls out over his shoulder, and pretends not to hear the insults Ernesto is throwing at him. The door closes behind him, and Ernesto snorts, holding the puppy at arm’s length. She looks back at him with black eyes, tail wagging.

“I’m not keeping you,” Ernesto informs her. “Give it a couple of days, and I’ll find someone to take you in,” he adds, and puts her on the sofa. Like Diablo years ago, she flops on her back to get a belly rub - but with more elegance, one paw extended, as the dainty little diva she is.

The couple of days turn into a week, then two weeks, then months and years. Five years, until something happens. Clarita is unable to keep her food down, and loses weight; there is blood in her urine, and she yelps in pain each time. Something wrong with her kidneys, and the only solution they can give him is putting her to sleep. It’s humane, they say.

Ernesto refuses, rants and raves and rages. He seeks more vets, demands that they fix his dog right now, he’ll pay them their weight in gold if he has to, but none of them can help. Soon enough she’s almost skeletal, her yelps turn into screams, and Ernesto caves in.

It shatters him and, again, he swears off ever getting another dog.

***

“Oye, oye, it’s all right. Nothing to be afraid of. I’m here to help, sí?”

The alebrije - it looks a lot like a coyote, but with a couple of extra tails and wings - barely turns to look at him, sitting in the same spot where it’s been for the past couple of days, where old Prospero faded away. It entirely ignores the food Héctor is holding out, and just rests its head on its front paws. Sighing, Héctor lets his gaze wander across Shantytown.

He doesn’t live there - yet, a tiny voice in the back of his head says, you don’t live here yet, but you cannot cross over and everyone says that’s the first step to being forgotten - but he’s befriended people who do, and he drops by from time to time to share a drink, or some good food. Sometimes, he returns to find fewer familiar faces than before.

When that happens there are friends left behind, and they drink together to the memory - their memory, not powerful enough to save anyone from fading - of the forgotten. They share stories about them no one in the Land of the Living can share anymore, and then they move on because it is the only thing that can be done, just deal with it and move forward.

But sometimes, the forgotten don’t only leave behind their few possessions. Sometimes, they leave behind an alebrije - a spirit guide with no one left to guide anywhere. And each time, Héctor tries to befriend them because they look so sad, so lonely, and so does he. Maybe they could grow to like him, and stick with him, and they would both feel less alone.

He could use a spirit guide. Better yet with wings, so that he can fly past those damn checks, across the bridge and to his family - to his little girl, who’s probably not so little anymore now. Yes, everything would be so much easier if he had a spirit guide like so many others do… but it seems that fate likes kicking him when he’s down, and no alebrije ever chose him.

There was one time when he thought one had, but it turned out to be a rogue - there are a few like that, wild and almost rabid-like, something no one has any explanation for - and that wasn’t much fun. Ever since, he’s been wary of those who approach him, and rightly so.

How alebrijes come to be and how they choose their charge is unclear, but there are many who swear that their alebrijes came to them in life, as beloved pets; they bonded in life, they argue, and so are bonded in death. Héctor sort of wishes he’d had a pet in life - he’d promised Coco a kitten, once - but he didn’t get enough time to have one and bond with it.

He didn’t get enough time to do… a lot of things.

“Come on, amigo. I know it hurts, but I can help. We can help each other,” Héctor tries again, and holds out the remains of his dinner. 

The alebrije shifts and stands, and Héctor has a moment to get his hopes up before the creature spreads its wings and, without even looking at him, just flies off into the night sky. Héctor doesn’t look up to watch it disappear: he just sighs, lets the scraps of food drop into the water, and lets out a long sigh.

No one really knows what happens to alebrijes once their chosen one fades, either. Some stick with remaining family members, but when no one else is left, they just… leave, and are never seen again. Héctor watches the fish - some alebrijes, some bones only - nibbling away at the food he’s dropped. 

Serves him right, really; the poor beast had just lost its chosen, did he really think a bit of food would be enough to bribe it? That it would let him replace Prospero just like that? Of course it never works: whatever their nature is, however they pick their chosen, alebrijes are loyal, and people cannot be replaced so easily.

Or maybe some can. Maybe I was replaced. Maybe that is why I cannot cross over.

It is a poisonous thought, and he refuses to mull over it. With a shake of his head, Héctor stands and walks away, telling himself that this year is the year he crosses that bridge. He can do it on his own; he doesn’t need a spirit guide to show him the way.

He knows exactly where he’s meant to go.

***

He meets Lobo while shooting a movie the following year.

A scene required a dog capable of doing a few simple tricks - lie down, give the paw, stand on its hind legs and jump at command - and a local guy shows up with a black chihuahua who fits the bill. His obedience, they find out quickly, vastly depends on what’s on offer: he will obey commands only as long as food is involved, as a reward.

Except when it’s Ernesto to give the order: with him, he’s eager to please for nothing more than a scratch behind the ears. He follows him across the set, and Ernesto knows he’s got to have him before they’re done shooting for the day. He approaches the owner, offers him money, and doubles the offer at his refusal.

The man walks out with more money than he probably ever got to handle all at once, and Ernesto has a new dog - a small bandit that quickly becomes the bane of every member of the cast and crew by trying to chase horses, peeing on any unattended costume, nipping everyone’s ankles, chewing up cables and tripping up a couple of cameramen.

If he doesn’t think Ernesto is paying enough attention to him, he’ll climb on the lap of the closest person and glance back at him to, he imagines, check if he’s jealous. He has free reign of the set and  it’s the funniest thing Ernesto recalls witnessing since… well, in a long time. He draws everyone up the wall, and a member of the crew tries to kick him away once, thinking no one is watching; he misses, and is kicked out himself the next minute.

Out of all of them, Lobo is the one who stays with him the longest: seven years. Then one day he wanders off the mansion, through a small gap in the gate, and there is a day of frantic search before he trots back in at dusk, belly full and a half-chewed chorizo in his mouth.

Ernesto is too relieved to see him return to wonder too hard where he may have been, where he’s been scavenging for food. Until that night when, suddenly, Lobo jumps off his bed, takes a few staggering steps towards the water bowl, and starts vomiting blood.

“He must have eaten rat poison,” the vet says, and through the stunned grief - Lobo passed in Ernesto’s arms before the vet could even get there, it was so sudden - something is stirring, something he’s buried so deep it sometimes feels like only a dream he had once. For a moment he’s back in Mexico city, when there was a thud on the ground, a staggering sense of finality and then a bitter sort of relief because the deed was done.

There is no relief now. This didn’t have to happen. This shouldn’t have happened.

Ernesto has Lobo cremated, just like the other two. He promises he’s the last dog he buries and, this time, he keeps his word: he is the last he buries - but not the last one he takes in.

***

Zita catches his eye from the window of a pet shop in Oaxaca; there is a small crowd walking by, but that silvery-gray pup seems to be staring right at him, and he’s unable to walk away. He gets in, pays her full price, gives an autograph and walks away with Zita sitting in his hand, gnawing happily at his fingers. He needs those fingers to play, but he doesn’t mind.

She’s not a food thief like Diablo, nor the diva Clara was or the rebel Lobo turned out to be. She’s just enthusiastic about everything and, if clearly not the smartest, by far the yappiest out of all of them. The bouncy pup grows into a bouncy adult, impossible not to love, always a hit with his guests.

Zita is the one who outlives him.

Once the chaos has subsided slightly, the bell has been removed and body recovered, someone finally remembers that Ernesto’s beloved dog was left in his hotel room, and goes to check on her - only to find an empty suite. The door is locked and so is the window, but there is no trace of the dog anywhere. She’s just… gone.

They assume she was stolen, even though there is no sign of anybody entering or leaving the room, and quickly forget about her.

***

It is on a Sunday that Imelda finds Pepita at her favorite spot in the yard, motionless.

From a distance, she’d thought she was sleeping. Imelda never known how old she may be, but even if she’d been very young when she’d first spotted her, now she must be ancient; twenty-one, at the very least. It’s a very old age for any cat to live to, and over the years she’s slowed and lost her teeth, although her presence still keeps mice and rats away.

Even if it weren’t, Imelda wouldn’t mind: she’s earned her keep all those years and she is, after all, her cat. So she puts some stewed meat in a small dish, tender enough for Pepita to eat without teeth, and heads out to give her lunch. She never eats a single bite, and the dish will be left on the ground for hours, attracting ants, until a sniffling Rosita will retrieve it.

Imelda doesn’t take too long to say goodbye; the motionless weight in her arms is not her cat anymore. She strokes Pepita’s fur a few times before she lets Coco - who is now a woman, married and expecting her first child - to do the same, and then wraps her in a clean cloth.

Julio is instructed to dig a hole in Pepita’s favorite spot, and he does so quickly, without a word of protest despite the heat of the day; Imelda is grateful for it. They bury her in silence, wrapped in linen and with fresh flowers - Coco’s idea, that - and that is it.

Not seeing her around is harder than Imelda had thought it would be; of course she’d known she would very likely outlive her cat. Yet she can’t seem to get used to the absence, to the sense that something important is missing; the first true loss since that musician left them. But she gets used to it; she reinvented her entire life once, and she can adjust to this, too. Pepita is gone, and that is a fact no amount of moping will change.

Yet she notices that, even months and years later, there’s no mice or rats to be seen anywhere near their home.

***

One very quick way to get on Ernesto de la Cruz’s nerves, his staff find out after his arrival in the Land of the Dead, is saying anything about his alebrijes that is not glowing praise.

It doesn’t matter if Diablo stole their sandwich, if Clara refused to get off their lap until they spent at least a hour rubbing her belly, if Lobo left teeth marks on their ankles or if Zita spent forty minutes barking at a stain on the wallpaper - no complaints are allowed. And some innocent remarks are off limits, too: there are tales of a secretary who was fired on the first day for daring to suggest the four alebrijes all look the same.

That is secretly what they all think - the slight differences in their coats’ patterns are not enough to tell them apart without careful inspection and deliberation - but somehow, el señor de la Cruz can tell them apart at a glance, so there’s got to be something. Maybe it’s one of those odd things about the bond between alebrijes and their chosen; no one knows how that really works, so they just shrug it off and make sure to always treat the alebrijes right.

Working for Ernesto de la Cruz is a honor and a privilege, and pampering his dogs is a small price to pay.

***

The first thing Imelda thinks when that creature lands in front of her with a roar is that, if it wants a piece of her, there will be hell to pay. She is not afraid, and how can she be? She cannot die again. Probably. Either way, she won’t go down easily.

Then her second thought, as she reaches for her boot, is that she knows those eyes.

Her hand stills, and she stares back at the huge creature for several moments, unmoving. She doesn’t move, either, but leans forward just barely when Imelda lifts a hand. There is a nudge against her palm, and those familiar yellow eyes blink slowly. Imelda  blinks back, and finally - for the first time since she’s awakened there - she smiles.

“Hola, Pepita,” she says. Her smile widens at the deep, familiar purr. “It’s been a while.”

***

“Aw, look! Dante!”

“Is it that street dog again? Abuelita says she doesn’t want him in the yard, and… is he okay? Is he having a seizure?”

“Nah, he’s fine! He just wants to play. He likes me!”

“He also likes trash.”

Miguel makes a face towards Rosa’s general direction, and she returns it by wrinkling her nose and squinting her eyes behind her glasses. Miguel sticks out his tongue. Rosa rolls her eyes back. Miguel gives a honk, and Rosa laughs first before conceding victory with a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll cover for you. Just don’t give me fleas if you catch them.”

Miguel almost points out that Dante has no hair for fleas to live in, but then he just shrugs and runs out. Dante greets him in a frenzy of wagging tail, flailing limbs and lolling tongue.

“Come on, Dante! Race you to the plaza!” Miguel cries out, zooming past him, and the dog immediately follows. It’s like he understands him, daft as he is, and Miguel sort of wonders if he used to belong to someone before. But according to everyone he’s talked to Dante just showed up in Santa Cecilia one day; Miguel doubts he’ll ever know anything more.

Not that it matters, anyway. No one else has ever claimed him and for some reason Dante seems to have chosen him, so that settles the matter. He’s his dog now.

And, within a week, he will turn out to be so much more than just that.

***

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course. She’s also your alebrije now.”

“... Is she?”

“She looks after our entire family. She always did, even when we didn’t know it,” Imelda says, taking Héctor’s hand to press it against Pepita’s muzzle. “And you’re part of it now.”

“Oh,” Héctor says, and for a moment his gaze is very distant, like he’s lost in thought. Then Pepita purrs and he grins, scratching her muzzle and causing her to close her eyes in bliss. “I never had a spirit guide before. I think I can get used to this.”

“Can you get used to flying, too?”

Hécto’s grin widens. “A romantic flight?”

Imelda makes a point to roll her eyes, but her lips are curling upwards. “If you can hang on.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

As it turns out he can hang on - most of the time, anyway. When he loses his grip, Pepita dives down to catch him without Imelda needing to even ask.

Héctor clings to Imelda and, despite the obvious fright, he’s grinning.

“I think she likes me," he says, almost giddily, and lets out a grito when Pepita brings them further up with a powerful beat of her wings, above the tallest buildings, and towards the waning moon.

***

A long way below, in the emptied-out Shantytown - why keep living there with a nice mansion so recently left vacant? - Ernesto de la Cruz is sleeping on a dusty mattress inside the shack he’s hiding in, and empty bottle on the floor by him, a threadbare coat to serve as a blanket.

His sleep isn’t an easy one; he shivers, he scowls, mumbles and turns around, but not for long. His alebrijes are rarely more than a few steps away; fortunes may change, but that never will. They may be all he has left, but he can be certain they will stay until the very end.

They move onto the mattress and curl up against him, nudge and lick skeletal fingers, offering what comfort they can until their chosen turns on his side, reaches out to hold Clara to his chest, and curls up around her. He stops mumbling and stills, the scowl fading, finally unbothered by whatever plagues his nights.

Then, and only then, do they settle down to sleep as well... but always with one eye open.

They may not be the best spirit guides, never quite knew what they were supposed to guide him to, but they will figure it out. Until then, they will keep him safe. Their chosen always said they were good dogs.

It’s time to prove they’re good alebrijes, too.