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whoppert · 3 months

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Sunna 8 (loki/reader) (stephen strange/reader)

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3087 words

warnings: the after effects of mind violation; vomit (not ED related); canon-typical violence.

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When I awake, it's deep into the night. The air was hot and muggy, and in my uneasy sleep I had almost garroted myself, my sheets coming untucked and twisted tightly around my middle. In a weak attempt to detangle myself, I roll too close to the edge of the bed, flopping onto the hard, wooden floor, my hands and knees screaming.

Why is everything such a mess? I think, pressing my face into the linen to muffle my groan.

The house is silent, overly so. Following Gorron’s advice, Wong had departed on some mission to find a mind magician good enough to help me and in the few days since that night I hadn’t seen Stephen at all. The risk of running into him had made me too anxious to leave my bedroom, so like the mature adult I am I resort to sneaking into the the kitchen for food. My headaches have gotten much worse, but I can’t face Stephen to get help. Stephen hasn't sought me out either. I guess he's trying to give me space.

AO3

Mercifully, despite the discomfort of the floor, it's still much cooler than the air.

“I’m such an idiot,” I mutter. Every time I think about it, an acute embarrassment hits me like a train. Why had I kissed him? Stephen was a friend trying to help me through what may be the worst time of my life, and I had been foolish enough think we were having a moment.

In my exhausted state, it's easy to just fall asleep on the floor.

What must have been a few hours later I am drawn from my slumber, nauseous and sweating. I'm up quicker than I can move my limbs, tripping over the sheets and producing a loud thump as I fall on my face, gagging and dizzy, but I free myself, bursting through the door to my ensuite, and vomit into the toilet. All I had been eating recently was cereal, and said cereal is being hurled up into the bowl. I'm shaking and shivering, arms resting on each side of the seat for support. The burn radiates through my aching chest, which seizes with every violent retch.

A hand pats me on the back, but I am too busy hurling my guts up to acknowledge it. It's joined by another hand which gathers my hair back, securing it in place. After a few moments of dry heaving and coughing, I spit out the last of the vomit and turn to find Wong at my side. He pushes a glass of water into my hand, and I gargled it.

“Brush your teeth,” Wong instructed, “do you think you could shower too?”

I nodded and he stood up, turning the shower on with magic and handing me my toothbrush, prepared with paste. Wong departed the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

The tile was cool beneath me and by the time I had stepped into the shower the water is too hot. When I finish, I pull the shower curtain back to find a clean towel and set of pajamas in the steamy room.

Stepping into my room to find the mess tidied, my bed made and the window open. If I had possessed more energy, I might have gawked at the sight.

Wong appears, coming through the door. “Sit.”

I do so, slumping into the armchair by the window to take advantage of the influx of cool air. Wong places a tray of porridge, fruit and a large glass of orange juice on the side table and my stomach audibly groans at the sight. The silver tray glints in the dull light.

“Eat.”

Wong waited in silence until I make it through the meal, before disappearing with the dishes and returning with a large drink bottle of chilled water.

“What have you been eating since I’ve been gone?” he asks, dropping into the other armchair with a sound that suggested he desperately needed to sit down.

“Mostly cereal,” I replied.

Wong sighs incredulously, “that’s all Stephen’s been feeding you?”

“Not strictly speaking.”

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

There are many ways that you can describe Wong. His body was made up of curves and soft lines, and yet every part of him radiates sharpness, not in an unfeeling way, but in the practical, no-nonsense way a scalpel does. The man across from me contains magnitudes, infinitely powerful, and yet gentle enough to handle Latpian moths. “I have been out chasing leads for days. I’m exhausted. I’m grumpy. Tell me what you mean right now.”

“I kissed Stephen.”

Wong blanched, “oh. Congratulations.”

“Are not necessary,” I press my face into my palms. “I thought we were- well I don’t know what I thought, but I must have misread the situation because he made it very clear that I had overstepped a boundary. He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

Wong’s eyebrows knitted together, but not in sympathy as I had expected. Rather he looked annoyed.

“Sorry, that’s probably T.M.I.-”

“No, that’s not- so you’ve just been in your room this whole time I’ve been gone?”

I nod.

“And he hasn’t checked on you?”

I shake my head.

“At all?”

I repeated the action. I am getting the impression I have gotten Stephen into a lot of trouble.

“You’re incredibly ill and he’s too embarrassed to check on you?”

“I mean, it’s my fault too, I haven’t exactly sought him out.”

“That shouldn’t matter, you’re his responsibility to- he needs to grow up,” a groan, and a shaken head. “Can’t leave the house for one second without it all turning to chaos.”

“Where did you go?” I ask, desperate for a change in subject.

Wong took a deep breath, “searching for anyone that might be able to look through your brain and figure out who put the enchantment on you in the first place. I spoke to a great many mystics.”

“Did you find anyone?”

“Perhaps. It depends on your opinion.”

“I’m not sure I'm qualified.”

Leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs, Wong begins, “Stephen and I have been searching for someone that might be able to help you, but we've had a… disagreement about how to proceed. Stephen has been making his own communications from the Sanctum to various magical beings, but truth be told, he has been unsuccessful. Wanda has vanished, Master Xiong is busy and Onye is off-realm,” he rubs his temples. “I took it upon myself to try a different path. I’ve visited Asgard, drawing up an agreement.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but Wong raises his hand.

“What Loki did to you was- what I mean is that this is not something I am being flippant over. Stephen doesn’t know that I went to talk with Loki about this. In fact, he expressly forbade me from doing so. It is something we have clashed over.”

That’s why they were fighting.

“I disobeyed a command from the Supreme,” Wong sighs. “As far as the ethical ramifications of my actions... I will only bring Loki here if you give me permission, but before you make a decision, allow me to plead my case.” He pauses, waiting for my invitation, and I give it to him. “Loki, despite his faults, is one of the most powerful mind mystics in the realm. We might be able to find someone else that could do the work in your psyche, but we don’t know if they will be successful. I am concerned that waiting to act might have long-term consequences on your mind.”

“Well, that’s valid, I guess. I'm not mad that you talked to him or anything. I’m terrified about how this might affect me, and..” I trail off, searching for the right words to describe how I feel, an impossible task. “Ever since my rendezvous with Gorron, my perspective on the incident has shifted a little.”

“I didn’t know that Stephen had managed to secure a meeting with Gorron at such short-notice.”

How that little worm, pardon, grub, had such prestige amongst sorcerers, I will never know. “Yeah, I assumed that’s why you went to Asgard?”

“No, I must have departed before. What did Gorron have to say?”

It takes a few moments to get Wong caught up, but by the end of it, he looks thoughtful. “When I visited Asgard, I met with King Thor and told him your story. He was very sympathetic. A big focus of the new king has been maintaining good relations with Earth, so he called Loki to the throne room to defend himself.”

I listen intently.

"Loki insists that the damage was not his fault. He posits that he hasn't seen this happen in a thousand years of mind magic. He could have been lying, but with Gorron's confirmation... If you had not have this mystery enchantment place upon you, it's unlikely that Loki's involvement would have harmed you."

There is a potent mix of emotions swirling inside of me. On the one hand the idea of seeing Loki again, and allowing him such intimate reign over my head is nerve-wracking, but on the other hand, Wong has a point. For a second I swear I can feel Loki's cold hand on my arm.

"We can do it here, at the Sanctum?"

Wong nods.

"And Stephen?"

"You just focus on getting well."

"He's going to hate me if I agree to bring Loki back here."

"He does not hate you at all."

"I'm not happy about it, but I want Loki’s help.”

"There's more. Rather ambitiously, Thor is hoping to make Loki his ambassador to Earth. Something about a new era of public relations for Asgard."

"Well, if Loki is going to continue to act the way he does, they are going to have a hell of a time repairing his image."

"Quite," Wong agrees, "even though Loki wasn't at fault for your injuries, Thor was very angry for his involvement. He ordered Loki to help, and they argued as only brothers can, but Thor is his king, and his word is law bound in Odinmagic. There was some concession though. Loki was allowed to ask for something in return, something to make up for the inconvenience. An embassy, here on Earth."

There is a long pause before I get it. "Wait, here? The Sanctum?"

Wong cringes, "it was the only way to get him to agree. If he helps, Loki will have a right to this house for one year."

"Well, that sucks."

Wong stayed longer than expected, but the company was much appreciated. The sun was tugging at the edges of the sky by the time he departs. In the time I had known him, I had befriended a very unique version of Wong. I was essentially nothing to him, just a stranger from the street that had found their home at the Sanctum, much like a stray animal, and therefore there was little need to maintain his reputation. He is solemn, yes, but he is also friendly and incredibly fed up - all he wants is a little peace and quiet.

I pull myself together. This is my house too. Even if I had humiliated myself in front of Stephen, I can sit in the library. I probably won't even see him.

The artifacts drew me to the Sanctum, but it was the library that kept me hostage. Thousands upon thousands of books, crammed into the space, shelves teetering so dangerously they could only have been held up by magic. Unstable stacks taller than I am all over the floor. The arm chairs are comfortable, but in order to be a touch more conspicuous, I choose to sit at the bay window. It has a rich brown leather seat but with a pattern on its skin like peacock tail feathers; the hide of an animal I couldn’t identify. My favorite place to read. I selected the most interesting looking book from the pile stacked nearest, and settled in to read. The title is in cuneiform, but the gilded remnants of an old translation spell still lingered on the page.

Before long, I hear the soft padding of bare feet, and a freshly woken sorcerer appears, cutting through the library for quicker access to the kitchen. In his groggy state, Stephen didn’t notice me. The adrenaline rush subsides after a few minutes.

An hour passes, and I am stuck trying to decipher one line. If one cannot decide between the fruits of his labors and the cut of meat on the slab, the meat shall rot and become unclean. Since the beginning of living memory, the fruit has always been rancid. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Normally, Stephen helped with the indecipherable stuff. Even just talking it over helped. I debated whether the translation spell had become too worn to work correctly, the page didn’t seem to flow as it should.

Another set of footsteps echo through the library, and Stephen, who again hadn’t seemed to notice me, wanders in. He hovers at the bottom of one of the shelves, before the radiant glow of his magic floated him upwards out of sight. When he returned he held a book in his hands.

His feet made purchase with the ground and I watch him visibly tense as he notices me.

“How long have you been there?”

“All morning.” There it was again, that wave of embarrassment. I can’t believe I was so stupid to think that he might be interested in me. I turn my face back to the book to hide the blooming warmth there.

“Oh.”

There is a long awkward pause as he stands, watching as I clearly don’t continue reading. I try to focus my brain on the words, but I'm tired and my head throbs.

“How have you been feel-” but Stephen cut himself off when another presence joined us.

Wong and Stephen nod, but neither say anything.

The embarrassment in my gut turns to guilt. They weren’t talking because of me, because they’d had a fight about me.

Again no one spoke, and again no one was fooled by my reading act.

After what felt like an age, Stephen said, “well… back to work,” and walked out of the room rather stiffly.

Wong waits for the Sorcerer Supreme to be out of earshot before speaking. “Loki will be here soon. I need to know now if you’ve changed your mind.”

I shiver. “I haven’t, but what are you going to do about-”

“I will handle Stephen.”

The yelling tips off Loki's arrival.

Peeling out of the library and into the front room, I rush towards the sound, my stomach twisted in knots. I stop dead outside the door, which had been left carelessly flung open.

A glowing light is wrapped tight around Stephen’s fist and he swing at Loki, who doesn’t so much as flinch. Wong is between the pair in a second.

“What the fuck is he doing here, Wong?”

“I told you-” Wong began but was cut off.

“And I told you-”

No one seemed to notice my presence.

“So passionate, Strange,” Loki drawls, head cocked to the side, hands strung nonchalantly in his pockets.

Stephen lurches forward, but Wong holds him back with a palm on his chest.

“Careful,” said the prince, “don’t want to give the impression that you have other options. Might make me feel like I’m not needed here.” Despite the air of magic around him, Loki just didn’t seem to fit inside the Sanctum Sanctorum - his magic a different origin, of a different realm. Even with Stephen's threats, he's at ease.

“You aren’t needed here.”

“She’s only getting worse, Stephen," Wong interjects.

“He did this to her!”

"I did no such thing," Loki snaps, like the suggestion that he had caused this damage genuinely offended him. "Say it again and I will pull your tongue from your throat."

Wong ignores Loki. “He didn’t do this, Strange, and you know it. Gorron confirmed it.”

“He still forced himself into her mind-!”

"Yes, yes, he did," Wong appeals, "but she agreed to this. She wants to try."

“Shall I come back later?” Loki says with rolling eyes. “Wait until she’s on the verge of death? Until you have to come crawling on your hands and knees begging for my help to unscramble her mind? Leave it until then, and I'll say no, deal or no deal.”

For a second it was like everyone was frozen, and then a portal opens at Wong’s feet and he falls through before he can stop himself. A burst of orange the size of an anvil flies at Loki, who just managed\s to swipe it away at the last second. Loki sends the energy flying back at Stephen in razor-sharp shards of green. The shield absorbs most of the impact, but a few of the shards skate past Stephen, and through the open door towards me. I try to phases, but I just can't, can’t even move as I watch them fly at me almost in slow motion, growing larger and larger.

An open hand from Stephen sends a disk of energy at my torso, pushing me out of the way. I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath until the disk pushes the gasp from me, stumbling back several feet.

“Here is my patient now,” Loki turned smoothly on his heels. “A pleasure, as always.”

I didn’t greet him.

“Is it true? You agreed to this? To his help?” Stephen faces me, taking several steps towards me, his voice considerably quieter than moments ago. Hot anger had gone icy.

I nod, sheepishly.

The emotions that rolled across Stephen’s face were too quick for me to identify. His eyebrow raises, and he swallows whatever it was he was going to say and shook his head. “Fine.”

Behind him, Loki looks overjoyed with the drama, his emerald eyes bright with pure excitement. There is something about him that make it impossible to get a read on him, like a cat playing with its food, and it twists a knot in my stomach.

Am I making a mistake?

Stephen steps sharply away, arms folded against his chest and freeing up the direct line between Loki and myself. I try to make eye contact with Stephen, but he's too angry to look at me. It stings like a wasp.

After a few moments of silence, Loki clapped his hands together, delighted. “Right! Shall we begin?”

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#marvel au #loki #doctor strange #marvel #mcu #marvel comics #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #stephen strange #the avengers #loki series #multiverse of madness #loki odinson #stephen strange x reader #dr strange #wong

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queermetalgremlin · 7 months

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SAW X SPOILERS AHEAD:

Saw X's humanization of John Kramer is a double-edged sword: on one band we have the best John Kramer we've ever seen, on the other we have a fucking hypocrite that was ready to sacrifice himself (thus ignoring his will to live) for a kid he barely knew while forcing Zepp to kill Lawrence's family in case Gorron failed, including his daughter.

His excuse for this contradiction was that Carlos was innocenti, which, y'know, is true, but guess what? Diana Gordon was too, so John's logic falls apart. I think he might see Diana as a "collateral damage", but if that's the case then i can't possibly believe the "actually a good guy" act Saw X tries to sell us. He's a monster, period.

#saw spoilers #saw x #saw x spoilers #sawposting #john kramer

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screechingmusicstarfish · 11 months

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This post is about my botw x XYZ crossover au

The pre-calamity everything is the same, but the kalos squad are there

Ash is a raven haired rito and looks up to Revali and Teba and he’s Teba’s adopted son, Tulin’s adoptive older brother,Tulin looks up to him,Revali and Teba

Serena is a honey, blonde zora and everyone wants her to be Mipha’s successor, but she wants to be her own self

Clemont is a Sheikah and is Robbie’s apprentice and is fascinated in Sheikah technology

And Bonnie is a Goron

Serena still has a crush on ash

Clemont and Bonnie are still siblings because their father is a Gorron and their mother is a Sheikah which makes them half Sheikah and half Goron

The champions including Link and Zelda are still there so their story still goes the same

And the Kalos squad are childhood, best friends and are younger during before the calamity but they grow up during and after the calamity when they both grow up ash and serena get together because I ship them

also, Ash has the ability to transform into a Hylian retriever and Serena has the ability to transform into a cat

and that’s about it, I think until I finish breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom that is and if anyone wants to make fanfics,fanart,roleplays or aus about this au

please tell me in the comments for permission! Because I would really like it!

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abracadannieltherelentless · 9 months

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“I Left My Heart In Skaftafell”: Social Commentary Elevated By Fantasy Literature

Fantasy has evolved over time and served many purposes, whether that be social, escapism, or anything in between. Victor LaValle, who has published works such as “The Changeling” and “Big Machine”, is no stranger to modern fantasy. “I Left My Heart In Skaftafell”, published originally in Daedalus in 2004 and then revised for Mothership: Tales from Afrofuturism and Beyond, presents a easily readable, thought provoking story full of social commentary while still remaining a fantasy tale. While the tale seems different from that of classic fantasy, the work fits perfectly with the conventions of modern fantasy.

“I Left My Heart In Skaftafell” presents the story of an unknown narrator traveling to Europe. While not much is known about our narrator, we do know that he is a male black American who left his partner after having an almost prophetic dream of travel to Iceland. When there, our narrator notices that people treat him differently due to a combination of the color of his skin and his nationality. However, he notices that a troll seems to be following him the whole way through his journey. Finally confronting Gorron (the troll) on why he is everywhere the narrator is, Gorron just states simply that he is going to kill and eat our narrator. Engaging in a battle the next day on the top of a mountain, Gorron and our narrator become calcified in an eternal struggle, preserving this issue for eternity which some write off as a hoax.

The overarching theme of the story lies in racism, using a mix of literal language and symbolism in order to describe the general African American experience and the experience in Europe as well. LaValle intentionally chose Iceland as a destination due to the lack of diversity present, showing the majority of white people acting overly nice towards our narrator or interacting with him hesitantly because of his race and nationality. Even when encountering other black individuals, they do not offer the companionship the narrator wishes they did: “In Reykjavik I went bonkers trying to get a little love from any one of them. Nothing. Not even the faintest soul-brother nod.” The main focus of this theme, however, lies in the troll that is following our narrator. It is likely that LaValle uses this character of Gorron as a representation of racism and prejudice. This is due to the troll always being present in the narrator's time in Iceland, following and making him uncomfortable with his presence alone. In addition, no one really reacts to the troll except for our narrator, showing the reader that Gorron does not present a threat to the majority of white people on this journey but to only the one black man. When the troll becomes a greater threat to our narrator, that’s when we see this theme pick up. Knowing that something is looming and not knowing when or where it could lethally strike is very comparable to the threat of racism anywhere in the world, especially to an isolated black individual. The ending battle between our narrator and Gorron sums up the theme well: the struggle with racism will always be present and while some may believe that racism doesn't exist in today’s society, that just shows their privilege of not being discriminated against or even hunted down like our narrator for just existing.

While racial issues are the overarching theme of this story, a sub theme of gender is apparent. Near the end of the story, our narrator says “In my experience there seemed to be only two kinds of men–brooders and brats.” I feel that I can relate to this as most of the men in my life seem to be brooders, not sharing much emotion or outwardly expressing themselves and furthering the social stigma of this line. In addition to this line, our narrator mentions sex with women several times, reassuring the reader that he wasn’t just here for sex or that he doesn’t want to have sex with this married woman he meets. I found this a little odd. The lines that mention sex seem very out of place and really didn’t need to be included but with that, why did LaValle include them? Was it to say that our narrator was coming to Iceland with pure intentions? Our narrator also mentions his anxiety of marriage, stating “I saw marriage in my lane and I swerved.” The mention of the woman he almost married comes along again later as well, showing that he couldn’t even face up to him leaving so suddenly but it makes me a little curious about his life before Iceland.

To add to the amazing social commentary, this story is very easy to read. This is due to the fact that it is in first person and really puts you into the world of our narrator. The literary structure felt very digestible due to the relative shortness of paragraphs. It is not preferable for me to read very long paragraphs, as I find myself getting bored and despondent quickly. This story, however, kept my attention the whole time I was reading and invested me heavily in this seemingly simple plot. Nothing in this story felt rushed and the story felt wrapped up by the end, leaving no plot holes and explaining almost every detail of the narrator's motivation for and throughout his journey. This all combines together to make a wonderful short story that is well worth reading.

The pacing for this work is great as well, not spending too much time in one place and only leaving in details that are important to the plot. I really enjoy the cuts that LaValle uses to present relative information, revealing only what he wants to the audience to keep us reading.

However, with the excellently crafted theme of global racial issues and gender, the easy readability, and the great pacing that LaValle presents in just this short work, it is one of my favorites that I have read in fantasy literature so far. I am very excited to read more from this very talented author and explore his works!

Works Cited

LaValle, Victor. “I Left My Heart in Skaftafell.” The Big Book of Modern Fantasy, edited by Ann VanderMeer and Jeff VanderMeer, Vintage Books, 2020, pp. 723-731

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gite-milvain · 1 year

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Wild boar seen 2km west of Gorron this a.m. No photo (driving) so here are some flower pics instead q

#france #wildlife #wild boar #flowers

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danataiko · 2 days

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CAPÍTULO 2 EL CASO DE CORÍN TELLADO

Como ejemplo de la falta de formación sexual que perduraría en la clase media española hasta casi nuestros días citaremos el caso de la novelista Corín Tellado que, paradójicamente, fue la guía sentimental, a través de sus ficciones, de millones de mujeres españolas y sudamericanas.

Corín vivía en Gijón, sin mucho trato social debido a su carácter retraído. Después de que su novio de toda la vida aprovechara un enfado no tan pasajero para casarse con otra, Corín, despechada, decidió matrimoniar «con el primero que llegue». Había cumplido treinta y dos años, una edad a la que, en 1959, una mujer se consideraba solterona.

«En aquel tiempo veraneábamos en Viavélez con la familia, pero ese verano decidí quedarme sola en Gijón. […] Una tarde de domingo en que había decidido no salir sonó el timbre y cuando abrí la puerta me encontré al que sería mi marido: Domingo Egusqui Fangroniz, alto, fuerte, buen mozo, dotado de sonrisa pronta, amable y educado. Me explicó que se estaba celebrando en Gijón la Feria de Muestras, que él era agente comercial colegiado, que trabajaba en una empresa de aspiradoras y que aquel domingo había decidido dejar la feria e intentar vender por las casas. Me causó buena impresión que trabajara en domingo, así como el hecho de que fuera vasco. Yo había vivido una temporada en Bilbao, y todo lo vasco me parecía fuerte, limpio, honesto…

»Lo hice pasar a mi despacho, una estancia bien amueblada, con mesa, sillones, sofá y estantería abarrotada de libros, que comunicaba con mi habitación a través de un arco. Simpatizamos y la conversación derivó hacia otros derroteros: qué haces, estás soltera…

»Le dije quién era y lo que hacía. Hablamos de mil cosas. No es que yo apreciara en él una inteligencia superior, pero sí la discreción, pulcritud y educación, que eran para mí cualidades imprescindibles en un hombre. Hablando, hablando, no conectamos siquiera la aspiradora, así que lo emplacé para otro día.

»Fuimos a playas, bailes…, nos divertimos juntos […] Domingo era católico practicante, de Acción Católica, de misa y comunión diaria. Comulgábamos juntos y yo lo veía tan atento y concentrado, rezando, con su ropa impecable, su limpieza absoluta. […]

»Tenía treinta y dos años, una edad a la que la sociedad consideraba que a una mujer soltera se le “había pasado el arroz”, y estaba cansada de ser la rica de la familia bajo cuyo alero se refugiaban familiares gorrones que pensé que, al formar una familia aparte, me dejarían tranquila»[9].

Corín y Domingo se casaron en 1959, en Covadonga, ante la Santina, la patrona de Asturias.

«Llegué virgen al matrimonio. Hoy pienso que la mujer debería llevar una vida intensa, incluso azarosa, antes de estabilizarse en una pareja. En mis tiempos eso era impensable.

»Domingo era tan virgen y tan inexperto como yo. Nos fuimos de luna de miel y tardamos tres días en consumar el matrimonio. Él alegaba que yo tenía no sé qué infantil, que no servía[10].

»Estábamos en Santander, en el hotel Bahía. Lo mandé a consultar con un médico, a ver si era yo la anormal o era anormal la situación. Fue. Yo me quedé en el hotel, esperándolo. El médico le dijo que lo raro sería que entrase en su esposa como Pedro por su casa siendo ella virgen. Ni siquiera se dio cuenta de que le estaban elogiando a la mujer. Regresó con un libro sobre sexualidad, que yo ya había leído. A mí me dio la risa, pero lo solucionamos y seguimos el viaje de novios hasta Cádiz.

»Descubrí mi propia fogosidad mi pasión soterrada que hasta entonces no se había manifestado, oculta como estaba por una educación represiva. Él aceptó que yo tomara la iniciativa. Sabía que había llegado virgen al matrimonio y no tenía motivos para sospechar de que mi actitud desinhibida procediera de experiencias anteriores. Así, por lo menos, disfruté del sexo. Él, menos. Si yo no hubiera estado tan ciega me habría percatado de su ambigüedad».

#lujuria #juan eslava galán #corin tellado #pecados capitales

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444names · 4 months

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Names generated from Tolkienesque and Indian forenames, + the Ayleidoon language dictionary

Abagolda Abalnen Abaran Ablrota Abluccassit Abluglast Acemnoros Admangalaj Adorila Afere Agana Aganduglúk Agavarm Agoth Agrómiarwee Aguilg Ajagladhiti Aldag Alepamille Alorn Amaywasfax Amina Anardav Anarlaebris Anation Anbhurcepin Ancrin Anerb Anfaegonds Anihame Ankil Anotherani Aphare Aragiondish Arally Aranehary Arataphan Arataste Aration Ardindiil Argor Ariel Arlava Aronlight Asseakumn Aston Atand Aunenout Aurcee Aurible Avard Avarinquena Avrun...

Bagel Balce Baranboseet Bardaegnir Barjulast Befin Belimbilla Beorika Berear Betambel Bethusini Betype Bhahin Bhaleglór Biftes Bijuhúring Bilinsic Bisel Bombecal Bompood Bornus Bragalips Brahelcomen Brises Brooka Bríma Bëore Bëorn Cabjitaram Calatyattea Calfhecti Callor Calob Carion Carmaryont Celialli Celmor Ceoro Chorinach Comer Comitarch Coundil Courandra Dacey Darge Deepereel Derecurel Desmeli Devald Dilbêthrór Dinanyanien Dionancre Dranda Drinst Ducan Duinjita Egashills Eirieleeman Elenaht Elloro Elmost Elynating Emine Endil Endramerda Erwentin Evane Eäreepask Eäreglór Eärwin Fallecution Fandransta Ferweli Finduranto Forions Forva Frefore Fregua Fréagessë Fréal Fuinoth Garada Gassë Gavic Gertsil Ginbutakesh Ginguesha Gliel Golacel Golfatim Golfhendery Golloron Golór Gondipt Gonly Gorrone Gramir Grayon Grignu Guníni Gwallanceso Haelrok Hallvenoss Haminkietas Haninseng Hanáribica Harajit Hatanya Herces Herul Hiebor Hindiseaksh Hinesh Hingua Hipalamlor Holast Holór Horalk Hring Húrien Húrim Húrist Idrattingur Imiss Impos Imrion Inammogge Inbut Inemer Inges Ingur Inslifext Itypical Jalhor Jayll Jorin Joulë Jundoc Kanalbêther Karouna Karva Kazile Knitarunane Krair Ladorin Lairy Lajach Lambur Lated Latteld Lausmalicu Lialcalas Liawikes Libûn Liell Lized Lizesplaj Logumet Lonts Lorammere Lorms Lorth Lorwar Lothikamin Lucca Lyamronwë Lúthmor Madvea Maelet Mages Maldbeidel Maldoessaks Malganaz Malier Mallvel Manitexced Maran Marationts Mariki Mathmit Mayadrandre Mayan Mayasel Meder Medranupik Mendant Merane Mersalath Migrímage Mileendendi Minzi Mirazôr Miregor Mirms Morad Moria Moros Moroums Mushosel Muthéod Mírdarar Nadmathab Nagal Nalasti Naldo Nallority Nalmondirë Namels Nasish Nathlasta Nenacan Nendranata Nendrie Niesh Nitwyll Nomel Norvar Notion Numand Nupine Nyajitejal Nyeint Náricuvwxyz Nínind Obijklme Objes Oblech Offiely Oheldis Oherwinesh Olavar Orvene Ostedripate Oumea Padaryll Pagges Palion Paliry Palphavi Pamraph Pananita Pandramir Parde Phabare Phand Pluingainaz Plyedeads Postohin Prativen Prear Prindil Prine Protive Prouta Puzzlet Quagríman Racend Ragess Rahta Rajar Rakis Ralast Ramer Rapher Rarahel Rassit Ratar Raterwely Recash Rectar Redirly Reephow Refexantani Regolca Relkazagal Relogilog Relrok Reptionst Revolwall Riarviti Rielvea Rikis Rosspwik Rulthard Safte Sagasern Sahin Sahlnardave Saksh Salcomel Saliendil Sancal Sanconured Sardia Scani Secala Seencally Sekhbialaug Seled Seleemarya Shakha Shald Shanabyer Sharfing Shika Shmobage Shupas Silaser Sindur Sinen Sinupeak Siremalal Sisiluch Slanduri Soado Sorossel Sougliels Soungondra Staneldorma Storspoun Subhandaen Sucala Suchor Sulwin Sumalwing Sumarvand Sumer Sunth Super Supinds Suppla Sureara Súrilai Targor Tarshekha Terid Theril Thers Tholim Toortit Torweni Tregor Trianarcth Trielwinika Trumunalth Trundord Trushróf Turcath Twisnes Túric Ueshend Uglir Ulani Ulmalm Umanguilit Umbell Ungon Untanyanery Upalanse Uppood Uprimrata Uragal Usagranit Usmaeg Valcalmohil Vareculeti Variel Varintina Varotion Varpery Vasetheen Vendurthect Verun Vibletem Vident Vinclencon Vionlindil Vondorn Welenes Wenatacti Whendiscu Wineem Wookshwilm Yamity Yatrand Yourajist Yuglorod Éomen Éores Éotedressë Írdalod

#444 names #444names

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blog-oscar-iglesias-casado-23675 · 11 months

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Sareb | Sareb amenaza con desalojar de manera inminente a cinco familias del Gorronal en Collado Villalba - El Salto - Madrid

Teniendo su contrato en vigor y pagado su alquiler durante años a una empresa quebrada cuyas propiedades han sido absorbidas por el banco malo, ni el juzgado, ni Sareb reconocen como inquilinas legítimas a las familias del bloque San José 54. — Leer en www.elsaltodiario.com/sareb/sareb-amenaza-desalojar-inminente-cinco-familias-gorronal-collado-villalba

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postcard-from-the-past · 7 months

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Street scene in Gorron, Maine region of France

French vintage postcard

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goya-65 · 1 year

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🤣🤣Me morí de risa!!! 🤣🤣

*Esto se llama optimismo y no chingaderas... !!!*

🙏🏽*DOY GRACIAS :*🙏🏽

POR MI VIEJA QUE AUNQUE PLEITOS Y RECONCILIACIONES, SIEMPRE ESTÁ CONMIGO Y NO ESTOY SOLO.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR EL HIJO O HIJA ADOLESCENTE QUE ESTÁ EN LA CASA QUEJÁNDOSE DE LAVAR PLATOS ☕🍵Y MENTANDOME LA MADRE , PORQUE ESTÁ AQUÍ EN LA CASA Y NO EN LAS CALLES DROGÁNDOSE O ANDANDO DE LADY BAR.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LOS PINCHES IMPUESTOS QUE TENGO QUE PAGAR, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO UN TRABAJO.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR EL DESMADRE QUE TENGO QUE LIMPIAR DESPUÉS DE LA FIESTA, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE ESTOY RODEADO DE AMIGOS GORRONES, PERO AL FIN...

AMIGOS.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LA ROPA QUE ME QUEDA APRETADA, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO SUFICIENTE QUE TRAGAR.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LA SOMBRA QUE ME SIGUE...

PORQUE SIGNIFICA QUE ESTOY AFUERA EN LA LUZ DEL SOL Y NO EN EL TAMBO.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR EL JARDIN QUE NECESITA SER CORTADO, LAS VENTANAS QUE NECESITAN SER LAVADAS, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO UNA CASITA, AUNQUE SEA DE FOVISSSTE O INFONAVIT.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR EL UNICO LUGAR QUE ENCONTRÉ ALLÁ LEJOS EN CASA DE LA CHINGADA EN EL ESTACIONAMIENTO , PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE PUEDO CAMINAR Y QUE TENGO LA BENDICIÓN DE TENER UN AUTOMÓVIL

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR EL GRAN ROBO QUE ME HACE LA C.F.E. CON EL ENORME RECIBO DE LUZ, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO ELECTRICIDAD. Y DESDE LUEGO APARATOS COMO TV, COMPUTADORA, REFRIGERADOR, ETC.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LA VIEJA BIGOTONA DETRÁS DE MÍ EN LA IGLESIA QUE CANTA COMO MARTIN URIETA, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE PUEDO ESCUCHAR.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LA ENORME CANTIDAD DE ROPA QUE TENGO QUE LAVAR Y PLANCHAR, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO QUE PONERME.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LO ADOLORIDO Y CANSADO AL FINAL DE CADA DIA, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE SOY CAPAZ DE TRABAJAR Y TENGO TRABAJO.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

POR LA ALARMA QUE SUENA CADA MAÑANA PARA DESPERTARME, PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE ESTOY VIVO.

*DOY GRACIAS:*

Y FINALMENTE, POR QUE ,ME LLEGAN TANTOS PINCHES MENSAJES PORQUE ESO SIGNIFICA QUE TENGO UN CHINGO DE AMIGOS HUEVONES QUE NO TIENEN QUE HACER Y CREEN QUE YO ESTOY IGUAL, PERO AL MENOS ESTÁN PENSANDO EN MÍ , COMO YO PIENSO EN ELLOS.

MANDA ESTE MENSAJE A QUIEN TE IMPORTE UN CHINGO...

YO YA LO HICE!!!!!😁✌️

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whoppert · 3 months

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Sunna 7 (stephen strange/reader) (loki/reader)

◂ previous chapter first chapter ▴

3969 words

warnings: the after effect of mind violation

AO3 Master Fic List

Despite the gaping hole in my memory, I'm confident that I've never felt like this much of a burden before. A few days ago I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the staircase, but now? Now it’s an impossible mountain to climb.

Most of the world is contained to my room now.

Wong had mentioned struggling to cleanse the space of mystical markers that had been left behind, but I couldn’t even tell. The power that flowed through me, albeit slight compared to Stephen’s or Wong’s or even this goddamn house? It’s gone. The purple energy that used to flicker around my fingers, forming shapes almost of its own will was gone. I'd tried to call it, but I almost threw up. My body is at odds with my spirit right now and I hate it.

AO3

Stephen brandishes the worm, dropping it into the palm of my hand.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask, trying to ignore the pool of slime it extruded.

“Excuse you, ” said the worm.

The flick of my hand was involuntary, and I fling the worm onto the rug.

Stephen, who had been trying to tell me to be careful, squats down and plucks the worm out of the carpet fibers. “This is the frontier in magical psychology. Its name is Gorron.”

“It’s a worm.”

“It’s a grub, thank you very much, you ungrateful mammal,” the worm had an accent that I couldn’t identify. “You’re lucky I’ve already been paid or I’d march right outta here! Worm? What am I, a nematode?”

Stephen sighs and shoots me an apologetic look. "I know it's strange, but it's actually very good at it's job."

"I'm really sorry, I don't usually do bugs. I'm sorry if I offended you and for... throwing you," I wince. “So… do I just lay back and tell Gorron my problems? Care to summon me a chez lounge?”

“It is much more simple than that. Look, I recognize that this is going to sound really gross, but-”

“Stick ‘im in ya ear, baby, lemme have a look at that mind!” Gorron interrupts.

So stark was the silence after that statement, that I almost decided that I might have a limit when it came to finding a cure. I look from Gorron to Stephen, who nods in confirmation and then back at Gorron whose little mouth had fallen open and was licking his lips. If grubs have lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Look doll, I’ve got a job to do, so open your ears and shut ya mouth, capeesh?”

Stephen snaps his hand shut, muffling the grub’s yells of displeasure. “I’m sorry about him, he doesn’t get out much," he continues, obviously with the intention of Gorron overhearing, "and he hasn't updated the way he speaks to women since the 1950s ap-pa-rent-ly."

I talk over Gorron's slew of deadened swear words. "You're joking, right?" I hear how desperate I sound, but- "In my head? This is a joke? To lift my mood?"

Stephen is right in front of me. Really there is a-step-and-a-half between us. “He’s crass, but if anyone can figure out the next steps, it’s Gor-”

My stomach bottoms out in my gut, a wave of panic hitting me with such force that I literally stagger. “I’m not-”

His free hand steadies me. Stephen says nothing, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, his gaze flitting back and forward between my eyes. I don't understand, what his expression is conveying, concern, and sympathy and pain all together perhaps.

“I can’t,” I want to sound strong, but my voice betrays me, cracking. “I’m sick of this, I’m sick of having shit shoved into my head. I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it. Please.” My breath comes fast and sharp.

“I know,” Stephen eases into the space between us, his empty hand still grasping my upper arm gently, the warmth seeming to loosen the knots in my body. “I know you’re scared. You have every right to be. Does it change anything if I assured you that Gorron can’t hurt you? He can only see what’s going on in there, he can’t change anything.”

My bottom lip wobbles, and Stephen’s gaze shifts to look at it, before snapping up to look me in the eye.

"Would it change anything," Stephen's voice soft, "if I told you that Gorron's basically my shrink?"

"Huh?"

"Do you remember after I found you and we were sitting in my office? And I told you I've been... having trouble sleeping, and you joked about therapy?" He pauses for confirmation. "Well, Gorron's my therapist. Wong makes me see him."

Excluding fighting lessons, Stephen and I are never this close, but lately I appreciate his sparing touch. There is something inviting about him when he isn’t trying to hit me, something comforting. I guess this is his job. I've seen him behave similarly for the people that seek out his help. “Does it hurt?”

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “not at all, it can be a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt, no. After your injury you might be a little sensitive though.” Glancing around the room, Stephen adds, “I’m right here, you know. Right by your side, I won’t leave you. You are always safe with me.”

His gray eyes hold no hint of a lie.

I nod. “This is coercion though.”

“I know.”

“And if it goes wrong, I’m holding you accountable.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Stephen opens his hand. Gorron, who had spent the last few moments remarkably silent, opens his eyes in mock surprise. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten about me! I have a waiting list ya know, I could be getting ignored by far more important people than the pair of you!”

Stephen grasps the grub by its tail.

“Do you trust me?”

“I guess. Yes. I do.”

His gloved hand lightly grasps my cheek, tilting my head, my right ear skyward, before dropping Gorron right into the shell of my ear. Gorron's rolling and wriggling sent a shiver through me. There was a little resistance, culminating in a wet plop, and then he was inside. There’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my brain, there’s a grub in my- I shudder. I feel bad about thinking it's gross, Gorron's a sentient being after all, but I don't do bugs.

Stephen tilts my head back to my midline and then removes his hand from my cheek. I feel its absence keenly.

“Wow, Strange, ya weren’t wrong, something’s destroyed it in here,” Gorron’s voice is too loud and it vibrates in my skull.

I swear, instinctually jerking 'away' from the sound and I feel Gorron brush up against something, strings that bring the spots back to my vision. I grasp Stephen’s hands.

“Wow, talk about a household in denial,” Gorron mutters, quiet enough that I wasn’t sure Stephen could hear, but I was too dizzy to ask what he meant. “And your powers have gone too. That’s a knock to the balls for sure.”

“Can you give us any insight?” Stephen asked.

“Yes, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Out with it.”

“Firstly - lass, gotta commend ya on having the cleanest brain ever. Not a single mind mite to be found. I have literally never seen that before. Secondly - whatever Loki did, it broke that enchantment that you were under.”

“That enchantment ?” Stephen and I say in unified confusion. There is a yellow and green blob floating between us and it makes the sorcerer look like he's got a bad case of jaundice.

“You heard me. I’d ask if you knew who put you under their spell, but I can see you don’t remember at all. Hey, have you considered renting this space? I know a few parasites that could use a place to live.”

“Gorron.” It was Stephen's last warning.

“Non-lethal of course.”

“Wind it back up a sec,” I demand, “what do you mean Loki broke the enchantment? What enchantment?”

I can feel Gorron squeeze it's body through some tight spot and the spots in my vision cleared.

“Has she always been this slow?”

“Mind your manners, Gorron. I know some bugs that lay their eggs in live prey,” Stephen threatened.

“Jeez, it was only a joke, man. Learn to take a joke. Hmm…” inside my brain, Gorron trailed off. “Your oldest memory is meeting Strange… because that was the day the enchantment was created. It’s got a magical signature that I don’t recognize, but boy did they hide it well.”

“And my memories, my life before that?”

“My best guess is that whoever put this enchantment in place didn’t account for Loki going for a trip through ya head, and it broke the enchantment differently to the way it was supposed to be broken, it severed your mind. Separated the before-the-enchantment from the after-the-enchantment. Your memories from before then might still be here, but as a result of the spell or the unorthodox way in which it was broken, yeah, I wouldn’t know how to find them. The block on it can only be reversed by the creator. I’d say your best shot would be to find them.”

“Wait, so our best chance of finding out who put the block in place is to find out who put the block in place?”

Gorron sighs like I'm wasting its time, “yes. That’s what I said. Look, if there’s no mites in here, you’re gonna have to tip me, Strange, I didn’t come all the way out here for nothing.”

“For nothing. My whole brain has imploded and it’s nothing to you,” I whisper, my cheeks tight from my uncomfortable smile, before falling into a stunned silence. Everything feel so far away.

“Gorron, what can we do to figure this out?” Asks Stephen.

There's a whoosh, and I feel the grub slide out of my ear, the opposite ear to the one it had entered. “Seems to me, your next step would be finding someone who knows memory magic like the back of their hand and get them to have a look. See if they can recognize the signature. Maybe even see if they can locate where her memories have been hidden in there. Once you know that, I’d go and ask-” Gorron almost fell, but Stephen catches it, “thanks doc. Anyway, figure out who put the enchantment in place and get them to remove it. Easy as pie.”

Without missing a beat, Stephen crushes Gorron in his hand. The sound had a surprising crunch, like the grub had more bones than expected. I gape at the sorcerer.

“Sorry,” he opens his hand to reveal that it is empty empty, no fluids or bug guts in sight, “I was getting really sick of him, and the only way to send him home is to 'kill' him. He’s fine, I’ll see him later about his tip. How are you? That’s a lot to process.”

“If I wasn’t so overwhelmed, I’d probably be angry. Yeah. Probably angry.” I look down to find that Stephen is still holding one of my hands. I recount what we have learned, “so there’s a block on my memories, created the day I met you, probably not by you, because then Gorron would’ve recognized the signature? Correct?”

Stephen nod.

“And the only way to find out who it is that cursed me, is to let someone else have a look? I'm assuming it's a very similar type of magic to what Loki did to me.”

He nods again.

“Even though the last time someone did that it gave me the magical equivalent of a severe concussion?”

One final nod.

My heart pounds. “That voice- from my dream told me what a disappointment I was. I don’t even know who I’m letting down. And my powers are gone, and yeah they weren’t big and dramatic but they were mine. They belong to me, it’s like I’ve had a limb sawn off and I can’t even walk up the fucking stairs without my body giving up on me so I’m just trapped in this room. Is this my life now? Someone just put a spell on me one day and for what? I’m not important, I’m not powerful. Whoever did it must have had a reason but I have no idea who- or what? Except it’s got something to do with you? It must do, or maybe it’s just a coincidence that we met that day, I don’t know.” I'm spiralling.

Stephen doesn't say anything, just squeezes my hand tighter and like a toddler having a tantrum, I try to wrench it from his grasp, but he has a stronger grip than I’d anticipated. I poke a finger into his chest, but he doesn’t flinch.

“And you! You have the nerve to stand there, all sympathetic and concerned, ‘cause I’m just another pathetic-”

“You’re not pathetic-”

“Maybe I’m not, but who’s to say because I don’t know who I am! I couldn’t tell you my favorite food! I don’t know who I am and I feel so stupid. I’m barely a person.” Tears well up in my eyes and I hate them. I try to brush them away, but Stephen still wouldn’t relinquish the hand he held. He was swimming in my vision, and I was glad because then I didn’t have to look him in the eye as he beheld my tears. I’d never cried in front of him before.

It was the second time he had ever embraced me. The first time even through the wave of nausea and the bright lights, I could feel his relief that I was safe, but this time? Stephen pulls me in, his arms wrapping around me, no relief, only release as I bury my eyes in his shirt and sob. He doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t move, just holds me, one arm around the small of my back rubs small circles and the other grasps my shoulder firmly. I can feel the ridges and stitching of his glove through the fabric of my shirt.

After a while, I couldn’t tell you how long, I manage to stop crying, taking deep breaths to get myself together. He smells like earl grey tea and lemons.

“You are a person,” said Stephen, finally breaking the silence. His low voice rumbles through his chest. “Look, I’m not the most open person in the world, but,” he takes a deep breath, “I… care about you. You're not stupid and you are certainly not pathetic. I promise we will get to the bottom of this, but until you get everything you’ve lost back, you’re still a person. You're no burden to me.”

My arms are around his neck, our bodies pressed together. “I’m scared.”

"I know."

"I'm scared I'm going to be like this forever."

“I know,” his lips skim my temple, and goosebumps raise down my limbs. “I felt the same way when my hands were crushed. But we have no evidence to suggest you won't make a full recovery. And worse case scenario, we’re going to figure this out. Do you believe me?” His breath is warm on my skin.

"I believe you.

The air is charged, the question is charged, and Stephen holding me is the only thing keeping me together. I get the distinct impression that I should feel embarrassed, humiliated for sobbing in front of Stephen, as though a proper lady might have done it more demurely. I don't though. I like it. I like how caring and attentive he has been since I was injured.

"What do you need? What can I do for you?"

I glance around my room. It seems especially small with another person in it. The green wallpaper is still bright and the iron bed below it is a mess. The room itself is mercifully, not too messy. The curtains are mostly drawn now, blocking out the harsh light of the sun, and leaving only a thick stripe that cuts the room into unequal halves. The room itself is cozy, but after all the time spent in it the last few days, and what had happened there, it's suffocating me.

"Take me somewhere else. I need to get out of this house."

Stephen clears his throat, and created a portal. Through the golden circle is the stark night. The chill from the cold air radiates through, prickling my skin. We manage to detangle.

The wind is mild and the sky clear. I have no memory of the world so dark. Back in the city the night is never dark, polluted with bright lights and fluorescence and color. But here, the sky is a sheet of black, with hundreds, no, hundreds of thousands of stars of every hue. The world is so quiet and there are no tell tale signs of humanity around. All this space and only the two of us.

"Where…?"

"New Zealand." His robes had shifted into casual wear. That grey sweater again. Stephen stores his hands in his pockets. "Aptly named by the European settlers as the South Island, due to the fact that it is the Southern Island."

"They sound creative." When the portal went, so did all of the light and my eyes tale a moment to adjust. "It's beautiful."

"It is. And it will only get better."

I look at him surprised, eyebrows raised though he probably can't see it in the darkness. The tracks my tears have left behind feel particularly cold in the icy air.

“From a scientific point of view, auroras are the result of charged solar wind particles caught in Earth’s magnetic field. These particles ionize oxygen and nitrogen molecules in the upper atmosphere, a chemical reaction creating light. The indigenous people of this land saw auroras as the campfires of their ancestors.”

“Are they? The campfires of their ancestors?”

Stephen stands at my side, and passes me the sweatshirt that had been hanging on the end of my bed. “Yeah, they are. And if I’ve timed correctly, they should be just about to…” He trails off.

Nothing happens. There is only blackness around us.

Stephen chuckles, “that would’ve been really impressive. This area has been having an increase rate of solar storms-”

The dull cloud twists into a ribbon of white which begin to curl across the sky. Then it's yellow. Red, green, blue - a nebulous glowing arc ornamenting the sky and I look on in awe. The lights of New York had been overstimulating, but this is- "beautiful."

“Yes.”

The dam inside me breaks and energy floods me. Even being out in the fresh air had invigorated my soul a little and I take off marching towards the slab of rock on the edge of the cliff. I dig my fingers into the top and hauling myself up.

"Jesus Christ, be careful!" Stephen's at my side in half-a-second, clamoring up to stand at my side.

"You're worse than Wong," I complain.

"At least sit ," Stephen's hands find my shoulders and gently push.

I groan but comply, letting my legs dangle off of the edge. He joins me. I could see our breath in the air, and pull my sweatshirt tighter around my shoulders.

"What made you want to be a doctor?" I ask finally, breaking the prolonged silence.

"Do you want the PR answer or the truth?"

"Either."

"Well," Stephen runs his fingers through his hair and I wonder what it feels like, "what I used to tell people was that I wanted to help. We are the world type of bull," he laughs and it cuts through the cold, warming my chest. "But the truth is that I wanted to be the best at something with a lot of status."

Stephen digs through his pocket and pull out a chocolate bar. He hands it to me and I snap it in half, letting him choose which piece he prefered.

"Well, I've been thinking about why I must have chosen anthropology to dedicate myself to. I have three possible answers."

"And they are?"

I chew my chocolate thoroughly. "One, knowing how big of a motivator spite is for me, someone probably told me I couldn't do it."

Stephen laughs again, "sounds about right."

"Two, it's just so damn interesting! I was reading through my doctorate thesis and I seemed really passionate about how teeth could tell you so much about someone's social status.” Cupping my hands I blow warm air into them. My knuckles are bright red. "Three, and probably the most boring of all the answers, maybe it was related to my powers. I didn't really ever figure out the origin, maybe I thought it would be linked to something else, something bigger."

"Well, it's looking more and more like you are a part of something bigger."

"Now that I know what 'bigger' entails, maybe I should have wished for a more simple life." I finish my half of the bar and suck the last of the melted chocolate off of my fingers. The aurora crackles around us like radio static. “The way the light flows… It reminds me of the incense that Wong burns. You know the stuff, lotus and patchouli.”

I look at Stephen, his face bathed in colored light. “I know exactly the one. Gives me headaches, but he still insists on it.”

“That’s because it gets you out of his hair once in a while.”

“I suppose, yeah. It does.” Then he adds, "metaphorical hair."

It's nice to laugh with him. “Why did you choose-? I mean, I said I needed to get out of the house, why was New Zealand the first place you thought of?” I shiver, my sweatshirt is not holding up against the winter breeze, I twist my hands in my lap trying to increase the friction.

“Ah, I don’t know,” his eyes levelled against my gaze, the grey taking on the colors passing overhead. It's mesmerizing. “Just popped into my head, I guess.” His voice gets quieter and quieter and I have to lean in to hear him.

There's a magnetic pull between us. Something strong have sucked us into its current, it wasn’t just this moment, it's everything, it's the universe deciding our fate and pushing us together. Everything since we had met had just felt so right, like we were made for each other.

“Aren’t you cold?” I whisper. “I’m freezing.”

For the moment he looks so relaxed. He's only inches away from me now, and his hand covers mine, his warmth permeating through the yellow leather, and I look from his eyes to his mouth, pink lips from the cold slightly parted and bordered with his dark beard. “Stephen?” I couldn’t get my voice to work properly, my breathing had gotten shallow, heart clanging in my chest.

My eyes flutter shut, as he comes close enough that his nose brushes against my cheek, and he murmurs something I can’t make out, cut off when I press my mouth to his.

Stephen tasted like the chocolate we had shared and for a moment everything in this dark world, with its vibrant skies slowed, until he kisses me back, energy flowing through us at the places where we connected, his hand gripping the back of my neck to deepen the kiss, his tongue running over my bottom lip.

He's gone.

I've lost my breath.

Twisting around, I find Stephen standing behind me. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, I was just- trying-”

Heat floods my cheeks and for once I'm at a loss for words.

A portal opens to my room and I flinch at the sudden piercing light.

“I should go,” Stephen hurries into my room, disappearing into the hall.

In his haste, he left the door wide open.

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lagrimas-sobre-mi-nem · 2 years

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Caída y auge de Reginald Perrin

Inspiradora de una de las comedias televisivas más famosas de todos los tiempos, Caída y auge de Reginald Perrin es una obra maestra del género humorístico en el ámbito anglosajón. Su protagonista, Reginald Perrin, es un hombre gris; un mediocre e infeliz ejecutivo de ventas cuarentón, que malgasta sus días en la empresa Postres Lucisol, sometido a un jefe estúpido para el que desempeña un trabajo alienante, mientras lleva una vida suburbana al lado de su esposa y una familia plagada de gorrones. Hasta que un día, entregado a continuas fantasías que le apartan momentáneamente del sopor, decide tirarlo todo por la borda y dar el gran paso: desaparecer sin dejar el menor rastro, simular su propio suicidio, y adoptar una segunda identidad para volver a comenzar desde cero.

#readlist :)

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mexilusx · 2 years

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Hace 70 años, no recuerdo día ni mes, llegó la familia Ferreyra—Carrasco al Distrito Federal

Hace 70 años, no recuerdo día ni mes, llegó la familia Ferreyra—Carrasco al Distrito Federal. No venía tras un sueño sino como todos los provincianos expulsados de sus lugares de origen, buscaba sobrevivir. A partir del arribo, colchones en el suelo, apiñados en una habitación, arrimados con la querida tía Socorro y su amadísimo esposo, el Maistro Grandote, El Chiquilín, un varón de dos metros con un corazón al doble, Agustin de la Torre.

El departamento donde nos acogieron era pequeño y estaba situado frente a la terminal o regreso de los tranvías procedentes de Tacuba y de Azcapotzalco. Una cuadra abajo, el viejo rastro, el parque Elías Calles y a cielo abierto el Río Consulado, calle hacia arriba.

A pesar de las limitaciones obvias, todos los días eran de fiesta. Las mujeres, tres, la tía, mi madre María Elena y mi hermana, Olga Elena, cocinaban, tejían y bordaban en un ambiente grato mientras mi padre, Alfonso, buscaba sin posibilidades de lograrlo un empleo, el que fuese.

El tío Agustín se iba hasta Santa Julia donde en las Carrocerías Maytán, Tizoc esquina Tlaloc, desplegaba su capacidad creativa. Fue el primer constructor en México de un camión chato para pasajeros. Los que había, Aerocoach usados por transportes foráneos, eran de importación.

Criador de ganado, vendedor de aguas negras y tendero fracasado, a mi padre sólo le quedaba como perspectiva laboral una gran habilidad para manejar vehículos. Imposible pensar en un taxi sin conocer la que nos parecía una megalópolis. En Peralvillo ya estabas prácticamente fuera de la ciudad; para visitar Tlalpan o Xochimilco se preparaban tortas y se abordaban los trenes que llevaban a tan remotos destinos. Lo mismo Coyoacán o Cuajimalpa. En vacaciones, los jóvenes acudían a los balnearios en la Calzada Zaragoza; Olímpico y Bahía eran los mas populares entre la decena de ofertas para los aficionados a la natación.

O para quienes iban a ligar y con suerte hasta lograr un buen faje. Entonces no se llegaba a más. Cerca, en llanos terregosos, estaban las antenas que recogían señales de estaciones de radio de todo el país. Allí se originaban unas tolvaneras que, en serio, oscurecían completa la capital. Y repartía alegremente problemas respiratorios sin distinción de clase social.

Con apoyo del tío Agustín mi padre obtuvo una licencia de primera, necesaria para emplearse como chofer, Olga se encaminó a la Universidad donde logró entrar a pesar de ciertas trampitas para que los provincianos no llegaran a saturar la casa de estudios.

Alfonso entre estudiar Contaduría y empleos como mensajero, también se ocupó pronto. Yo aprendí la ruta Rastro Hipódromo, unos camiones International gris rata con blanco, para visitar a diario el taller de carrocerías. Me entregaban un portaviandas, dispositivo formado por recipientes de peltre que se embrocan uno sobre el siguiente. En el de la base, el caldo, después sopa seca o aguada, luego guisado, frijoles, salsas y hasta arriba el postre. Unas guías de alambrón con un mango de madera para llevarlo. Lo recuerdo, tan bien imaginado el aparato que no se derramaba una gota ni dejaba aromas a su paso. Primero fue un Peralvillo Cozumel, blanco con rojo, muy destartalado. Me sumé al equipo de trabajo y mientras don Alfonso sudaba y sufría como el gran varón que era, en calidad de cuije me colocaba en la puerta trasera para evitar que se colaran los gorrones.

Un tránsito infernal impedía cumplir con los horarios y los dueños de las cafeteras rodantes muy listos fijaban una pena en efectivo para quienes no cumplieran.

Tenía como afición, casi fijación, acudir a entrenar, quería ser corredor de velocidad. Con un asesor o seudoentrenador, trotaba mínimo cinco kilómetros diarios, llegando a veces, increíble, a veinte kilómetros.

Algo así como 50 vueltas al campo de futbol. Menciono esto, porque uno de los relojes marcadores estaba atrás de la SEP y el siguiente en la Avenida Chapultepec, al final del acueducto. Mientras mi padre sufría para salir del embrollo, yo recogía la tarjeta y a paso veloz, y en tramos corriendo, cruzaba por Palma hasta una calle directa a la avenida y de allí a paso tranquilo, llegaba a tiempo, marcaba la tarjeta y esperaba el camión.

Si el chofer no quería dejar de ganar el salario, entonces el día de descanso lo dedicaba a reparar todo lo reparable. Me encantaba esta parte del trabajo, la mecánica; el dueño no aceptaba ni siquiera pagar las refacciones. Un día le ofrecieron conducir un autobús casi nuevo, iría a San Pedro Santa Clara, allá donde muchos años después explotaron almacenes de gas que ocasionaron centenares de muertos y decenas de casas destruidas. La línea de transportes no recuerdo como se llamaba, pero los colores rojo y verde con alguna raya azul, los identificaba como Los Pericos.

Aquí se rompió una tasa. Tuve que retirarme de mi chamba como ayudante porque mi hermano apoyado por una prima, secretaria de Julio Hirschfield, logró que me dieran su trabajo en H. Steele, en el edificio del relojote que marcó la hora del temblor del 85. Alfonso mi hermano era llamado por el Banco Nacional de México cuyo gerente se impresionó por su diligencia, en tanto mi padre, Alfonso, intentaba zafarse de lo que parecía una fatalidad.

Se reunió con paisanos, agentes del Servicio Secreto. Luego de una buena comilona y unos tragos, decidieron ir por dinero. En la cola del Teatro de variedades agarraron un par de raterillos que les entregaron el producto de lo hasta ese momento robado. Mi padre se despidió y nunca más se volvió a acercar a sus paisas. Enmedio de estos avatares teníamos una increible vida feliz. Un día a la seman el tío Agustín entraba al cine con la tía Soco y mi hermana Olga, Alfonso y yo permanecíamos en el vestíbulo, donde pagaba unos centavitos y sentados en la alfombra veíamos por TV las luchas sabatinas.

Los domingos día completo en el Elías Calles mirando a los que rebotaban a manazos una pelota en el frontón, quizá un partido de futbol y ocasionalmente a participar en equipos de voleibol del Injume situado por la Ford en la Calzada de Guadalupe. Las funciones dobles del Cine Janitzio, con enormes cucuruchos de pepitas tostadas, eran un verdadero festejo. Las disfrutábamos enormemente mi hermano y yo.

Sabíamos que el barrio era bravo. Que los matanceros se picaban por cualquier desacuerdo. Y también que los ajenos al barrio que llegaban pretendiendo alguna flor de ese jardín, podían terminar en las aguas pútridas del Río Consulado. Lo leíamos en las paginas principalmente de La Prensa. Pero nunca lo creímos. Con el tiempo y ya trabajando padre y dos hijos, pudimos rentar un departamento cercano, en la calle de El Chico 5 departamento 10. A la vuelta de Platino.

Entre Inguarán y El Chico, calle de menos de 50 metros de extensión y sin pavimento, estaba la pulquería de nombre que no recuerdo y en cuya banqueta se tiraban los borrachines. Allí les daban los tornillos de tlachicotón y los tacos de insuperable aroma. Los de tripas eran los favoritos.

Regresábamos del cine y los ebrios se levantaban y tras la admonición: güeritos, no anden con la niña tan tarde, aquí hay muchos hombres malos, venía la señal para que uno de ellos nos escoltara hasta la entrada a la casa. Eran unos veinte metros a la esquina y otros tantos a la puerta del edificio que por cierto tenía una construcción singular: un bloque con departamentos en alineados, un barandal abierto hacia la avenida. Los días de la llegada a la capital, gozaba enormemente mirando y soñando con un día poseer uno de los coches cuyas marcas me dedicaba a adivinar.

Y miren, para demostrar que la vida es un simple aro, hoy desde mi cuarto de azotea hago lo mismo. Igual que entonces, sin auto y sin permiso para manejar.

Sometido a un triunvirato dictatorial familiar, presidido por una comisaría política que vive cruzando la calle, me consuelo mirando los modernos artefactos.

El para completar el triangulo de gobierno, viven dos fuera de la ciudad, muy lejos pero bien cerca por la gracia y obra de las redes. Desde la distancia vigilan… y se los agradezco.

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