#qué maravilla

[losjavis]

los javis vuelven a la academia cinco años después 🥹🩷

[nicky-olives]

[planet-onfire]

¡De acuerdo con cada palabra! Qué bonito leer esto del foro que me hizo enamorarme de vuelta del rol, conocer a personas maravillosas, desarrollar y mejorar mi escritura, y que me ayudó a pasar (como a todos) por la difícil pandemia.

A día de hoy sigo recordando el foro con tantísimo amor, y me entusiasma que los otros también lo hagan. Fue una experiencia de locura cuando las multicuentas nos ganaron, pero ah, todo el drama, todo el amor, todo el buen ambiente que permitía sentirse a uno como en casa.

Una lástima su cierre y la forma, pero viendo lo que ocurre con otros foros, sigo agradeciendo que nos permitieran continuar roleando, al menos para cerrar historias.

<3 larga vida a Chems.

Foros Inolvidables: The Chemtrails

Pues yo misma quiero estrenar esta dinámica rindiendo homenaje a este bonito foro, el cual no sé en qué momento cerró, pero yo estuve activa en él desde su apertura (creo que fue en 2018) hasta que, desafortunadamente, por problemas de salud caí en inactiva y no pude regresar, alrededor de un año o un poquito menos después de su inauguración.

La temática era de misterio, y me encantaba todo de ese foro: la ambientación, las dinámicas que proponía la administración, su amabilidad... Nunca faltaba el rol, y los usuarios eran un amor. Creo que había mucha complicidad y respeto en general, tanto entre la administración como entre los usuarios. La forma en que se manejaba permitía que todos los personajes se involucraran y tomaran protagonismo en la historia del foro si así lo deseaba su usuario. Además, facilitaba el desarrollo de los personajes; la dificultad radicaba en el drama que cada quien quisiera añadir.

Mi experiencia en el foro fue como estar viendo y participando en una película de suspenso, de esas que te tienen al filo del sofá con los nervios de punta, pero de las que no puedes apartar la mirada porque no quieres perderte nada (una sensación muy grata para mí, jaja).

Para mí, un momento memorable fue descubrir la muerte de Pippa. Por alguna razón me conmocionó muchísimo; fue algo que no vi venir. También recuerdo cuando uno de mis personajes fue secuestrado por God, y, por supuesto, muchos, muchos memes.

En general, fueron momentos muy lindos. No conservo amistades de esa época, pero con cada usuario que conocí, nunca faltaron el hype y las historias maravillosas. ¡Gracias por eso!

Y gracias al staff de The Chemtrails por haber creado un espacio seguro. 🖤

[wachi-delectrico]

No me gusta dar tanta info personal específica pero mis viejos laburan en Radio Nacional y tengo un cagaso que ni les cuento

[vavaharrison]

[4thstar]

Ok so context for non-Spanish speaking folks, because I think it's good to reflect on context and privilege:

Taylor Swift has come to Argentina (and South America in general, I think) for the very first time. The concert was supposed to be on Friday, but there was a huge storm, so it was postponed to today, Sunday.

Tickets are very expensive and a lot of fans have been saving for this. Many are coming from other provinces and neighboring countries, so they're also paying travel and accommodations. They don't know when, if ever, Swift will come back, so they are doing what they can to not miss this opportunity.

Another piece of context is: our economy sucks. Inflation has been rampant for years, with our currency devaluating constantly. Things get more and more expensive every day. As a result, well, Argentina is cheap for someone from USA.

The person in the original tweet is asking Swift to do something for them since they flew aaall the way from USA to see her but are now going to miss this show. A trip which was most likely much cheaper to them than what local folks paid, in terms of purchasing power. All the while taking up seats that could've gone to local fans who cannot afford to go to Swift's many shows in the USA to see their idol.

I understand the girl turning 15 was excited and is not at fault. But the original tweets were very tone deaf, and people in the replies in Spanish are roasting them in very funny ways.

CARLOS PIOLA JAJAJAJAJAJAJAKAJ

[missvalentine142]

October Collection: Somebody's watching me 🎃

Spooky season has arrived! 

Yes is great to dress up as your favorite character but what are we going to wear the rest of the month, so “Somebody's watching me” has the solution haha 

For the month of october I did a poll and the four most upvoted costumes that won are: Alice in wonderland, Pirate, Ghost and Princess. So this collection contain all for costume BUT every piece you can mix for you daily outfit 

 Somebody's watching me bring you

9 Total Pieces 3 Exclusives ones (Tier TL) attach to a different post 2 Tops / 2 Skirts / 1 Dress / 1 Shoes  Exclusives: (Alice) 1 Dress / 1 Top / 1 Hat

You can download everything in this post (the second image show which piece is by the name) 

TY & LY 

❤❤ 

¡Ha llegado Halloween!

Sí, es genial disfrazarse de tu personaje favorito, pero ¿qué vamos a usar el resto del mes? Así que “Somebody's watching me” tiene la solución jajaja

Para el mes de octubre hice una encuesta y los cuatro disfraces más votados que ganaron fueron: Alicia en el país de las maravillas, Pirata, Fantasma y Princesa. Así que esta colección contiene todo para estos disfraces, PERO todas las piezas las puedes combinar para tu atuendo diario 

“Somebody's watching me” te trae:

9 piezas en total 3 exclusivas (Tier TL) adjuntar a una publicación diferente  2 blusas / 2 faldas / 1 vestido / 1 zapatos  Exclusivas: (Alicia) 1 vestido / 1 blusa / 1 sombrero

Puedes descargar todo en esta publicación (la segunda imagen muestra qué pieza es por el nombre)

Gracias! 

❤❤

-> Patreon Full Collection

[arqueologiadelperu]

Hay documentos que demuestran que en el siglo XVI Machu Picchu ya era conocido

machu-picchu-patrimonio-humanidad Arqueólogo Óscar Montufar Latorre afirmó que en 1585 aparecen documentos que hablan sobre esta ciudad del tiempo de los incas, la cual no era llamada Machu Picchu, sino Huayna Picchu. Con motivo del 16º aniversario de Machu Picchu como una de las 7 Maravillas del Mundo Moderno, el arqueólogo Óscar Montufar Latorre, dio algunos alcances sobre la construcción y…

[losjavis]

javi en la función “el enemigo de la clase” en 2007 

[vspers]

sonrisita dulce y encantadora se presenta en rosados cuando la escucha, y sensación curiosa se instala en su pecho. no está segura de qué es, pero se asemeja mucho a lo que sentía cuando llegaba a casa para encontrarse con que su madre había hecho su comida favorita, o cuando andaba en su caballo favorito al atardecer y la calidez del sol que quedaba chocaba en su rostro, haciéndola sentir en paz. se siente bien. ha escuchado esas palabras un montón de veces y en un montón de contextos, pero allí, en labios contrarios, se siente distinto. vesper no es muy expresiva en ese aspecto, es, de hecho, con jesaiah con quien explora más esa parte, y sin embargo no lo dice de vuelta verbalmente, sino que simplemente le ofrece ese gesto: una sonrisa sincera. blonda inclina ligeramente su cabeza para crear mayor cercanía cuando rostro se esconde en su cuello, su mano yendo a acariciar hebras azabaches con afecto. "¿bromeas? róbame todo el tiempo que quieras," se ríe despacito, dejando otro beso ahora en su cabeza. "estoy harta de lidiar con adolescentes estúpidos. podría pasarme el resto del día en este baño contigo," lo dice con tanta certeza, y es algo que probablemente no diría con nadie más. vesper se aburre rápido de las personas, una vez que dejan de servirle se vuelven desechables. con jesaiah no hay cabida para ese sentimiento. "venga," susurra, apartándose solo un poquito para buscar que la mire. "quiero ver una sonrisa, ¿hm?" alza las cejas y la observa expectante, otorgándole una ella misma, como si buscara convencerla, y la cercanía que mantiene no es coincidencia.

no importa qué tan fuera de equilibrio se sienta, que esencia no sea la misma; porque vesper la sigue mirando de la misma forma y es suficiente calma para un alma ahogada como la de ella. siente cómo se le acelera el corazón y cómo la calidez se pronuncia de a poco en sus orejas, es el efecto de inglesa en ella cada vez que la escuchaba. "te quiero tanto." termina por soltar por lo bajo, cómo si se trátase de un secreto lo mucho que contraria significaba para ella. su luna y estrellas, blonda era muchisímo más para ella de lo que expresaba en voz alta. apoya su rostro en su mano, porque aunque tacto es bastante conocido para ella, lo toma cada vez que tiene la oportunidad; cómo si fuera algo de tiempo límitado. parpados le pesan cuando contacto sucede y tiene que obligarse a tomar un poco de aire, siniestra colándose sútilmente por cintura contraria como quién busca más cercanía. "sólo quiero estar contigo un rato más, prometo dejarte ir." asegura, consciente de cercanía generada pero que no dura mucho cuando se acomoda para esconder su rostro en su cuello; la notoria diferencia de alturas jugaba a su favor siempre que buscaba esconderse entre sus brazos. "¿no te estoy robando mucho tiempo?"

[a--z--u--l]

Coincidir en el amor, en tiempo, espacio e intensidad .

Qué puta maravilla.

[luveline]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily. 

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless." 

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny. 

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly. 

You do it to torture him, he's sure. 

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says. 

"Then one of the others will catch me." 

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?" 

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that." 

"Could you just do as I asked you to?" 

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything." 

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously." 

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction. 

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap." 

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited. 

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks. 

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest. 

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks. 

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you. 

"Qué maravilla," he mutters. 

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?" 

"I'm over here?" 

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening. 

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing." 

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice. 

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today. 

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit. 

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man. 

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit." 

"Can you walk?" 

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?" 

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go. 

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns. 

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort. 

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind. 

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward. 

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind. 

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye. 

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home. 

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded." 

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control. 

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said. 

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?" 

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections. 

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.  

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards. 

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately. 

"Go away," he says. 

She beams at him. "Okay." 

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one. 

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask. 

"I know. I told you to retreat." 

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends." 

"Ah, because you need more of those." 

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know." 

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse. 

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?" 

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers." 

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side. 

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?" 

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face. 

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched." 

"I'm not benched?" you ask. 

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work." 

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment. 

"But it's my fault." 

"What?" you ask, startled. 

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak." 

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture." 

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844. 

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…" 

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open. 

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again." 

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps. 

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces. 

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur. 

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it. 

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day." 

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly. 

"You make my life difficult, too," you say. 

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.  

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once. 

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great." 

"Isn't it?" you ask happily. 

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

[aashiqeddiediaz]

SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE (2023)

[Image ID: five gifs of Miles Morales and Miguel O'Hara from their first meeting in Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse. Miguel is standing on a lowering platform far above where Miles and Gwen are standing below. The

GIF 1: Miles jerking his chin up n greeting, waving high up above his head as he smiles and says, "Hey! ¿Qué tal, tío?" The translation reads, "What's up, man?" Miles looks smug as he glances at Gwen and shrugs, saying "I-I speak Spanish."

GIF 2: A shot of Miguel from behind, standing on the platform as it lowers with his fists clenched by his sides. He is facing multiple monitors.

GIF 3: Miles raising a takeout box as he tells Miguel cheekily, "Te traje una empanada." Behind him, Hobie flips something around his hand, studying it. The translation reads, "I brought you an empanada."

GIF 4: Miguel whips around, aiming his fist in Miles' direction as his power shoots out and grabs the box. Miles looks startled.

GIF 5: Miguel, having fully turned, catching the box, studying it mildly before moving his hand off-screen, crushing the box into the trash. He says, "Qué maravilla." The translation reads, "Wonderful."

/end ID]

[natehwang]

"sí, sí, como en juego de tronos y vivianne va tras nosotros con la campanita mientras nos sacan del salón." porque la decoración y todo el misterio alrededor de los juicios han alimentado creencia de que la clave tiene cierto gusto por lo dramático. no al extremo que describe, pero sí para hacerles sentir menos en comparación con quienes continúen siendo miembros una vez que el primer juicio llegue a su final. "me gusta nadar, pero no confío en ser tan bueno como para llegar a nueva york, una pena." lamenta, mientras mira a su alrededor por alguna señal de movimiento, alguna pista de lo que está por suceder, pero no consigue mas que jóvenes en distintos grados de preocupación. "no termino de entender qué quieren lograr con todo esto además de que nos esforcemos por mantenernos dentro de la clave." que si lo piensa bien, para asociaciones basadas en ego puede ser un motivo suficiente para armar tanto escándalo, pero a ojos del escocés sólo es una razón vacía. "¿a ti se te ocurre alguna idea?"

Aunque no había duda alguna de que estaban bromeando, aquellas palabras hicieron que una corriente helada recorriese su cuerpo. Miedo. Se rió con él, sin embargo, pues instintos estaban entrenados a pesar que sentimientos de júbilo no fuesen compartidos. Ladeó la cabeza como pretendiendo pensar, para darse más tiempo a pensar una respuesta— ¿Como en Juego de Tronos? Espero que no. El nudismo puede sobrellevarse, ¿pero que nos lancen porquerías? ¿Y nos cortarían el pelo? Mejor probar nuestras chances e intentar nadar hasta Nueva York desde ya—propuso como si todo fuese una bufonada, casos hipotéticos de los que jamás deberían preocuparse. Pero ¿cómo sabía ella qué forma tendrían los castigos de la Clave? Su padre le había advertido la importancia de no cruzarlos—. Ya, bueno, confío en que no harán nada digno de serie de televisión. Al momento que se pongan telenovelezcos, sabré que esto de la Clave no era tan importante.

[robotpussy]

"Miguel: Qué maravilla-

Me trying to make him explode with my mind: [image of Hobie Brown staring (presumably at Miguel) intensely from a high angle]

source