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rustbeltjessie · 9 days

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Chicago Noise (Love Letter to Steve Albini) by Jarret Keene

How many boys want to be whipped by Steve Albini’s guitar? -Sonic Youth bassist/singer Kim Gordon

Woke up this morning, as usual, hungry for white-boy noise and black coffee. Popped in – what else? – Big Black’s Songs About *!?king and blasted it at full volume on the home stereo so I could feel every

drum-machine wallop in my molars, every lacerating riff against my face, those places where noise really hits me when its good and loud. Steve, there’s something about your band Big Black

in the morning that helps me to more effectively hate birds outside my window as they chirp ridiculous tunes about nothing to no one, something in the serrated edges of the song “Pavement Saw” and

the slaughterhouse fury of “Colombian Necktie” that transports me to the Loop, jostling around inside a metal tube across an ice-cold, urban-Midwest landscape of old, bombed-out meatpacking plants.

Like it’s a clear day in March and I’m taking it all in – the canyons of LaSalle, the cliffs of Michigan Avenue, the public artworks – and there’s this satanic chainsaw behind my ears, eager to sink

its teeth into my skull, turning my lights out and then everyone else’s. This noise is dirty and yet so pure that I can’t help feeling even more comfortable in my alienation, even happier in hostile

territory. I imagine myself lying down like a lamb at the paws of a lion guarding the stairs of the Art Institute. I picture myself walking into a Wicker Park record shop (a real record shop that

actually sells, you know, vinyl) and asking the skinny, unfriendly employees there if they might sell me another Big Black LP. And when they scowl at me with an expression that says “Why don’t

you already own that record, poser?” all I can say to my fellow rock snobs is leave me alone, because I’m armed and dangerous, and about to vaporize Cloud Gate in Millenium Park, to rip

the girders from Calder’s red-orange flamingo-looking thing perched in front of the Federal Center with my incisors before flame-broiling it oh-so-slowly with an acetylene torch until the steel is tender enough

to eat with a plastic spork, to challenge the next thrash band to play the Double Door to a demolition derby-style mosh pit involving broken beer bottles and our bare chests and bags of salt.

And if anyone asks about the point of this tsunami of sucking nihilism, this whole tortured carnival ride, let me say that it’s my chance to ignore the terrifying silence at the end of this caffeinated daydream.

Anyhow, Steve, just thought I’d write you a quick letter letting you know how much your anti-corporate band gets me dreaming of Chicago and prepares me for another gray and greasy day

of corporate enslavement, chained to my cubicle, hoping for a moment to shut down my computer and loosen my tie, straining to hear a measure, the merest note, of the sweet music of birds.

#poetry #jarret keene #steve albini #i’m fucking sad man #first gary now steve?

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ms-hells-bells · 11 months

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in reading more about the colombian children that survived the plane crash and jungle, i stumbled upon this story. there is almost no english news about it, largely only an AP article from 1996 about it, there's not even a wikipedia page, but i found a translated page of a guyana newspaper with the story.

THE gripping, inspiring survival experience of two young girls lost in Guyana’s jungles is the stuff epic films are made of.

Bertina and Bernadette Domingo of the Wapishiana tribe, Apoteri Village in the Rupununi began travelling from 7th April 1995 with their uncle up the Essequibo River; an uncle who had been instructed by the father of the girls to take them direct to the family farm.

Instead he diverted in the opposite direction with them, paddling for ninety-five miles in a canoe, then forcing them to trek through the jungle, threatening to kill the terrified girls when they cried.

At Pakani Falls they watched in fear as their uncle died of malaria – an uncle whose motives for his actions are shrouded in secret, lost forever in the hinterland landscape that had been the undoing of men from a time even preceding the Spanish Conquistadors.

If that uncle meant harm to his innocent, trusting nieces, as his actions indicated he did, because terrible pictures come to mind of child and female trafficking, he paid a terrible price for his heinous betrayal of his brother and nieces.

But that was no real consolation to the two young girls, who were left alone and defenceless to fend for themselves in the dense, dark rainforest, with merely a cutlass, a hammock, and their traditional tribal skills to keep them alive.

They were forced to undertake a journey that would test all their survival skills, their resilience, their character, and their survival instincts if they were to live.

The older Bertina, at thirteen, would have to become the leader, transmitting her unshakeable faith that they would survive their ordeal to her frightened nine-yr-old sister. In turn, the response of the younger girl, and the faith she reposed in her older sibling, would bolster Bertina’s spirit and inspire and encourage her to greater feats of endurance.

Before their journey ended they would have traversed over 200 miles of virgin rainforest, at the mercy of the elements, with all the inherent dangers of the deep rainforests – from the remote reaches of Essequibo to approximately 190 miles up the Berbice River – a mile away from the Lindo tributary.

They ate what they could, but their knowledge of the land and basic survival skills, inculcated from birth by the traditions of their aboriginal tribe, came to their rescue, resulting in their finding the “haiwa” wood to produce the most crucial requirement for their protection at night – light.

The girls staved off hunger by eating berries, peppers and fish caught by the traditional method. They remembered their tribe’s ancient skill of lighting an area of water with the “haiwa” wood to entice fish to the surface, then spearing them with a spear – in their instance with a cutlass.

The girls also had a miraculous escape from the claws and jaws of a jaguar and were forced to keep their terror at bay when they encountered the large snakes, crocodiles, and other large and dangerous denizens that proliferate in Guyana’s rainforests.

At one point they thought that they were about to be rescued. Hearing the sound of an engine their hopes soared as they walked quickly toward the sound and what they hoped would have been the end of their ordeal.

But as fast as they walked it was not enough and the frightening sounds of the rainforest enclosed them once again.

Rescue seemed near at hand once more when they stumbled upon a porknocker’s camp, but the camp had long been abandoned and was empty of any human presence. At nights they slung their hammock high in the trees to protect themselves from the many ever-existent perils threatening their survival every minute, with every step they took, and even in their sleep.

Many nights Bertina stayed awake for hours watching protectively as the exhausted Bernadetta slept the sleep of the innocent.

Meanwhile the girls’ parents were frantically looking for them and search parties were organized. The parents, accompanied by members of one search party went as far as Kurupukari – 60 miles from the Potaro River, but had to give up, not knowing what direction to take in the vast, dense rainforest.

Frantic messages were sent to relatives living in Georgetown in attempts to locate the uncle and girls, but to no avail.

Finally, at 5.50 p.m. on the third day of May, 31 days after they had left home, covered with mosquito bites and weak with hunger, Bertina and Bernadetta stumbled into a porknocker’s camp.

The astonished miners fed the girls and then took them into the city, where officialdom took over, affording them medical and other care.

Their rescuer, a miner named Gonsalves, said that the area in which they were found was so remote that hardly anyone ventured there.

The indomitable will to survive, their stoic resilience in the face of betrayal and overwhelming dangers, and the epic journey of these two fragile little ones is the stuff of which legends are made.

This was triumph of the human spirit against all odds. These two little girls were imaginative, resourceful, determined, tenacious, and, above all, courageous beyond the parameters of normal human endurance of body and mind.

To honour their resilience and courage in the face of danger and adversity, the Domingo sisters were deservedly conferred with a special award for courage during the 1996 investiture ceremony by then Executive President of Guyana, Dr. Cheddi Jagan.

They had also been awarded with a plaque saluting their bravery by the South Ruimveldt Policing Group.

Bertina and Bernadetta Domingo represent the best of the indigenous peoples of this land.

#over 200 miles and THIRTY DAYS #have you noticed how a majority of jungle survival stories are women #particularly young girls?

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harvardfineartslib · 7 months

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This year, we were thrilled to see María Berrío’s work at the ICA Boston. Berrío (born 1982) crafts her large-scale collage paintings through a unique, meticulous process of collaging torn pieces of Japanese paper with watercolor to create riveting, magical scenes. Some of the images in this post are from her exhibit at the ICA Boston.

Born in Bogotá, Columbia, María Berrío is a visual artist working in Brooklyn, New York. She grew up between a house in Bogotá and a farm in the Colombian countryside. Berrío came to the United States at the age eighteen to attend Parsons School of Design for her BFA, later completing her MFA at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan in 2007.

Berrío’s large-scale works reflect on cross-cultural connections and global migration, often highlighting women and children. She draws inspiration from her childhood memories and South American cultural roots and landscapes.

“Much of Berrío’s work centers on the themes of women’s resilience, immigration, and climate awareness. Elegantly intertwining these three concepts throughout her art, Berrío delves into the complexities of womanhood by showing the struggles, triumphs, and challenges that women face both in private spaces and in nature. Women and children are her primary subjects, and her own personal relationships with the environment and the landscape help shape her artistic approach.” (p.109, “María Berrío: Constructing a Community of Courageous Women through Collage”)

Image 1: Ozymandias, 2022 at ICA Boston

Image 2: Under Thatch and Autumn Star, 2022 at ICA Boston

Image 3: The Conference of the Sparrows, 2023 at ICA Boston

Image 4: María Berrío in her Brooklyn studio, NY (from “We are here: visionaries of color transforming the art world”)

María Berrío: Constructing a Community of Courageous Women through Collage Cushman, Emily COLLEGE PK: Feminist Studies, Inc Feminist studies, 2022, Vol.48 (1), p.108-132

We are here : visionaries of color transforming the art world Hernandez, Jasmin [(author, interviewer)] New York: Abrams, 2021. English 2021 HOLLIS number: 99155702467103941

#HispanicHeritageMonth #LatinxAndHispanicHeritageMonth #ColombianAmericanArtist #WomenArtist #MariaBerrio #HarvardFineArtsLibrary #Fineartslibrary #Harvard #HarvardLibrary #ICABoston

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cricketcat9 · 1 month

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Noe León, painter

The artist who painted the missionary and the jaguar is from Colombia. This is what I've found about him:

"He was born in 1907 in Ocaña, Colombia. He did not want to be a shoemaker like his father, so he was a garter player, a house painter, a driver and a police officer, until he realized that he could make a living from painting. He began selling his portraits of Colombian presidents, river landscapes and hunting scenes from door to door. Over time, he came to know the French painter Henri Rosseau, a pioneer of the naive style, who would exert a great influence on his work. He died almost without sight in 1978 in Barranquilla, surrounded by his wife Rosita Castillo and his pets, which he loved so much: eight of his own dogs and the occasional stray, several cats and lots of parrots."

#noe Leon #painter #colombian art

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deadhumourist · 2 years

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Night Release

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mention of firearms (once), Unprotected PiV sex, competence kink if you squint.

Rating: M, Explicit!

Summary: You need to ease some tension after a hard day on the mission.

A/N: Thank you to the loveliest @just-here-for-the-moment for reading this over, leaving comments with many profanities and generally being amazing.

Author Masterlist | Taglist

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It was a tough day. Shit, sitting around the campfire, you'll reluctantly admit that it was one of the toughest you've had in recent memory. As the group's subdued chatter filters through, you find you have very little to contribute.

The roaring fire eats at the wood, and mesmerized by the destructive hunger, you fall silent completely. Your teammates had been through this too many times to count and although every roll of the dice made their skin a little thicker, you know the kind of scars it could leave behind. Which is why they are so careful around you. They also know.

The new recruit, the woman, braving the mission in the heart of the Colombian jungle. You look up as the sky bruises a black blue into night and think how ironic it is that the lush, verdant landscape hides so many ugly secrets.

Santi had brought you in, vouched for you and swore up and down that your presence wouldn't be a problem for the guys. They were cool, he said. The first few days they tried to avoid you as politely as possible but on day four you start feeling his eyes on you. It’s careful at first, then becomes more observant, following you around like tracing a route on a map. Helping when you struggle, without saying anything or asking for more.

But you catch him frequently like you do tonight. The firelight betrays his longing glances to you and the ones you give back just as insistently.

Tonight you are too keyed up to be social, and you leave with an early goodnight. The tent, a good 30 feet out from the fire, offers a little shelter and privacy; you creep inside and zip up.

The bed roll isn't exactly comfortable but you try to unwind as best you can. Trying to remember some stretching exercises from a Pilates class now long gone, you ease onto the flat of your back.

You stretch your neck as far back as it would go. The stiffness dissolving from the tense muscles feels amazing and a ripple of pleasure cascades down your upper back.

Spurred on by the small frisson, your mind starts to tease out strings of little impressions of the day ,from the secret compartment in your brain that you only unlock after dark.

Of Frankie’s broad shoulders, the material of his button-up straining at his back. If you could just run your fingers across it to measure his strength in the language of your own hands.

Of Frankie’s profile, angular and soft and incredibly masculine all at once. The grey patches of stubble, a texture that begs for a soft caress. These thoughts drift into your mind like soft rainfall, and pool into a desire that you struggle to ignore for long.

Your hand lazily moves down to your thigh, playing over the smooth skin, finding the elongated muscles as you stretch even more. After being alert all day, coming back into your body feels good.

Almost absent-mindedly your hand traces your soft folds underneath the band of your underwear, and after a few strokes your finger starts edging your clit, earning a barely suppressed sigh of pleasure. You wonder what Frankie’s hands would feel like. If his large, strong hands would be gentle, the same hands that so capably held a firearm during the day.

That juxtaposition sends a shiver down your body, the idea that a man so competent could potentially be so gentle and explorative. With another few passes over your sensitive bud, a whimper escapes your lips. In the darkness behind your eyelids you imagine Frankie's beautiful face in front of you.

Then you’re ripped from your reverie by a tent zipper.

"Bonita, are you okay, are you hurt?" a breathless, low voice asks in the dark. He must have heard you.

You freeze like a spooked animal. With your heart beating out of your chest, you realise it’s do or die now. Much like it had been all day.

Getting up and leaning over, you cup the back of his neck and bring his face closer to yours.

"I'm so good Frankie." you purr.

Slotting your mouth to his, you taste remnants of the fire's smoke and heat on his lips. You chase the sensation and feel his tongue swipe across the open seam of your lips, parted in invitation.

Frankie crawls closer and with the practiced ease of a man who is used to multitasking, zips the tent up without breaking the kiss.

Sitting back on his haunches, he bodily grabs your ass with both hands and drags you up his thighs until you are flush with his body. With your legs firmly clinging to the outside of his, he growls into your mouth, his voice breaking slightly. "Fuck, please let me have you. Please. You're so fucking gorgeous."

You’re surprised that your army fatigues, t-shirt and sweaty brow could look good to him, but the thought leaves as quickly as it occurs.

His full lips are soft and gentle but his mouth loaded with intent as he kisses you. Tanned, muscular arms strain under his t-shirt as he pulls your hips into his. It allows you to grind against his straining length, seeking relief.

"Frankie I need you" you moan softly against his mouth and you take the plump bottom lip between your teeth, scraping it carefully and pulling a grunt from him. Your fingers scratch at his scalp, tugging at his unruly curls.

He lifts himself up and gently, cupping your back and head, lays you down on the bed roll.

Sliding your t-shirt over your head and tossing it aside, he reclaims your mouth. His large hand cups your breast, running a calloused thumb over your sensitive nipple and making it peak eagerly.

He breaks the kiss to nuzzle at your other breast, the grey stubble scraping over the soft flesh of your breast and sternum. He leans down and hungrily nips and kisses the tender swell of your breast, taking the pert nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. With the other hand he continues to knead you softly.

After a moment he looks at you like someone coming up for air. His eyes feral and dark, he reaches between you to pull your pants down and hurriedly unbuckles himself, the belt buckle clanging carelessly in the quiet space.

You can feel your heart beating out a brisk pattern in your ribcage, and your breath hitches as you feel Frankie's fingers swipe through your wet core.

Leaning on his left hand, planted like a pillar next to your head, he kneels down and lines his thick cock up with your pussy. He can feel himself right on the edge of losing control, your overwhelming softness and eagerness almost too much in this harsh environment.

The wide cock head catches on your entrance as he pushes in, and he leans forward, forehead resting on yours as he takes a beat to steady himself. Frankie is thick and your mouth opens in a silent protest at the devastating intrusion.

Frankie opens his eyes and finds yours, making sure you're ok as he pushes deeper. He looks down between you to see his cock disappear between your folds, before he feels your hand scraping against his chest.

"Fuck me Frankie, please. Hard as you can." you plead.

He kisses you hungrily before his hips seemingly start moving of their own accord. You struggle with his size for a few moments before the stretch gives way to a friction that sets your nerve endings alight. Frankie starts to build up a steady rhythm, and every time he bottoms out you can feel the delicious stretch of taking him to the root, with the wet slap of his balls against your ass.

The comforting weight of him on top of you grounds you and blankets you in a strange calmness, one that only comes from being consumed and claimed and left empty.

He angles his hips slightly upwards and it snaps you back to the present, as you feel his cock rubbing against the spot that amplifies everything tenfold.

The sensation is so intense you lose all focus and when he snaps his hips into yours sharply you bite down on his shoulder to not cry out.

He does it again.

Your nails scrape anguished indents against his broad back. If you draw blood he doesn't notice.

Again

You whimper loudly, a scream bubbling up in your throat and threatening to escape.

He fucks into you mercillesly, his pace hard and driving and desperate and you're teetering on the highest edge for just a moment before your orgasm slams into you like a freight train.

You thrash in the blinding heat and light of it, your hips bucking up to meet Frankie mid-thrust, your body demanding more.

The frantic chase catches up with him too, and with a cry muffled by your neck, he convulses almost painfully and shoots spurts of warm cum that coats the inside of your still-trembling pussy.

His thighs and ass strain in the low light of the tent as he pumps the last few drops into you, willing the high to last just a moment longer.

He collapses next to you but brings your hand with him and places it over his chest and onto his heart. It's racing, you muse.

After a few moments you unzip your sleeping bag until it's completely opened and flattened. You watch Frankie pull his pants up and he hands you yours to do the same.

A long beat passes.

"I'd like to stay, Bonita"

You reach over and cup his jaw with your hand, then you nod like the answer was always going to be yes.

Thanks for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

#frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction

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blossomroom · 2 years

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Casas y jardines ♥

Bogotá, Colombia, 2019

#bogotá #facade #houses and garden #vertical garden #climbing plant #fireplace #colombian landscape #urban landscape #houses #wooden windows

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fuluga · 6 days

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Hiii long post ahead~~ this is some random history and fun facts about my boss Luz! I keep drawing her so it was time for the info dump. Suggestions and feedback always appreciated! Parts of this are based on my Colombian family lore so LMAO

Luz Armando Vega-Luna

Pre-SR1

In the shadows of Colombia's lush landscapes, Luz was born into a world that refused to see her for who she truly was.

Luz's existence as Cesar felt like a prison, shackled by the chains of her religion and culture. From the moment she drew her first breath, she knew that she was different, a fact she couldn’t communicate that filled her with a seething, simmering rage that threatened to consume her and those around her.

In the tumultuous environment of her childhood home, Luz found herself locked in constant conflict with her mother, Maria, whose strict adherence to Catholicism strained their relationship. Luz's relationship with her sister Elena was marred by their mother's manipulations, pitting them against each other. However, amidst the chaos, Luz discovered solace in her bond with her father, Armando, who shared her love for cars, the outdoors, and music. Through these shared passions, Luz found temporary respite from the turmoil, finding moments of peace in the midst of the storm.

Despite her father's attempts to provide comfort and guidance, Luz could not escape the tragedy that loomed on the horizon.

One summer night, Luz awoke to a fire. As their home became a blazing inferno, Elena shielded Luz from the worst of the flames, but not without bearing scars of her own. Amidst the chaos of fleeing, tragedy struck with brutal finality as their father, Armando, fell victim to violence, his life extinguished in the kitchen of their burning home.

It was clear to Maria that Armando had involvement in illicit affairs and had drawn the wrath of dangerous forces, sealing his fate with a bullet to the skull. As Maria fled with her children in tow, the flames of violence and betrayal illuminated the darkness that had engulfed their lives. Luz found odd comfort in it.

In the aftermath of the tragedy, Luz, Maria, and Elena couch-surfed, aiming to cross the US border. Despite the hardships, Luz's relationship with Elena improved, finding comfort as Maria's influence waned. Luz found solace in the nurturing relationship with her older sibling where she could explore aspects of sisterhood that aligned with her true self with her sister’s support. Luz’s rage grew like a tumor, poisoning all that surrounded it as Elena began to have medical problems due to the fire. This sped up the households’ progress in crossing the border. Luz worked odd jobs to help out. Luz’s rage for the world only seemed to grow stronger as they got to the border.

After successfully crossing the border, Maria's online boyfriend who lived in Stillwater offered them refuge in his studio apartment, the pair of siblings unaware of the neglect and abuse that awaited them. It happened slowly but the two adults in the house were the worst of the worst. Trapped in a cycle of abuse, Luz found herself thrust into a nightmare of violence and trauma. She focused her skills on surviving and becoming stronger.

As Luz grappled with the tumult of puberty and the torment of their living situation, she flunked out of public school. She had a few friends but wouldn’t call any of them close. Her education was not amazing but she was exposed to many different types of people that helped her explore her identity. Despite Elena's attempts to intervene and guide her onto a different path, Luz found herself inexorably drawn into the dark underworld that surrounded them.

As Elena's health deteriorated, their abusers remained indifferent to her suffering, leaving Luz to bear the burden of their shared trauma and worry alone. When Maria finally took Elena to the hospital, Luz was left behind, consumed by a sense of abandonment and resentment towards her sister for getting to escape due to her illness.

Fueled by her rage and a desperate desire to escape, Luz plunged headlong into a life of crime and violence, navigating the treacherous streets of Stillwater in search of a way out. She made some friends, lovers, enemies. With each illicit act, she clawed her way towards independence, determined to carve out a new life free from the shackles of her past. Her personality shifted from pure rage to something more controlled and witty, using her rage as a well-placed weapon in place of an explosion of undiluted rage.

But even as she forged ahead, Luz remained tethered to her sister, sending her money and paying for the hospital stay. Her true vulnerability was Elena. Afraid of cursing or condemning Elena to death, Luz kept her distance and called her regularly in place of visiting.

In the grimy streets of Stilwater, Luz found a temporary reprieve from the suffocating weight of her past. Growing out her hair brought a measure of relief from her dysphoria, yet she continued to present as Cesar until she felt she amassed the resources and confidence to transition fully. Amidst the chaos, she explored new hobbies and worked to heal the wounds within herself, determined to forge a path towards authenticity and self-acceptance. Then she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and stumbled into joining the Saints.

SR1

I need to play the game more LOL. Luz loves being in the Saints. I do canon that Luz names herself Luz after seeing Luz Avalos and is like “this damn woman dont even know her shoes…. nice name tho I’m taking that lol” its not like anyone calls Luz by her name anyway as the Boss character but it’s still funny. Relationship wise I think she gets along with Johnny the most due to chaos factor. I am not super sure how she would be with Troy or Dex or the others yet I will add to this later! Definitely likes Lin and Aisha tho.

Random:

- Elena has burn scars from protecting Luz from the fire. She later develops medical problems due to her wounds and lungs from this event. Specifically, I think of scar contractures that cause her to need physical therapy due to constricted movement, COPD, and PTSD.

- Armando was a priest or some form of clergy member and not actually married to Maria. He faced criticism in the community for having children out of wedlock, not being married to Maria, and they were planning on moving near the time he was assasinated. He tried his best with Elena and Luz to not have them be shunned in the community. He was in the process of trying to get married, gaining money for it through illicit means, as Maria had given up, assuming his faith would be chosen over her so she dated around.

- Luz Age Timeline: 10-12 years old, the death of her father and escaping. 13-15 years old, the family couch surfs in Colombia and they make it over the US border. 16-18 years old, they move in with Maria’s boyfriend in Stillwater and Elena is admitted to the hospital. 19-20 years old, Luz leaves to get her own apartment and is a criminal. 21 years old is when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time and SR1 begins.

- Luz’s first acts of being a criminal are in car hijacking and fucking things up mechanically due to her childhood knowledge.

- Luz beats the shit out of her mother and the boyfriend as she collects her stuff when she moves out lol.

- Luz gets a tattoo to remember her father after she moves out from her mother’s boyfriend’s apartment as a respect to him and her new beginning. Maybe a candle or flame? This is also the start of Luz’s transition. She looks androgynous for the most part but does not fully transition until near the end of SR1 where she feels big and safe enough to pop on over and get the procedures and whatnot done to feel at peace. (Giant boobs) (Super bimbofication hell yes)

- Personality wise, Luz starts as a conduct disorder child that outwardly expresses pure unfiltered rage on anyone. She is pretty extroverted. As she ages she refines her rage into something digestible and uses it in more of a cocky way that is controlled. It’s still pretty easy to piss her off tho.

- headcannon Johnny does not give a fuck that Luz transitions because she’s still the same wild murder machine. “Ok new hair and name. Let’s go murdering” yass ally

- Adding on this: “Hey Johnny this is what post bottom surgery looks like” “Damn you got that thing designer? Cool” LMAOOO just buddies being buddies

- I do not think Luz is emotionally capable of romance apart from hookups in SR1 and before so she definitely sees everyone as homies. I do think her and Johnny are the closest in a bro way. I think her first romantic feelings moment is toward Carlos in SR2. Definitely want there to be a dynamic with Luz being kinda afraid to act on her feelings (i curse everything i touch) so she just doesn’t act and its mutual tension and well… Red Asphalt.

- Also foils of Johnny/Aisha-Boss/Carlos is fun so yeah their friendship strengthens by the end of it but I think they both get angry and push back at both traumatic events so there’s some angst there

- I want Luz and Johnny to get together eventually but I think its pretty down the line out as Aisha was the love of Johnny’s life and Luz respects it and has unresolved emotional issues following acting on her heart

- I like the nickname Luli for her

#saints row #luz vega boss #oc lore #headcanon

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findingnemosworld · 5 months

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𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐞𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 - 𝐜𝐞́𝐬𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐳𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐭𝐚

• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐦𝐞.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 ... 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐦*𝐭, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 🥺

he can still remember the very first day he met her — it was his first day on campus as part of his business management degree program, she’d been sitting under the tree reading a book, her silken locks flowing through the beautiful spring breeze, it looked like a painting of some sort that he couldn’t help but he entranced by.

it felt idiosyncratic in a way, he wasn’t the type to lose composure, be it on or off the pitch yet here he was, slowly but surely becoming hooked on an individual whom he hadn’t uttered a single syllable to, it seemed innocent at first, each day he would head to class he’d find her sitting there with a book in her hand and often times a cup of coffee.

four weeks … a complete month.

and he hadn't gathered an ounce of courage to approach her — throughout his time observing her, he’d discovered that they shared several classes, she was the independent owner of a landscape design company that had a moderate success which made sense given that the participants of that class were quite informative when it came to business.

he’d discovered so much and then some; yet he couldn’t bring himself up to speak to her. until …

he’d gotten to the lecture hall a bit late, the only seat available being that next to her — the mere fact he’d be sitting within close proximity had his cheeks redden as he carefully laid out his belongings, then offered her a sweet smile which she happily returned then shifted her focus back to the lecture.

every now and then, he’d steal a glance from her when he believed she wasn’t looking – it was rather arduous not to look at her as her beauty was akin to that of a beautiful spring breeze.

as the lecture concluded, he decided to try his luck and speak to her, " excuse me? " he said with a soft tone.

she looks up and smiles brightly, " hi " she said with a cheerful tone.

his heart had fluttered, her voice was gentle akin to a silken pillow one would rest their head on, " i … erm … " he chuckles nervously before adding. " i couldn’t help but notice how equipped you are about finance management and i was wondering if you’d be able to help me out because this is my first time "

she smiled softly, " of course … we can arrange study dates if you want? "

study dates, … no césar, don’t get too excited it’s just study dates. he chastised himself before smiling, " sure, here’s erm … here’s my number " he hands the piece of paper in which he had written his number.

" i’ll text you later to figure things out " she said with a soft tone before giggling and extending her hand, " where are my manners? hi i’m y/n l/n commonly known as y/n/n "

" nice to meet you " he grins shaking her hand, " césar azpilicueta, most people call me azpi "

" ah nice to meet you … latin american? " she wonders.

" likewise and erm … no, i’m uh … spanish actually " he chuckles softly.

" ooh … sorry about that " she said with an apologetic smile.

" don’t worry " he grins. " where are you from? your accent is … unique "

" not that unique " she states with a shy tone before adding. " i’m mixed, my father is german and my mother is colombian and because we moved in between, it kinda affected my accent "

" oh, that’s interesting " he states with an impressed expression, " and did you always live in the usa? "

she shakes her head and smiles, " i actually live in london "

his eyes widen, " really? so do i !! "

she grins, " yeah? what do you do there? "

he blushed from her inquiry, " i’m a … i’m a football player "

" really? oh my gosh i feel so stupid, i’m sorry i don’t keep up with local football or football in general, i’m always knee deep in work " she giggles.

jesus, what is it about her that’s driving me insane? he wonders before replying, " it’s fine, it’s actually good that you don’t " he chuckles.

" aw, fame huh? " she said sympathetically.

he nods softly, " well i better get going, don’t wanna hold you up any longer, i’ll see you around then "

" you most certainly will " she nods.

love is indeed unexpected, and for him — it’d taken a month and a half for him to realize that he wanted to be around her at all times, their study dates were refreshing, engaging in fruitful conversations that were either related to their lectures or just general topics, he found himself intrigued by her love for landscape design, and her several designs that were quite creative that he opted to make the passing comment of hiring her to design his back garden.

as time went on, he found himself seeking her presence further as their study dates developed into friendly encounters beyond the realm of school — there’d been moments where he wanted, no he ached to have her yet the prominent fear of rejection coupled with the fact that there was a significant decade age gap between them acted as a wall between them until … a study night had transformed into something more.

" what’s your biggest fear? " he had asked as the pair decided to end their study night with a glass of wine.

" i guess not being good enough at what i do, there’s a reason why i chose to be a landscape designer, we’re often so negligent that we forget to appreciate nature for what it is " she responds with a soft tone, " how about you? "

" me? " he reiterated and chuckled, " honestly, not being able to give back, it’s why i chose to complete my studies, i plan on opening up my own academy to ensure that these kids eric even more opportunities "

she cooed, " aw, that’s so sweet " she nudged him playfully then said. " you’ve got a good heart césar "

he blushed then murmurs, " thank you "

suddenly — a wave of silence falls over them before she broke it. " césar, it’s been nine months since we erm … and tell me that i’m the only one seeing it but, there is something between us, right? "

his eyes shot up; his face becoming as red as a tomato, " i … uh … " he rubs his neck then chuckles nervously, " yeah, but i didn’t want to admit it because of our age gap and the fact that you’re so amazing that i honestly felt insecure because i’m just a football player and you’re this whole other person, and right now i am losing all control here because i … i need you " he stated with a hoarse voice.

her eyes widen, " what? "

" i need you " he repeats the exacts same phrase, this time edging closer as his palm flat over her thigh sending shivers down her spine. " please "

she smiles softly, " i thought you’d never ask "

he closed the distance between them, placing a hand over the back of her neck, their lips devouring one another in a searing passionate kiss drawing out a muffled whine from her lips, a minute in he pulls back to whisper through ponderous breaths, " jesus, i’ve wanted to do that since the first time i saw you "

she beams as the atmosphere between became more passionate, she shuffled even closer until she straddles his lap, he placed his hands on her hips, desire flaming dancing within his cerulean irises, she leans in and whispers, " have you ever been controlled? "

he grunts in response, his pants becoming uncomfortably tight. " no, but there’s always room for experiment "

she smiles at his remark, her lips planting feather light kisses across his face down to his neck drawing out the sweetest melodious moans from his lips — " oh fuck " he whines, his eyes fluttering shut as she continued to lower her lips further down the exposed skin of his chest caused his breath to quicken.

" oh my … oh!!! " he whines, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. suddenly, without so much as a warning, his cock is freed of the confinement of his briefs, " oh amor … oh fuck me " he moans at the sensation of her lips and tongue wrapping around the entire length of his cock whilst she used her hand to stroke the rest.

his hand lands at the top of her head, his digits threading through her silken locks, " oh my .. you’re so good at that, don’t stop " he whispers, heaving ponderous breaths.

her eyes shot up to relish in the erotic sight of him withering and squirming under her touch, suddenly she decided to push her luck by using her tongue to lick the prominent veins which caused him to thrust his hips forward and whine, " jesus amor "

she proceeded to up the pace, using both her tongue and lips as well as her hand which in turn caused his muscles to tense, his cock twitching inside of her mouth releasing ropes of arousal down her throat, she lapped up every drop then pulled back, " do you feel good? " she whispers pressing tantalizing kisses across the length of his inner thigh.

he chuckles breathlessly, caressing her hair before replying. " i feel amazing, now would you mind coming up here "

she climbed up and was tugged into his lap before he began to press kisses over the top of her chest before nuzzling his face in her neck to catch his breath and that’s when she felt something wet against her neck, his body breaking down in silent sobs, which confused her for a brief moment; just then, she decided to rub his back gently, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, he then lifts his face to reveal his tear stained face, " i love you " he whispers.

she smiled softly then wiped his tears – " i love you too "

perhaps it didn’t hurt to lose control every once and a while.

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infodailyblog · 4 months

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Do you know about Pablo Escobar White House?

Title: The Unraveling Myth: Pablo Escobar and the Alleged White House Connection

Introduction:

Pablo Escobar, the infamous Colombian drug lord, is a name that resonates with notoriety and intrigue. While his criminal empire and life of excess have been well-documented, a persistent rumor continues to circulate in certain circles – the alleged connection between Pablo Escobar and the White House. In this article, we delve into the fascinating tale that suggests a nexus between the drug lord and the heart of American political power.

Pablo Escobar: A Brief Overview:

Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria, born on December 1, 1949, rose to prominence as the head of the Medellín Cartel, one of the most powerful drug cartels in history. Operating during the late 20th century, Escobar became infamous for his involvement in the cocaine trade, amassing immense wealth and power while leaving a trail of violence and corruption in his wake.

The White House Connection:

The alleged connection between Pablo Escobar and the White House is a narrative that has captured the imagination of conspiracy theorists and true-crime enthusiasts alike. According to some accounts, the drug lord purportedly had ties to high-ranking officials within the U.S. government, suggesting a level of collusion that went beyond the typical narrative of law enforcement battling drug traffickers.

While concrete evidence supporting this claim is notably lacking, the speculation gained traction during the 1980s when the war on drugs reached its zenith. As the U.S. government intensified efforts to combat drug trafficking, rumors of covert dealings and unholy alliances between Escobar's cartel and influential figures in the political landscape began to circulate.

The Plausibility Question:

Critics argue that the alleged Pablo Escobar White House connection lacks credibility, pointing to the absence of solid evidence and the dubious nature of the sources propagating the story. It is essential to approach such claims with a critical eye, especially given the propensity for conspiracy theories to thrive in the absence of verifiable facts.

The Legacy of Escobar:

Regardless of the veracity of the White House connection, there is no denying the impact Pablo Escobar had on the landscape of international drug trafficking and the socio-political climate of Colombia. His life and crimes have inspired countless books, movies, and documentaries, cementing his legacy as a figure of both terror and fascination.

Conclusion:

The alleged connection between Pablo Escobar and the White House remains an intriguing footnote in the complex narrative of the drug lord's life. While the story lacks conclusive evidence, it serves as a testament to the enduring allure of conspiracy theories and the shadows that often shroud the lives of infamous individuals. As with many tales of this nature, separating fact from fiction requires a discerning eye and a commitment to unraveling the truth from the layers of myth that surround figures like Pablo Escobar.

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