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monarch-sparrowhawk · 1 year

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Dad had officially been missing for 5 months now. This far in Sam had really just gotten used to it. It was a pretty sucky thing to have to admit, but it's true.

What was once a raging, heart-stabbing pain had dulled down to a low but ever present ache. Sometimes certain things happened over the past few months that renewed that pain, things like his parents' anniversary or that father-daughter dance at his little sister's school. He took Kae to the dance and distracted his mom as best he could, but then the big holidays started hitting.

Dia de Los Muertos, Navidad y las Posadas, and now Dia de Reyes.

Celebrating the Day of the Dead had gotten somber, especially since a few weeks prior his helmet had decided to show him a giant map to all the dead Novas in the galaxy. He had no idea how he was supposed to honor them, but he hoped the ofrenda his mom and sister helped him put together was sufficient. They hadn't put up dad's picture, mostly because they were certain he was still alive out there somewhere.

(Not to mention putting him up on the altar felt a bit too much like they were giving up. Which they weren't. Not yet.)

The whole Christmas season thankfully was always an all-hands-in kind of affair. Abuela and their uncles took care of everything while mamá picked up extra shifts at the diner. At least this year there was no worrying about dad getting drunk at any of the several family dinners that happened. After that there was just one more hurdle to jump through.

Three Kings Day.

It was a bit like Navidad, but a much smaller affair. The way their family did it was with just the four of them. Mamá would make the rosca de reyes, and dad would play music on his guitar(one of the things he actually had been really good at). Then after reading the story about the three kings, their parents would remind them to leave their shoes out so that they could get filled with gifts.

Personally, he found the shoe part a bit silly the older he got, but the tradition mattered to his parents, and Kaelynn always got so excited about it. He didn't mind playing along if it meant that much to the people he loved.

It wasn't until a day or two before that he realized mamá had completely forgotten about their family's little celebration.

Usually the week leading up to it you could hear dad practicing songs on his guitar, and mamá was not so subtly trying to figure out what to put in his and Kae's shoes. So while she was busy working, Sam figured it was up to him this year to try and salvage it.

During one of their mom's shifts he called Abuela asking what he should grab for the King Cake, and after hastily writing it down he dragged Kae to the store with him. With Carefree as small as it was, they only had to walk a short five or six minutes to the store. Faster if he used his helmet, but he was trying to be a bit more responsible in his usage of said item.

He hadn't heard anything from the UFO watchers in a while, but you could never be too careful.

"Why do we have to go to the store?" Kae whined, purposely trying to drag her feet as Sam toted her along. She was trying to slip her hand out of his, which in turn only made him strengthen his grip.

Only had to lose her once at the zoo to know that his little sister could not be trusted, she was a runner. Sam would have been impressed at her speed if it hadn't been for the heart attack that immediately followed.

"I already told you mija, we have to find the ingredients for the King Cake." He answered her with the kind of tone that suggested that this was not the first time he had to answer this question.

"But mamá always makes the cake!"

She tried tugging her hand away again.

That's it.

He's had enough.

"She doesn't have the time for it this year!" He bit out a tad more harshly than he meant to. Kaelynn stopped her tugging and stared at him with wide, hurt eyes.

Great. Now he's acting like a complete jerk to his little sister. Way to go, Sam. Time to do some damage control.

He took in a deep breath, kneeling on the ground in front of his sister. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eye. Or well, tried to. She was refusing eye contact.

"I'm sorry for being mean, that was uncalled for." He swallowed, continuing, "Since dad left, things have been different, which I think you've noticed, right?"

She nodded numbly, this time lifting her face so that he could see her eyes.

"Things have been really hard for mamá, even if she won't show it. I know it's usually her and dad that take care of everything for the holidays, but that just isn't the case this year. It's up to you and me now, got it?"

His little sister tilted her head, as if mulling over everything he just told her. After a few seconds she nodded a bit more enthusiastically and flung her arms around her brother. Sam returned the hug, squeezing his little sister as tight as he could.

He really wished his little sister didn't have to go through this. She was only five. That was way too young to be wondering where the hell your dad was.

(14 isn't much better, a small bitter voice whispers to him in his head. He ignores it.)

After a minute they broke the hug. Jerking his head over his shoulder he motioned for her to climb onto his back. Kae clambered onto him with zero hesitation. Springing back up to his feet and with his sister secured on his back piggy-style, they continued on their way to the store.

The store Abuela told they go to thankfully had everything they needed on the list, and since the owner was old friends with her they even got some of the stuff for cheaper than they would have somewhere else. They had gone after school so by the time they made it home it was close to 4pm. Mom was working a double today, so she probably wouldn't be home till around 8.

That should give them more than enough time to figure this out. Hopefully.

Walking into the kitchen he spread out all the ingredients they had in their grocery bags. He then pulled down the family recipe book that he knew their mother kept on top of the fridge and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

After reading it over a few times, Sam then propped his younger sister on the counter next to the ingredients and gave her simple instructions.

"When I say something, hand it to me okay?" He said as he positioned the recipe book at an angle that he could read while moving around.

"Kay kay." She chirped, messily rolling up her sleeves. Sam helped her fix them before he did his own.

"First things first, let's make the dough." He said, opening the cabinet and grabbing the large mixing bowl. "Flour, salt, and yeast please?"

Kaelynn's eyes scanned the ingredients before grabbing the flour and salt. She looked unsure about the last one. After careful deliberation, she finally picked up a small random bag.

"That's not it." He snorted, grabbing the yeast himself. Kaelynn muttered something under her breath. He peered down at her. "What was that?"

"Don't laugh. I'm still new at reading." She repeated, louder this time.

"Sorry Kae, I wasn't trying to make fun of you."

She gave him an unimpressed stare that eerily looked kinda like mom's, it gave him shivers. An idea popped into his head, and he reached a hand over and ruffled her hair, smirking as she scowled at him.

"You're gonna ruin my braids!"

She was smiling now though, so he was counting it as a win. From that point they continued working on the dough, with him patiently helping her figure out the new words she came across. Finally they reached the point where he could roll it out.

"Is it supposed to sticky?" Kaelynn asked, poking at the dough and making an obvious face of disgust when it stuck to her fingers. Sam shrugged.

"I followed the recipe, it's alright. Hold on a moment, I need to go grab something."

He left to the other room.

Once her older brother was out of sight, Kaelynn looked around the counter, clearly bored out of her mind until she spotted something. Grabbing the bag labelled 'Flour' she stuck her hand into it and pulled out a fistful of white powder. She padded it over the rolled out dough. Once it stopped being as sticky she clapped her hands together, admiring her work.

"There, no more sticky." She said gleefully, wiping her hands on her shirt, which left white streaks of flour on it. Whatever. She was going to have to change into pajamas soon anyways.

Sam finally walked back in.

"I found the baby Jesus- Kae, what happened to your shirt?" He put one hand on his hip, and the other one waved the baby Jesus figurine erratically at her.

"I fixed the cake."

Sam resisted the urge to slam his head into a wall, and grabbing his sister under the arms he gently placed her on the ground.

"Thanks, but now you're a mess. Go get ready for a bath, I'll be there in a minute." He shooed her away, and took a look at the damage.

He had no idea how one would go about removing excess flour, besides shaking it off. Oh well, it didn't look like it was that much. It would bake out or something, right?

Eh, it'd be fine. It was just one tiny mistake.

He finished up by covering the dough and setting the kitchen timer for it to rest.

Out of nowhere he heard the unmistakable sound of running water. He bolted to the bathroom.

"Kae I said wait for me-"

Bath time thankfully ended better than it started. His sister was getting to the phase where she wanted to do everything on her own, which he understood. But he also didn't feel like filling up the entire house with bubbles, as he had managed to stop her just in time before she succeeded in her goal of dumping the entire bottle of bubble bath solution.

Not that he can really say much, he knows he hadn't been an easy kid either. Unfortunately karma had to come back for him in the form of his adorable little sister.

If he remembers later, he should apologize to his mom for being a demon spawn of a child.

"Can I watch Avengers?" Kaelynn asked as he was finishing retying her braids. His hairwork wasn't nearly as good as their mother's, but he was getting better.

Carrie had worn her hair in this pretty fishtail braid at school right before break, maybe he could text her and ask for tips-

No, she was still pissed at him. He thinks. She did babysit Kae for him that one time, and she was speaking more and more to him again.

Realizing he was taking a long time to answer, he replied,

"Sure thing."

"Can I watch two episodes instead of one?"

"We'll see."

Mom wouldn't allow it, so it's a good thing he's an older brother. While Kae watched her show, he could continue the cake-making in peace.

Okay, the second resting period was over and now it was time to throw the thing in the oven. He checked the clock. It was almost 6:30pm. A bit later than he had hoped, but still manageable.

He paused for a second before picking up the cake. When did he put in the baby Jesus? Before or after baking the cake?

He scanned the recipe book again. His Abuela's handwriting was nearly impossible to decipher, especially with it all being in Spanish.

He was a much better speaker than he was a reader.

After another attempt of a full read through, Sam just decided to through caution to the wind and folded the little plastic figure into the dough. After all, sticking it in later would probably just ruin the cake, right?

He gently placed it on the oven and called for his little sister.

"Kae, want to make the cake decorations?"

He smiled as he heard her slide into the kitchen. For someone so tiny his sister sure made a lot of noise.

Together they pre-arranged the fruit in the way they would put it on the cake, chatting about anything and everything. While making the cake themselves was new, the atmosphere wasn't. He could almost pretend for a bit that things were back to normal, that mom was busy hiding gifts in their shoes and dad was in the living room, practicing a new song.

"Sammy, something smells really bad." Kaelynn commented, nose scrunching adorably.

He snapped out of his reverie, only to come to a horrible realization.

"Aw mierda!" He cussed as he rushed over to the oven.

"Hey! Mamá says we're not allowed to say that!"

"Not the time Kae!"

He turned off the oven, and using a hot pad he opened it up, coughing as he was met with a face-full of smoke.

Dropping the cake pan onto the stove top, his heart sank. The cake was lopsided, and very, very burnt.

"It doesn't look like mama's." Kae said, standing on her tiptoes as she tried to get a better look.

"No, it doesn't." He agreed mournfully.

"Do you think baby Jesus survived?" She asked.

Sam eyed the monstrosity.

"I think it's safe to say he didn't make it Kae."

The smell of burning plastic was too pungent to ignore. Part of him wanted to cry. He knew it was just a cake, but it wasn't just a cake. Dad not being here sucked, even if the man was an alcoholic. The worst he did was just pass out in random places, forcing Sam to or one of his uncles to find him and drag him home.

Even if being the school's janitor was embarrassing, at least it meant his dad was still here.

It's been five months. Five months with a sad little sister and an even sadder mom, five months of growing up faster than he should have, five months of chasing down leads and finding nothing.

When would things start getting better?

"It's okay Sammy." His little sister had wrapped her arms around his waist, holding onto her brother as tightly as she could.

And just like that, he couldn't hold it in anymore.

One tear escaped, and then another and then he was full on sobbing. He broke away from Kae and sank to the ground, pressing his back onto one of the cabinets. His little sister, his impossibly sweet and understanding little sister crawled over to him and patted his shoulder, trying her best to comfort him.

He continued to cry, not knowing how to stop it. If he even could stop it.

Pretty sure he's been bottling up five months worth of tears.

"It's okay." Kaelynn repeats over and over until his cries eventually die down.

He wipes at his face, cringing when he feels the snot rubbing off on his hand. Gross.

Kaelynn had tucked herself up into his side, holding onto his other hand. Looking up at him she asks quietly,

"Were you crying because you miss daddy?"

He nods.

"Yeah, I am."

"It's okay to cry. That's what mamá says."

"I know. It's just... hard. Sometimes."

Kaelynn doesn't say anything else after that, she just lets him pull her into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck, doing her best to hold him together.

After the scene in the kitchen, the siblings manage to put together a game plan. They may not be able to eat the cake, but Kaelynn did point out that they could still decorate it.

So that's what they do.

And it actually turns out pretty nice, especially when they cover up most of the burnt parts.

Click.

That was the front door. Mom was home. Sam straightened himself up, Kaelynn copying his movements. Another phase of hers she's been having, he found it amusing.

She reached for his hand, which he gladly accepted. After his breakdown, it was nice to remember that they were in this together. A united front of sorts.

"Mis pollos, I'm home!" Their mom announces her presence, dropping her purse on the entry table and slipping off her shoes.

Walking into the kitchen she sees her children standing suspiciously in front of the stove. She places her hands on her hips and gives them the patented Mom look.

Sam hopes the smell of burnt plastic isn't too obvious, he spent a good 20 minutes fanning out the kitchen.

His mom pinches her nose while making a face, and that's when he knows they're doomed.

"Why does it smell so bad in here?"

Sam and Kaelynn share a look and awkwardly shuffle away from the counter, revealing the burnt and lumpy glob of flour and fruit cooling on top of the stove.

"Sorry mamá, it was supposed to be a King Cake, but we kind of..." Sam trailed off, looking anywhere but his mother.

"We killed baby Jesus." Kaelynn deadpanned.

Eva looks at the sad attempt of cake, then at her children, then back at the cake. And then she proceeds to double over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Kaelynn tugs on her brother's shirt, concerned. "Did we break mommy?"

Sam shakes his head back and forth, at a loss for words. He had expected angry mom, or disappointed mom, or even shocked mom!

He wasn't prepared for this.

Their mom gets her laughter under control after a few minutes, and she gives them a fond look.

"I knew I was forgetting something!" She exclaims as she wipes a tear from her eye. Stepping over to investigate the cake, she pokes at it with one of the mixing spoons Sam forgot to put away.

Sam holds his breath as he awaits her judgement.

"Well, we definitely can't eat this." She confirms, tapping the spoon against one of the particularly charred spots. "But it does look very pretty. Much better than your father's first attempt."

Both of the sibling's attention is caught by that last statement.

"Daddy made a cake too?"

Eva lets out a heavy sigh, and pulls both of her children into a loose hug.

"It was our very first Dia de Reyes together. We were still figuring out our traditions then, and well like this year, I had completely forgotten about the cake." She continues the story as she walks her children into the living room, settling them all onto the couch, an arm around each of them. "So your father decided, with a bit of encouragement from your Uncle Silvio, that he would make it."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Sam comments.

Eva smiles.

"Ah, but you see, there was one thing your father forgot about."

"What?" Kae pipes up, impatiently.

"He has no idea how to bake." She laughs. "When he cracked the egg, he left the shell in, added in a whole orange for some reason, and then he turned the oven up to 475 degrees instead of 375, because he couldn't read your Abuela's handwriting!"

Sam threw his head back, groaning.

"I did that last one. Her threes really do look like fours."

He leans his head against his mom's shoulder, and feels her press a kiss onto his forehead.

"Thank you mijo, I appreciate what you've been doing."

"Huh?"

"I know it's been hard on you, since your father disappeared. And I know you've been doing your best to be brave, and take care of me and your sister. I want you to remember though, that you're still allowed to be a kid. Don't grow up too fast for me." She kisses him again after the last sentence. And then she does the same to Kaelynn. "Either of you."

"I'll keep that in mind mamá." He buries his face in her shoulder, feeling like he might cry again.

But now he knows that it's okay if he does. While he's been taking care of his mom and sister, he forgot that they can and will take care of him too.

After all, they're a family. It's a little broken, but it's still good.

And that's enough for him.

#sam alexander #kaelynn alexander #eva alexander #nova comics #ao3fic

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seraphfighter · 2 years

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👻 😭 🍩 for valerie, 🍰 ☀️ ❇️ for celeste :33

Valerie:

👻 I'm actually so glad you asked this because I am in the middle of a WIP about how she does not believe in ghosts, Johnny and Kerry do and are determined to prove it, and shenanigans ensue. Most people are surprised she doesn't believe in them considering she grew up on the streets with the Valentinos celebrating Día de los Muertos. But she's never had a supernatural experience herself and she's not going to believe unless she does. And considering everything she's seen in Night City, she's not scared of them.

😭: She hates crying. Growing up on the streets taught her not to cry when something bad happens so she's wasn't an easy crier. But the emotional toll of everything that happened with the Relic gets to her and she cries more. She still hates it and insists she's not a crier, but she doesn't fight it as hard.

🍩: Honestly, she doesn't have a huge sweet tooth. She prefers spicy over sweet. But if she does have the craving, she loves a milkshake from Tom's Diner or freshly-baked Conchas.

Celeste:

🍰: Growing up Dalish, Celeste never tried cake until the Inquisition. She'll typically enjoy any flavor of cake, but if she had a choice she'd go for something mildly sweet like vanilla.

☀️: Being both Dalish and the Inquisitor, Celeste is a morning person because she's used to getting up early to work. She'll use the morning hours when most people are still asleep to read and drink a cup of tea. On the days where she doesn't immediately have anything to do and once the Inquisition is disbanded, she'll take advantage of the time she has to stay in bed with Cullen longer.

❇️: She doesn't put much value into material objects since she's always traveled with the Clan, which taught her to carry as little as possible. So, her prized possessions are very important to her. Two of her prized possessions are from her time with the Clan--her staff that Keeper Deshanna gave her, and the journal her brother gave her that she sketches and writes in. Her other prized possession is Cullen's coin. She turns it into a necklace she never takes off.

#ahh tysm hil! <3 #i never get to talk about celeste :')#i promise there's a reason behind her name not being dalish #ch: valerie ramirez #ch: celeste lavallen

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chemicalsectorupdates · 1 month

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Navigating Regulatory Frameworks in the Margarita Glass Market

The Rise of the Margarita Glass in Bar Culture Evolution of the Margarita Glass Design The basic design of the margarita glass has evolved over the past few decades. Originally, margaritas were served in simple rocks glasses or lowball glasses. However, in the mid-20th century, specialized margarita glasses began emerging that featured a salted rim. These early margarita glasses had straight sides and were shorter than contemporary designs.

Contemporary Margarita Glass Designs Today, there is incredible variety in margarita glass designs. While a standard design has remained popular, comprising a flared top, wide mouth, and slightly curved body, many specialized designs have emerged. for example, some glasses feature lime or salt motifs etched into the glass. Others have names or phrases related to margaritas. Sizes of margarita glasses also vary more than in the past. In addition to the standard 8-10 oz glasses, 12 and 16 oz sizes have become prevalent. This accommodates drinks served on the rocks or topped with beer. 'Titans' or 28+ oz glasses intended for multiple drinkers have also grown in popularity. Growing Margarita Glass Market Bartender preferences and drink trends have boosted the margarita glass market in recent years. According to market research firms, over 500 million margarita glasses are sold annually in the United States alone, with sales reaching $350 million. The global margarita glass market is projected to grow to $1 billion by 2028. Craft Bar Glassware Innovation Bars seeking to distinguish their margarita programs have fueled innovation in glassware. Craft bars often release limited edition glass designs tied to holidays, events, or seasonal ingredients. For example, a bar might release snowflake-etched glasses for winter or glass charro hats for Dia de los Muertos. Some craft bars engrave customized glassware with logos or artwork as keepsakes. Diner-style restaurants have released oversized "pitcher glass" designs emulating classic chrome-trimmed glassware. Vibrant colors like pink, orange and lime green glasses have also increased in popularity. Margarita Glass Manufacturing Efficiency To keep up with growing demand yet control glassware budgets, manufacturers have improved efficiency. Molds can now produce dozens of identical glasses per minute compared to single batches in older glassblowing methods. Advances like computer-controlled molding allow intricate detail impossible with handblown techniques. CNC cutting technology facilitates rapid prototyping of new glass styles. Automated production lines precisely place molded glasses onto decorating belts for etching, staining or color application. Such manufacturing efficiency gains enable mass-producing low-cost standard glasses alongside small batch specialty designs. This empowers bars, distributors and manufacturers alike to explore new glassware frontiers driving the thriving margarita glass culture

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ivanreydereyes · 5 months

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El de Puerto Rico [capital SAN JUAN y antes era al Revés o la isla SAN JUAN y capital Puerto RICO..que está asociado a EEUU] Piculin o CONCORDE "ORTIZ" [=apellido REINA DE ESPAÑA] condenado por CULTIVAR "MARIA" Y POSESION DE DROGAS..anuncia que tiene CANCER DE COLON por lo que recuerdo que se puso junto a mi y Alfonso REYES [entonces ambos en C.B. MALAGA aunque ambos jugaron en REAL MADRID en diferentes Etapas e incluso ORTIZ en Fc BARCELONA] en la barra del pub ZIPANGO [=Japón para Europeos] cuyo Gerente era el INGLES "ALAN" [creo q murió de CANCER] q solo daba copa gratis tras el beso de rigor a las CHICAS..aunque nosotros nos gastabamos un dineral por lo que un día me subí al TECHO del KIOSKO q había enfrente escalando x el ARBOL ADJUNTO para dar MALA PRENSA al LOCAL y salió ALAN diciendo q si bajaba me daba todas las COPAS q quisiera y le dije q ya era TARDE..al final subió a por mi Juanmanuel LOBATO PALOMERO que se lio con una tal DEBORAH [ombres] de la AZOTADA Isla de la PALMA q era amiga de un tal EDU al q conoci en el UPSALA [=Lema LA verdad lo conquista TODO] en NEW JERSEY unos 5 años antes y la cual me contó q en una fiesta LUIS ENRIQUE la dijo directamente si quería FOLLAR y ella dijo NO x lo q la respondió que OPORTUNIDADES COMO ESA SOLO PASAN UNA VEZ EN LA VIDA..fichando a continuación desde REAL MADRID por FC BARCELONA ganando la COPA DEL REY q se rompió en sus MANOS y que también ganó como su entrenador sentando sobre ella a su hija fallecida de CANCER.

Por cierto..a ALFONSO "REYES" lo fotografie en la TV en 2013 siendo entrevistada por FE LOPEZ como le twitee al malogrado inglés MICHAEL ROBINSON muerto de CANCER antes de ver abierta su fábrica de VINILOS..y su padre o el de FELIPE REYES [el más viejo en jugar con REAL MADRID BASKET]..murió repentinamente cuando fue a JAEN [Provincia de VIRGINIA MAESTRO] a ver unos partidos amistosos entre ESPAÑA vs AUSTRALIA.

Por cierto..la CAMARERA del ZIPANGO era Eva TUREGANO [=localidad de Segovia donde la madre de Miguel BOSE puso un museo de ANGELES q quebró y donde fui a comer cordero el día del TRABAJADOR de 2007 con CASANDRA SAINTE_MARIE DEL AGUA a la q me reencontré trabajando en la tienda de REAL MADRID del Bernabeu en 2013 tras fotografiarme a sus PUERTAS y a CONTRA_LUZ con CLIFORD LUYK cuyo malogrado hijo muerto x Cancer me presentaron en la sala Roja de disco AVE Nox donde hacia de DJ y tenía una barra alquilada diciéndome q tras jugar en los TORMENTA ROJA de la universidad de ST JOHN sita en pkway UTOPIA en QUEENS_NY, en el FORUM FILATELICO =ESTAFA PIRAMIDAL y en REAL MADRID entrenado x su padre..negociaba con DI_AMANTES..también fui a TUREGANO con Ramon Valle_inclan hijo del ex presidente de TABACALERA y bisnieto del escritor del ESPERPENTO con el q se burlaba de España]..q luego sería la primera reportera de fútbol en TV y actual directora de comunicación de LA LIGA

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tengomilpalabrasparati · 5 months

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"Monarch: El legado de los monstruos"

'Monarch: El legado de los monstruos' supera en creces a 'Kong: La Isla Calavera', 'Godzilla: Rey de los Monstruos' y 'Godzilla vs Kong'

Los dos primeros episodios de 'Monarch: El legado de los monstruos' podrán verse en Apple TV+ a partir de mañana 17 de noviembre. Luego se irá estrenando un capítulo nuevo cada semana hasta que todos los 10 episodios de su primera temporada estén disponibles el próximo 10 de enero.

La serie es la sexta entrega y la segunda serie de televisión en la franquicia MonsterVerse. La trama sigue a los miembros de la organización Monarch mientras se encuentran con Godzilla y otros monstruos, conocidos como Titanes, a lo largo de medio siglo, siguiendo los eventos de la película "Godzilla" de 2014.

La serie ha generado expectativas no solo por su elenco estelar, que incluye a Kurt Russell y Wyatt Russell, sino también por su enfoque narrativo. A diferencia de las películas centradas en la acción de los monstruos, esta ficción se sumerge en la historia de una familia y su conexión con la organización Monarch, abarcando tres generaciones. La crítica ya ha comenzado a pesar sobre la serie, con una calificación de aprobación del 92% en Rotten Tomatoes, destacando las actuaciones y el enfoque humano de la historia.

“Monarch: legado de monstruos” se centra en personas individuales que se ven impulsadas a la acción por la aparición de Godzilla y sus compañeros Titanes, y eso es exactamente lo que hace que la serie sea una delicia sorprendente, que parece tener potencial para convertirse en un verdadero éxito

La serie tiene lugar después de que San Francisco quede arrasada por la invasión de los monstruos, y nos presenta un drama familiar alrededor de dos hermanos que inicialmente no saben que el otro existe. Kentaro, interpretado por Ren Watabe, es un artista que vive su vida en Japón cuando Cate, interpretada por Anna Sawai, se presenta en su casa. Resulta que ambos comparten el mismo padre, desaparecido y dado por muerto. Pero cuanto más profundizan en su vida pasada, más descubren su conexión con la oscura organización conocida como Monarch.

Una de las pocas personas que pueden tener las respuestas a este misterio es Lee Shaw, interpretado por Kurt Russell en la actualidad, y por su hijo Wyatt Russell durante la década de 1950. Lee es un antiguo militar y agente de Monarch que vive su jubilación recluido en una residencia controlada por la organización, y unirá fuerzas con los jóvenes para revelar los secretos ocultos a la opinión pública. Mientras viajan por todo el mundo en busca de su padre y de la verdad sobre Monarch, se encuentran con varias criaturas por el camino... Y sólo ver a Kurt Russell luchando contra monstruos gigantes ya justifica el dineral que Apple se ha tenido que gastar en esto.

'Monarch' apuesta por el riesgo y la intriga con puzzles a resolver, expediciones en la selva y aventura pura y dura con unos personajes con los que es bastante más fácil empatizar que con los de las películas.

Y si pensabas que la serie iba a repetir la misma jugada que la primera piedra de la saga, 'Godzilla' de 2014, ocultando a los monstruos para ahorrar presupuesto y demás... estás muy equivocado. Aquí hay criaturas de todos los colores y tamaños

Si todavía no tienes Apple TV+ pero has comprado recientemente un iPhone, iPad o Mac (o lo has pedido para Reyes), ten presente que tienes 3 meses de la plataforma de regalo pendientes de activar.

youtube

#Monarch: El legado de los monstruos #apple #series y pelis #trailer #Youtube

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arwen--luna · 6 years

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Today was absolutely wonderful! Nothing like starting off the new (witch) year with a great day:) My outfit was very Stevie Nicks inspired, and I wore a bottle spell I made last night as a necklace for protection and success (it's a tiny little bottle that can be put on a chain it's perfect for bottle spells tbh I just bought necklaces at Hot Topic that had little bottles on them, and if it had something in it I took tweezers and got it out!) And very Halloween-y! When I got home I just had some rice but flavored it with rosemary, oregano, garlic, thyme, basil, and poppy seeds in honor of Samhain (and left a little for any spirits who fancy it) with olives and some red rooibos tea (for cramps). Tonight I took some time to myself and did some candle magic for protection and good fortunes, and for some heightening of magic and divining. Just got done meditating and working with some runes, the year looks very prosperous! So lucky and happy to be able to start it off how I did:) I hope everyone's day was wonderful and magical as well! Be safe!

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lokis-lady-death · 4 years

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Falling from Grace

Loki x Reader

Lady Death Note: This is a story I’ve been working on as a mental health project that’s meant to be a 2 part mini for Halloween (yes I’m late so it’s more Dia De Los Muertos special lol). Part 2 should be up soon, but keep in mind this isn’t meant to be a sweet love story.

WARNING: This story contains sexual harassment/assault, mention of self harm and mental health

The dull sound of the windshield wiper blades passing back and forth over the glass was enough to lull anyone to sleep, but really everything about this day beckoned one to return to bed. The repetitious splashing of water against the car, the sound of tires rolling through puddles, the screech of brakes that slid across the wet pavement: the symphony of a wet, dreary day made you want to curl up under blankets dry and pretend the world didn’t exist. You didn’t want to do anything.

Least of all, talk to Dr. Banner.

Leaning your head against the window, you stared out at the blurry images of buildings passing by. You let out a sigh, catching eyes with your mother in the rearview mirror. She shot you a sympathetic smile you tried to reciprocate, but it was a hard reaction given the circumstances.

When you looked away, she glanced over at Earl, your step dad, who drove your family in silence down the main street of town to your weekly therapy session. His face was always the same expression of angry and confused, so it wasn't exactly clear how he felt about the whole situation.

Anna, your younger sister, sat beside you mesmerized by her phone like any other teenager her age, her bubble gum smacking.

A part of you wanted to ask to go back home, to forget this week's appointment, but you knew the answer to that unasked request.

It had been the same every week, for several years now, weekly sessions with a different assortment of doctors, all trying to make you 'better'. You weren’t allowed to miss an appointment, and now would be no different

So you sat lost in your own thoughts while your family road together in the cramped, broken down Oldsmobile until finally pulling up to the conglomerate of small businesses that shared the street front with Dr. Banner's clinic.

Before anyone else moved, you were already out of the car, pulling down the hood of your jacket and zipping up the front. The rain was lightly coming down, but when your mother got out with her bulky umbrella, you wondered if she expected a storm. She put a reassuring arm around your shoulders like always, giving you a slight squeeze before releasing you at the sight of Earl opening the door. Anna stayed in the car.

"Ya gettin' out?" Earl asked expectantly.

She shook her head, still staring at her phone.

Your mother, in her nauseatingly overloving tone pressed, "You don't need to just sit in the car, sweetie, come on, it won't be long-"

"I’m not sitting in there with those freaks.” Her tone wasn't any nastier than when she first started getting dragged to your appointments, but the words were still enough to send a twinge of guilt to your stomach.

You knew she hated this, hated you for this, but all you could do was offer, "I can go in by myself, you guys don't have to follow me everywhere."

Both Earl and your mother turned to you, your step dad leering over the car with a snicker, "We get paid to show the state that you're making an effort to get your shit together, y/n. I ain't risking our money on-"

"Earl!"

"No," he answered indefinitely, "We all come together to make sure she does what she's supposed to. That's the deal. Unless you're about to start working more hours at the diner, Janice?"

He had a nasty habit of talking about you as if you weren't there, but acknowledging it was never useful.

Especially when he wasn’t entirely in the wrong.

You had been known to cut sessions, going as far as to leave the house like you were to attend them only to blow them off at the local bookstore. Really the one and only reason anyone in your family even cared about your mental health treatment boiled down to one big factor- money.

Back when you were a child, you had a near death experience that rendered you, according to the government, handicapped. For that, your family- at the time just you, Anna and your mother-lived off Welfare, Food Stamps, Medicaid and Disability. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Then came Earl.

He swooped in on his magic horse, enticed your mother into marriage, and then began his reign in your income-based-housing as the king. He made sure that you got every benefit you could, down to the last dime so that he didn't have to work, though Janice picked up shifts here and there when she could. It never made sense why your mom would get mixed up with a man like him, but you tried not to dwell on it anymore.

Because the truly unfortunate part?

When you should have been taken out of the system after graduating high school, you made one cataclysmic mistake that gave Earl just what he needed. He managed to render you legally unfit to live alone, making it impossible for you to move out and get on with your life.

Under court orders, you were forced to live under his roof while the state paid for your family's livelihood.

The condition for this? You attend weekly therapy sessions and keep a clean record for five years if you ever wanted the chance for a normal life.

Two years in, at twenty years old, you needed three more of good standing to be able to move out on your own.

So really you couldn't blame Anna; if you had a defective sibling that cost you your Saturday morning, you'd be pissed off, too.

You gave the argument, "You got me this far, I think it's safe to assume I can walk inside and wait alone. If nothing else you can stay out here and watch me go in, even go ask Stacy at the front desk if I saw the doctor."

His eyes narrowed, but your mom grabbed hold of your hand and agreed. "I think that's a fine idea. I can take Anna to go look across the street at the department stores, while you go fiddle around in the hardware store. Doesn't that sound like a good way to spend our morning, Earl?" Though she said it so assuredly, she looked back to your step dad for approval.

Moments like that always made your stomach sick.

Fuck Earl, and fuck his approval.

Letting a huff out through his mustache, he waved his hand towards you, looking away as if the sight of you made him ill. "Fine. But I'm going to check in, so don't fuck up-"

"Earl!"

You took in a breath and stepped away from the car, preferring to make your exit now rather than wait another second. Inside you couldn't help but smile at a familiar face before checking in with the doctor's receptionist.

"Yo, y/n, they ain't committed you to the nut house yet?" the man you smiled at commented as you walked to the sitting area. He held out a hand that you took and together you shoulder bumped.

Sam was quite easily one of your favorite people in this godforsaken place, having met him a little over a year ago when he started bringing his friend to see another doctor in the clinic. He had a small frame, but his loud personality was enough for him to make a big impact on you. Between his smooth, brown skin, neatly trimmed goatee, fresh cologne and bright grin, you’d even say he was a good looking guy.

"Naw, not yet. But today’s a new day, so who knows?"

He chuckled at that. "Was that your old man I heard outside?"

Embarrassed, all you could do was let out a shaky laugh. "Step dad. But, yeah, he's just an asshole. So how is our soldier holding up?"

Sam shook his head, dejected as he admitted, "Not too good. Still a lot of bad dreams. But the doctor is supposed to be giving him something to help with sleep so we’ll see how that goes."

You faced the ground, folding your hands in front of you as you sympathized, "Yeah, hopefully that helps."

You didn't know too much about Sam and Bucky, but from what you heard, they were soldiers together in Iraq before another friend in their squad died. Bucky had lost his arm while trying to rescue him from the flames of a Humvee that had taken an RPG hit. His body survived but his mind didn’t make it back from the war.

Just then, a man came into the lobby from the back rooms where patients saw their respective clinicians. His hair was long and shaggy, matching the unshaven fuzz on his face while his downhearted eyes kept down to the floor. One of his hands rested in his hoodie while the left sleeve hung empty at his side.

"Hey, Bucky, how's it going?" you called out. His eyes came up to meet yours and a faint curl graced his lips. He didn't speak, but to be fair, he only recently reacted to you at all, so this was an improvement.

Sam went over to the receptionist counter with Bucky as another man with a shaved head walked in.

This one, with his five o'clock shadow didn't have a hard time with eye contact as he locked onto you immediately, swiping a tongue across his lips. He made a gesture with his hand and mouth to imitate a blowjob. "Hey, sweet cheeks, if you ever lookin to party, hit me up, I don't care if you're a little looney, they say crazy chicks give the best head-"

"Boy, I'll knock you the fuck out coming in here talking like that to her!" Sam cut at him, his fists already tight.

"Whoah, whoah! Hostilities, Mr. Wilson, are NOT what any of my patients need!" you heard from the recognizable voice of Dr. Banner. Walking in behind the other man was your doctor, a shorter gentleman with a clean, well pressed suit and large green bow tie. His hair was salt and peppered, his brow thick and furrowed as he went on, "And Ajax, watch your mouth. Remember your exercises, you need to have some control. Now,” he turned to you, his brow relaxing as he offered you his sympathetic smile, “Miss y/n, come on in, I'm ready for you."

It was strange the way his voice could go from so stern to soft as a feather, but maybe that's why he was so good at talking to people like you. Hell, even the obscene jerk, Ajax, was doing somewhat better, considering the first time you passed him in the hall alone, he cornered you in the bathroom and immediately went to try and expose himself. Fortunately for you, Sam had a small bladder, and unfortunately for Ajax, his right hook was like a freight train.

All of you ended up keeping the matter to yourselves so Banner didn't kick everyone out of the office. It was because of Banner you, Ajax and Sam's friend Bucky stayed out of the state nuthouse, and as satisfying as it would have been to see police drag Ajax away, losing Banner's support wouldn't bode well for any of you. And comparatively speaking, it wasn’t the worst situation you could have encountered, based on the numerous stories about the deranged psychopath Ajax.

If the worst thing he ever did in your vicinity was flash his unimpressive, disgusting member, then you could handle it.

Because in the end it just wasn't worth it.

So you bottled the discomfort of seeing him every week, even as his comments stayed constant. Not much longer and you could be done with this place.

But even so, as you passed him by, you couldn't stop the utter look of disgust on your face at the site of him.

You stared at your feet as you beelined past Ajax, ignoring the comment he mumbled.

"I'd skull fuck you till you eyes popped like a soda can."

Suppressing the nausea of being this close to him, you ignored it, just ready to get the shitshow over and done.

Inside the room, you plopped down on the black couch just as Dr. Banner closed the door. "How are you doing, Miss y/n?"

Removing the hood from your head, you played off like always, as if a recording of yourself, "I'm doing alright, how about you, Dr. Banner?"

He quirked a brow, taking his usual seat across from you on a leather high-back chair.

"I'm doing well, thank you. But I meant more like how are you lately? Have you had a good week?"

"It was fine."

When you didn't elaborate, he went on, "Did you have anything interesting happen? Anything new at home?" You shook your head. "How about plans this weekend?" Again, you shook your head. "Well, how have things been at home? Did you have any… visitors?"

At that you sucked in you lips, shifting your eyes to a plant he kept in the corner of the room. “That’s really pretty, Dr. Banner, is that an orchid?”

Banner took in a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose to help with the mental strain that was You.

"Come on, this is about open communication, y/n. Getting it out, letting everything into the open. Surely you can hold up half the conversation?" His thick brows raised in an empathetic style, waiting for you to take hold. "This is a safe space, you're not going to be punished for telling me anything. I'm not here to judge or berate you, I'm here to help you." Then he ended it all with his signature, sincere twinkle in his eye.

You grunted.

Of all the therapists you had ever seen, Dr Banner was the only one who could get anything out of you.

"I…” you rubbed both hands down your face, “I saw him. He came."

Banner leaned in, producing a small notepad and pen from nowhere while his eyes stayed on you. "The man in black?" You nodded, but knew that wouldn't be enough. "Did you do what we talked about? Did your exercises help?"

Your hands landed in your lap, your fingers twiddling while your chest had a quick rise and fall.

"Y/n?"

"I tried," you finally let out, "I really did, doctor, I just…”

"Are you afraid of him?"

To that you didn't answer, didn't make eye contact. Your breath left you at the allegation.

Were you afraid?

It had all began when you were just four years old, out fishing in the pond at your grandparent’s house with your dad in the dinky row boat he had used since he was a kid. You remembered how excited you were when he let you take the pole, how fearless you felt until the line gave a sharp tug. He tried to talk you through reeling it in, but it was quickly clear you couldn’t pull hard enough.

Taking the pole, he tried maybe three more seconds before the boat toppled over at a sudden jerk.

No one ever could figure out how it happened.

You didn’t remember anything after falling into the water except your tiny hands clawing desperately at the side of the slick boat to try and hold your head up.

But you sank like a rock.

That’s when your memory held the key moment that would change your life forever.

Choked on pond muck, your eyes were still open but didn’t have the same sense of life they once held. You hadn't even processed what had happened, or the fact that really you were already dead, when you saw Him for the very first time.

Dressed from head to toe in all black, with black long hair creating a halo around his white face, it could have well been from the midday sun shining behind him, but the man in black seemed to glow like an angel. His avocado colored eyes met yours with concern, his lips moving to speak but you couldn’t tell what he was saying.

After all, you were already dead.

Yet against all logic, in that instant you coughed up what had flooded your lungs, hurling to the side so as not to gag. Your mother and grandparents had just started running towards you when you could make out, clear as the nose on your face, the outline of the man in black walking away.

In the beginning it appeared you managed to come out of the whole incident with only a fear of water along with the belief of a guardian angel watching over you. Your father, however, was not so fortunate. His subsequent death was what many attributed to your belief in the man in black and, eventually, your decline in sanity.

"He's not real, y/n,” Banner reiterated, shattering the flashback as you came crashing back to the here and now. “That's something you know now. He's not real, he can't hurt you, not unless you let his existence push you like before. As long as you know, in your mind, he isn't real, that it's you in control, then that's what'll get you past this."

You hated when that unfortunate event got brought up, even when it wasn't meant to be a jab at you.

After the first time you saw him, the man in black became an obsession. Day after day, you kept asking your mother to find out who it was that had saved you from drowning, even though she insisted no one else was there besides your family. It was something you constantly spoke about, much to everyone’s annoyance, but having just lost your father they all turned a blind eye.

What was the harm of an imaginary savior for a four year old?

It wasn’t until a few months later that you started seeing him, or at least, an outline of him. Where his face was somewhat discernible at the pond, now he was a distorted image in the corner of rooms, or off standing in the distance outside. At first, you were excited to see him. You couldn’t wait to show him to your mother, to introduce him as the man who had saved your life.

The problem became clear when no one else could see him, but progressed when he started appearing more often.

In the beginning you admired the man in black, even at a certain point growing fond for him. When you first hit puberty, you innocent pubescent mind fantasized about him being some entity that was meant to love and protect you. In your head, you created this identity for him that didn't ever entirely go away.

And as you grew more curious, he seemed to start coming closer.

The first time he came close was when he suddenly appeared before you in the hallway in middle school. In any other circumstance, you might would have been happy with the progress you'd made with him, but this wasn't what you felt in that moment. Rather than have the slightly distorted image of a face, what you saw was more like a moving shadow. His arms stretched out and you could see blackness emanating from him, unlike anything you had ever seen.

It felt like you couldn’t breathe, yet you somehow managed to scream, throwing your books to the ground to huddle into the fetal position.

Everything just snowballed from there, leading to several psych evaluations, hospital stays, medications, and, most notably now, therapy sessions. Nearly everyone was certain you were making it up for attention as a high strung teenager that needed to be the center of everyone’s world, and that it would, one day, pass. It began to be something you no longer told others about, keeping the details of the growing issues to yourself as the years went by and the man in black became more and more brazen.

At its worse, there were nights where you laid completely catatonic in your bed, your heart pounding to the point of making you nauseated, all while he floated mere inches from your face, his body- black like he were clothed but too blurry to make out- floating parallel to yours.

What made this so disturbing was the empty, white vastness where his face should have been that you couldn't look away from. It felt like he was staring holes into your soul.

Somehow you managed to keep the worst of it to yourself until one particularly awful day your senior year when classmates teased you, calling you a freak and a liar. It had been hard living down that you saw someone no else believed existed, especially after your mental breakdown in the hall years earlier.

Kids tended to be cruel, and teenagers even moreso.

That particular day, some classmates followed you in the halls, calling you names, making jokes behind your back, their snide remarks etching more and more into you like ice being chipped away by a pick. You kept your face low, reasoning that if you just ignored them they would stop.

They didn’t.

For nearly five hours you endured their cruel words with no remarks of your own until finally you couldn’t take it anymore.

You were so upset and enraged by everyone's taunting laughs that you took the scalpel from the Biology lab and sliced down your arms.

In your head, the man in black had saved you in the pond.

Surely he would save you again, here, in front of everyone.

They would see, they would all know- that he was real, just as you always said.

But two days later when you woke up in the psych ward of the hospital strapped to the bed, you drew up the painful realization that everyone had been right. The man in black was, in fact, all in your head.

It all led you here, to this exact moment, in this exact place, facing Dr. Banner and telling him something to get through the session as you had done for years now. "It's not that I think he’ll hurt me, it's just that… Even though I know he's not there, it's like I can't…" You brought your fingers up to your chest, urging your heart to slow down. It was hard putting how you felt to words, because truthfully, you didn’t know. "I've been seeing him so long. I used to beg him to talk to me, to talk to my mom, to let everyone know he was there, but he never did. I think I'm just afraid if I tell him to leave..." you glanced up through your lashes.

Banner nodded understandingly. "You'd miss him."

Hearing it out loud sounded so ludicrous you cringed. “He's familiar, " you reasoned.

"Well, you've seen him since the pond incident, so I can understand you wanting to hold onto some remnants of that. You thought he was your protector. But, you realize now he's not real. I'm real. Your mother’s real. Anna’s real. We are a part of your support group, we are who you can come to in crisis. Not the man in black."

You looked down at your hands, having heard all of this before, and let out a simple, "Yeah."

"Y/n, I'm going to make a suggestion. Do you think that you could stay in the hospital a few days?" Your eyes widened, horrified at the thought of being in the psych ward again Seing your anxiety, Banner quickly backtracked, "It wouldn't be like last time, this time it would be purely for investigating these problems you're having. I have a colleague that has ran some basic neurological trials for patients dealing with similar cases of PTSD and I think it could be beneficial in your case, perhaps even-"

"I don't want to stay in a hospital," you cut him off.

As ill as everyone treated you, as crazy as you appeared, you couldn't take a hospital stay, it was just too much.

Banner leaned towards you, laying his hand across yours. "It's common for people who have gone through traumatic events to lock onto something that may have given them security. For you that was the man in black. In your child-mind, it was easy to take this imaginary person and put them into your life as a safety net. You gave him this story, that he saved you from drowning, like a guardian angel as you used to put it. But as that manifested into something… troubling, now you know how important it is to focus on reality. I know moving on is difficult but that's a part of this whole process, y/n. The neurology aspect just gives us a little more insight. What I mean is, it’s possible there was actual brain damage done during your… incident that could cause these hallucinations.” There was no change in your reserve and the good doctor sighed. “But if you're not willing to do it now, I won't make you." When you didn't look up, he offered, "Maybe, rather than tell him he's not real, tell him he's no longer needed anymore. You're strong, y/n, you don't need to hold onto imaginary saviors. You just need to let yourself see how much you can do when you believe in yourself-"

And just like that, an hour flew by with more of Dr. Banner's wisdom and finally you were allowed the sweet release of freedom.

When you walked back to the lobby, Earl was already at the registration desk talking to Stacy. She gave you a short wave while you walked passed them out the door. Anna and your mother were already sitting in the car to hide from the rain, your sister face deep in her screen. You slid into the back seat without a word when she asked, “How’d it go?”

You quirked a brow. “Fine?”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Good,” she nodded, leaving you more confused.

Your mother turned in her seat, beaming over at the two of you. “You gonna ask your sister about tonight?” she pressed Anna, who took in the most dramatic sigh and eye roll you had ever seen.

“Tom said his dad is letting him throw a party tonight, but Earl said the only way I can go is if you go.”

She wasn’t particularly beggy but you could tell by the wideness in her eyes that she was begging you to be a normal older sister and help a girl out. Just then, your step dad slammed his door and started pulling out of the parking lot.

“I wouldn’t know any of those kids-”

“You would know his older brother, he graduated with your class-”

You scoffed as obnoxiously as possible, leaning back in your seat to look out the window. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a hard no.”

Just as Anna was about to start her signature ‘Why is the world against me, my life is garbage, I hate my family’ spiel, you saw the glint in Earl’s eye in the rear view mirror.

Of course he didn’t want Anna to go out, he knew you wouldn’t agree to see anyone who would recognize you from school.

Feeling a fire burn in your gut, you cut your eyes in her direction. “You know what, on second thought, that sounds cool. I’m in.”

Earl mumbled a few curses while shooting you ugly looks in the mirror while Anna gave you a hollow thanks.

Turning away from everyone, you watched the rain dance down the window to the tunes of the radio’s static.

Once the car went into park outside of your apartment complex, you darted to the door through the rain. Anna followed suit, rushing your mom while she tried to juggle her purse and massive umbrella to search for her keys. She unlocked the door and your sister barged in past her while Earl stepped around, nearly making her drop her things. You took her umbrella from her hands while she fumbled with her bag some more.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” she whispered you with a weak smile and tired eyes.

Looking away, you folded the umbrella and set it outside the door to dry, ready to lay down in your bed. Catching you just before you made it to your room, your mother stopped you with a fistfull of pills.

You frowned. “You know if I take that, I'll pass out-”

“Dr. Banner wants you taking these three times a day to help with the… uh…”

“Hallucinations,” Earl cut in from the living room where he had already set up in front of the TV. Your eyes narrowed in his direction but took the meds without another word.

“Don’t forget about the party,” Anna made sure to remind you before you closed your door. “I wanna leave here at six.”

You threw her a thumbs up, closed the door, and leaned back against it to take a breath. Five deep, calming breaths to help ease your nerves was something Banner had introduced you to,and though you hated to admit it, there were some soothing qualities to it, especially after dealing with your family.

Feeling a bit of tension release it’s hold on you, your eyes opened to your bedroom. It wasn’t much, but you appreciated your own space too much to care. Thick doubled curtains hung over the windows that lined either side of your bed, where a blue quilt and pillows were tossed around in constant chaos. Other than the bed, you had one particle board dresser and an old liquor crate you used as a night stand. Along the generically tan-painted walls, you had hung posters of your favorite bands like AC/DC, Metallica, and Motley Crue.

Three things about your room were guaranteed: first, your floor was always spotless, second, your room was never childish, and third, you kept it dark.

Why?

Because you never knew when you would have a visitor.

It was a conscious thing you always had in the back of your mind, that no matter the time of day or what you were doing, the man in black could appear at any moment.

And while others would leave every light in their house on and not concern themselves with appearances, you practically left open the proverbial front door, hoping to see him again in the same way as when you were a child.

A real person.

It was a sick thing you’d never admit to another soul, but you wanted to see him so bad that you basically gave him an open invitation.

Face planting into the softness of your mattress, you buried yourself in the blanket and soaked up the dark stillness of your room. Taking a few more relaxing breaths, you rolled onto your side, wrapping your arms and legs around one of your thicker pillows. You drifted off to sleep.

It was hours later when you started stirring, at first stretching out your limbs and arching your back. But as your eyes opened, you inhaled sharply at the sight of the man in black standing in the corner of your room.

Just as the times before, he was a blurred copy of a person, a dark stain in space with his face an empty white void. Your breath became shaky while you kept your eyes on him, afraid if you looked away he would vanish.

Or get closer.

Swallowing, you slowly raised yourself on the bed.

Do you ask him to speak like you had done the countless other times he appeared?

Or did you do your exercises from Dr. Banner and tell him you don’t need him?

The choice was taken from you when Anna knocked abruptly with the reminder, "Don't forget we have plans!"

"I didn't forget, I'm getting up," you called out blankly, disappointed at the disruption. The man in black was gone and once you checked your phone, you realized it was time to get ready to leave.

With an unenthused grumble, you rolled off the softness onto the cold hard floor.

You opted to change clothes, choosing a black Metallica shirt with denim shorts. Still hearing the rain pouring outside your window, you grabbed your hoodie and slipped into your flip flops.

Catching your reflection in the mirror on the back of the closet door, you wrinkled your nose at the plainness of your face. Walking out into the hall, you slipped unnoticed into the only bathroom in the apartment, quietly clicking the door shut. You opened up the vanity drawer and started digging at different things until finally coming up with a halfway decent makeup job. Heavy eyeliner, mascara and dark lipstick were as far as you got before Anna threw open the door. She was dressed in a lacey, spaghetti strapped romper that exposed the mauve bralette she wore underneath.

“Awesome, you’re ready, let’s go. Earl finished his first twelve pack and I'm ready to get out before it has time to settle.”

Leaning out the door, your eyes cocked towards the balding spectacle of a man laid back in the recliner in front of the TV. Making a sick face, you agreed, “Yeah, let’s get out of here.” The two of you grabbed up your things and made it to the door until you realized the car key wasn’t on the key holder. “Shit!”

Anna’s shoulders stiffened, then relaxed again at the sight of your mother walking out of her room. “Hey, mom, keys?” she mouthed dramatically though only whispers came out.

She nodded with a large grin, retreating into her room to reappear moments later with the keyring. Quietly handing it off to Anna, not you, she wished you both a nice evening and reminded you to stay safe and keep up with your phones.

The two of you quietly left the apartment and piled into the car, with Anna plopping down into the driver’s seat. “I can drive,” you mumbled, though Anna raised a brow.

“You’re not supposed to drive cause of your meds and I ain’t gonna die tonight.”

Rolling your eyes, you slid into the passenger seat, leaning all the way back and closing your eyes. “Then by all means.”

Watching from the laid back position, you saw the buildings fade away as more trees popped up into view. Tom’s home was just outside town in the suburbs in one of the nicer subdivisions. The houses started spacing out more and more as the homes got larger and larger before finally arriving at a house that seemed too big for any normal sized family. Several cars were already outside when Anna pulled the car up to the curve.

Before she could kill the engine, you told her, “Well this has been fun, but I’m gonna take off.”

“What? We just got here?”

Your nose crinkled in the direction of the house as you answered, “Look, it was nice of you to think of me, but I don’t wanna hang out with you kids. I’m gonna go find something else to do.”

Looking down at her hands, you saw something shift in your sister’s expression, something you hadn’t noticed in a long time. Sympathy. “Look, about what I said earlier, you know I don’t think you’re a freak right?” She looked back up to meet your gaze, her eyes glassed over. “And my friends, they’re not jerks, they’re not gonna be mean to you. Why don’t you come in, you might actually enjoy yourself.”

There was no changing your mind, you knew you didn’t want to be here. Offering her a head tilt and sideways grin, you shot back, “I know, Anna. I just feel like being alone right now.”

“Okay. But you aren’t taking the car.”

You sucked on your teeth, making a smacking noise then climbed out, sighing just before you closed the door.

"Y/n, if you change your mind?"

You didn't look back, simply waved your hand. As you started down the sidewalk. There was no doubt in your mind that you didn't want to be at that party, not even a small inkling that you wanted to be around those people.

Besides, if you were alone, there was always that chance you'd see Him again.

It hadn't been twenty minutes until you came to a bench at a small intersection. Pulling the phone from your pocket, you started aimlessly scrolling through social media.

*****

It had been several hours and you had made it through three accounts, dug two years deep into one person's life (by accident of course) and even read through emails on an account you only owned to have accounts on other websites, you were ready to be done with the night.

Stretching out your legs, you realized how stiff you had gotten.

"Alright, I'm done with this," you texted your sister, "It's time to go home."

Closing your phone, you were just about to slip it in your pocket when a strange sound cut through the air. You froze in place, narrowing your eyes down one of the incoming streets. It was the sound of tires screeching down the road, music from a radio blaring with unrecognizable lyrics through the night.

Rolling your eyes at yet another display of idiocracy of man, you went to start back towards where you left your sister. Ignoring the truck, you went on down the street a little further, your mind idling back to your appointment with Dr. Banner earlier. It wasn't the first time he had mentioned going inpatient with a neurologist to try and see if your trauma could be linked to some sort something, you didn't know what, but maybe more physical than psychological. It was an interesting theory, but in truth the idea of being in a hospital for any period of time didn't show any appeal whatsoever.

Your mind was a million galaxies away, oblivious to the world, only to come crashing down at the sound of a purring engine rolling up behind you. Still, you kept your pace and tried to ignore it.

After another few minutes, you had to fight the urge to turn around.

Until you heard a familiar voice catcall through the night.

"Hey, sweet cheeks, ya lookin lonely without soldier boy hanging around."

The blood in your veins turned to ice and your stomach flipped inside your guts. The unmistakable sound of Ajax calling out was too horrific to imagine.

Not here.

Not now.

It was so late at night you couldn't be certain anyone else would be passing by and your sister still hadn't answered your text.

"Suga lips, I know you hear me."

The truck was rolling steady right behind you but you kept walking, kept your eyes straight ahead.

That is, until it stopped and the distinct click of a door opening made you turn around by instinct. That's when you saw there were other men, not just Ajax, leering at you through the tinted windshield, but it was he who had hopped out and was starting towards you.

"Hey, come on now, I just wanna talk," he started, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about about that mouth of yours…"

"Yeah, come on chicken legs, why don't you let us give you a tide," another man added, followed by the animalistic cracked from others in the truck.

Frowning, you couldn't stop the roll of your eyes or tilt of your head, turning back to walk on your way. You hoped that would be enough to deter him, to show him you weren’t scared, while also helping you put more distance between you.

You didn't recognize. The sound of footsteps speeding your way, not in as quick as it happened. The unexpected bash to the back of your head was too hard, too swift, it knocked you out before your body even collided with the concrete.

*****

"Y/n?"

A gentle voice called out your name, both foreign and familiar. It was gone before you could discern it, though it didn't feel of any consequence.

Opening your eyes, the sky above you was a brilliant blue with just the right amount of white, clouds streaming through the atmosphere. Around your body, you could feel water flowing gently to guide you down a river.

It was rather abruptly that the water began to become rapid. Turning you one way and another. At first it was gentle enough, but steadily it began to toss you back and forth. Your body rocked back and forth, never allowing you control yourself to try and swim to safety.

Through the air, the voice came again, more abruptly and alert.

“Y/n!”

*****

Your eyes popped open with your heart pounding. This wasn’t a river you were flowing down, there was no blue sky or peaceful scenery. The strange sensation of being tossed around by rapids was actually the struggle of two men you didn’t recognize pulling your limp body in two directions.

That’s when you realized what was happening.

They were removing your bottoms.

Wasting no more time, your body jerked as you moved past the stinging on the back of your head, taking them men off guard and managing to get dropped onto the hard ground, but not at the loss of your shorts. Your bare thighs scraped against rocks and dirt as you scrambled to your feet.

All you could make out was they had brought you somewhere away from the neighborhood you were once in, the only thing remnant of civilization the cheaply laid dirt road they had pulled off of. There were several tall trees blocking the night sky and moon, the only light you had from the truck’s headlights.

Barely making it five feet, you felt wide arms wrap around your waist and jerk you backwards.

“Let me go!” you screamed, kicking, scratching, and slapping at whatever had taken hold of you.

“Feisty bitch, aren’t you?” the man commented, throwing you backwards against the hard ground. You landed with a hard thud on your shoulder before trying again to get to your feet.

A foot came forward and caught you in the stomach, violently knocking the air out of you to the point of gagging.

“Holy shit,” you could distinguish as Axel spoke up. A hand came down and lifted your head up by your hair, “Who would have thought the quiet crazy girl would put up such a fight!”

Your eyes were watery when you opened them, desperately pleading, “Please, don’t-”

A hard set of knuckles met your cheek, your being the only thing keeping you from collapsing back against the ground like you were simply a boxing bag.

The warmth of blood trickling down your face and strong smell of iron made your nauseous on top of the pain in your stomach.

“Shit, I think you broke her nose!” a man laughed.

Ajax’s free hand came around to inspect your cheek, turning your face so he could get a better look. “Nah, she’s aight, aren’t you sweet cheeks? But, maybe I need to call you something else now?” Another series of cackles rang out. “Aight, so, are you gonna play nice, baby? I hate to have to lick you ‘gain, but you can’t be whining, don’t nobody want to hear that.”

There was no controlling your sobbing, even at fear of getting hit again. The pain in your face and body was excruciating, unlike anything you had ever felt. The shatter of your nose cartilage and crunch of your lower ribs were enough to make your whole body convulse, adding to the horror of your reality.

But even as your eyes flooded with tears, you managed to make out a disillusioned being lurking just beyond the trees, a light glow of green forming around it.

Your chest thudded.

Not looking back at the men shuffling around you, you called out the only defense you could muster. “Help me!” you hollard frantically. “I know you’re there, I believe in you, I know you’re real, PLEASE!” The knuckles came against your face again, this time catching your in the ear. All you could hear was a distortion of ringing, but you didn’t let that stop you, looking back to the woods where you could see the glow, you called out again, “Please, please! Help me!”

You could hardly even hear the men laughing at your desperation, commenting amongst themselves as you pleaded with seemingly empty space to come to your rescue. The hand holding your hair released you, allowing your body to slink to the ground, exhausted, as each man began to undo their belt buckles.

“Please,” you whispered quietly, keeping your eyes closed tight, certain of what would come next, “Please, save me.”

A wind picked up, just enough to send a chill through the air that sent a shiver down your spine and caused the men to halt in their spot, just before a disembodied voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. “If you truly wish it, I will come.”

The headlights behind you shattered, startling you so badly that the only thing your torn body could do was pull together in the fetal position on your knees. Managing to keep yourself from screaming, you closed your eyes and shed several more teardrops.

If you weren't looking, if you were still, if you were quiet, maybe whatever had occurred would simply ceist.

Maybe, just maybe, if you prayed hard enough, everything that was happening would simply end.

Another second passed and nothing else happened, leaving you with nothing that could be done but open your eyes to whatever was unfolding. You lost all breath at the sight of two large boots standing in front of your own bare feet. You were unable to breathe, unable to think, at the sound of a distinctive voice cutting through the air, “But be careful what you ask for, pet.”

The man in black had actually come.

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

FFG: lokis-high-priestess, @brokenthelovely, @witchbitch-stuff , @the--queen-of-hell

LOKI TAGS: @socialheartbreak @kcd15 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @jessiejunebug @woodyandbuzz20-01@imasultforlokiandspencerreid @bambamwolf87@avenging-blackwidow @kitsuneharo12@yzssie@macbetheliza @lokilvrr@lokixme @li-ssu @j-u-s-t-4@letskillthefuhrer @lou-makes-me-strong @wolfsmom1, @noplacelikehome77@unicorniorosacomefrutillas@justiceiswater, @beccaliciooouuusss

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #dark loki #loki x oc #loki x you #loki x reader

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satureja13 · 1 year

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Outtakes

A bit late, but I couldn’t reveal that Vlad is Luci to not spoil it ;)

This was the first time they met at the Diner de los Muertos.

The last time they met, was when Vlad claimed Ji Ho (on Sept 15th!) after the duel (but Ji Ho does not have any memories because Genji bewitched him.)

The last time they met and Ji Ho remembers, was, when they visited Plumbite Pier (on Sept. 5th! Two months! oh my...) after Ji Ho got bitten by Genji.

Here I forgot to change their hair and makeup for pyjama outfits for -> these scenes ^^’

I think this was the first time I saw Vlad/Luci laughing in all those years! Ji Ho autonomously told him a joke about ducks (which I also didn’t know is possible(?) I do not find that option under ‘Funny...’ strange ö.ö) Are they inventing their own jokes when I’m not around?

From the Beginning ~ Underwater Love ~ Latest

#Underwater Love #Diner de los Muertos #outtakes #San Myshuno #Luci #Woo Ji Ho #Vladimir Tepesz #to hell and back?#Ji Ho and Luci #Vlad funny

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theknightlywolfe · 4 years

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Given all the screaming on social media about a Mexican woman in Mexico wearing Dia de los Muertos make up in the month of the holiday it's clear people don't actually know what cultural appropriation is (or, most likely don't care as long as they can be smugly righteous about something).

Beat Bobby Flay is cultural appropriation.

Diners, Drive ins, and Dives is cultural appreciation.

Barefoot Contessa is cultural practice.

Bobby Flay and his production team go out to find other people doing something, lie to them to get them to show what they do and how they do it, and then Bobby struts in and uses the tricks he lied to get to try and prove he is better than them.

Guy Fieri and his production team take suggestions from others, call up the businesses, ask to come out and are up front about who they are, and get their agreement before they show up. If someone says no, they respect it and move on. Guy shows up and sings the people's praises, let's them speak for themselves, asks others for positive feedback on what the places are doing, and often goes back to make sure they're still doing well.

Ina Garten spends months or years developing her recipes, tells who developed a recipe if it wasn't her, acknowledges who trained her and her suppliers, brings in experts/elders in things to share their insights, and interacts with those learning from her to help them get things right.

And remember, performative does not automatically equal appropriative.

#food network #cooking channel #cultural appropriation #really people #you cannot appropriate your own culture #just by living it

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dreamofyouandi · 5 years

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It's been a hot minute since I wrote more headcanons so here

In the city, if someone escapes/is terminated and has children, the children will be given to a suitable, artificial parental unit (think Grace from umbrella academy)

The Girl never named her cat but the ultra Vs started calling her The Cat because it makes sense

There are almost never crows in the zones, but if there is, it's seen as a sign that something either very very good or very very bad is about to happen

If you see party poison and he's crying you'd better fucking run in the other direction because you are DEAD. MEAT. The only people he cries around is kobra and occasionally ghoul, though the latter is usually accidental (pois cries a lot more than he'd like to admit.)

Fun Ghoul's way of showing affection is usually through non-serious insults. If he likes you, he'll assign you a stupid insult right off the bat. Pois's is pissbaby.

Halloween in the zones is not dissimilar to Día de los Muertos/Day of the Dead. The phoenix witch lets zone ghosts wander for 24 hours, though no one can see them, and it's a tradition to leave a bit of food or a special item in the Mailbox so the ghosts can retrieve them.

That being said, in Battery City Halloween is banned entirely due to creativity being involved, although candy still goes on sale for the whole month of October, meaning they're much more easily accessible for angel cakes

Show Pony keeps candy somewhere in the diner and the fab four KNOW it's in there somewhere but they have turned the place upside down so many times looking for it and yet it never shows itself. Show Pony will never tell anyone.

There's a wedding ring glued to the front of the Mailbox. Nobody knows whose it is or why it's there, but it's pretty iconic. If you mention The Wedding Ring in a conversation, most killjoys will know what you're talking about.

The only time the rest of the fab four have seen fun ghoul cry hard was when kobra kid accidentally broke his first ever Mad Gear and Missile Kid record. (Their relationship has been a little rocky ever since, although Ghoul did eventually get it replaced.)

Another thing on the mailbox that is a complete mystery is a vinyl record glued to the underside. Multiple people have taken it off and tried playing it, but all it plays is a single piano note and nothing else.

One of the most popular memes in the zones is the case of an anonymous killjoy who interrupted a Mad Gear and Missile Kid concert by climbing on the stage and eating a whole bath bomb on stage while everyone watched. It was incredible. The identity of the killjoy is still unknown but most know him as Bath Bomb Kid.

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layakimbra · 4 years

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ESTRENOS DE NETFLIX JUNIO 2020

Se viene junio en unos días y netflix tira la casa por la ventana con la gran cantidad de contenido que nos trae este mes, sin duda están salvando la cuarentena de muchos de nosotros. Acá te dejo el catalogo para que tomes nota y no pierdas de nada.

1º de Junio

Keeping Up with the Kardashians

Un reality que relata la vida doméstica de Kim Kardashian y su peculiar familia. Aunque los miembros de la familia siempre tienen discrepancias, siempre terminan apoyándose mutuamente.

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

Programa de telerrealidad que sigue la vida de unas mujeres ricas que disfrutan de sus vidas en Beverly Hills.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta

Amas de casa de Atlanta viven sus fabulosas vidas en la capital de Georgia, mostrando sus dramas personales y profesionales.

The Real Housewives of New York City

Cámaras capturan la vida de un grupo de mujeres ocupadas, influyentes, ricas y ambiciosas de Manhattan.

Below Deck

Las vidas de varios jóvenes que viven y trabajan a bordo de yates de lujo, embarcaciones privadas pertenecientes a clientes exigentes, difíciles de complacer y, muchas veces, de trato complicado.

Married to Medicine

Seis mujeres de Atlanta, todas médicas o esposas de doctores, tratan de conjugar sus carreras profesionales con sus vidas privadas.

Top Chef

Quince concursantes se enfrentan ante un jurado al competir por convertirse en el primer Top Chef España, escribir un libro de recetas y llevarse el premio de 100.000 euros.

Saving Private Ryan

Después de desembarcar en Normandía, en plena Segunda Guerra Mundial, unos soldados norteamericanos deben arriesgar sus vidas para salvar al soldado James Ryan, cuyos tres hermanos han muerto en la guerra.

The Titan Games

Un programa que ofrece una inspiradora competencia que pone a prueba a los participantes a través de desafíos de fuerza y mentales.

Devil's Gate

Un agente del FBI intenta resolver un caso de personas desaparecidas en un área rural, pero cuando descubre que unas criaturas misteriosas pueden ser responsables del crimen, debe aprovechar cada reserva de su valor e inteligencia para sobrevivir.

Last Holiday

Tras descubrir que sufre una enfermedad terminal, una mujer decide vender todas sus posesiones y vivir en un hotel europeo.

The Wife

Joan lleva 40 años casada con Joe, un escritor prestigioso. Joan ha sacrificado sus sueños en pos de la supervivencia de su matrimonio, pero, cuando a Joe van a concederle el premio Nobel, Joan no puede soportarlo más y altera el orden de las cosas.

Revolutionary Love

Una comedia romántica que narra la historia de tres personajes diferentes: Byun Hyuk, un chaebol de tercera generación que se esconde en una parte de la ciudad en pequeñas habitaciones, Baek Joon, quien se gana la vida trabajando en varios empleos a tiempo parcial, y Je Hoon, un joven inteligente y hábil que sueña con convertirse en rico.

Introverted Boss

Eun Hwan Ki es el CEO de una compañía de relaciones públicas, pero es extremadamente tímido. Debido a su personalidad sus empleados no lo conocen bien. Chae Ro Woon empieza a trabajar en la compañía de Eun Hwan Ki. Es muy energica y recibe un reconocimiento por su buen trabajo, sin embargo ella se interesa en el CEO Eun Hwan Ki y planea revelar quién es él realmente

Río Grande

Un oficial espera ansiosamente el permiso de cruzar la frontera entre México y Estados Unidos para atacar a los Apaches.

Midnight Diner: Tokyo Stories

En un pequeño restaurante llamado Meshiya, entre la medianoche y las 7 de la mañana, una multitud de clientes acuden al establecimiento para comer algo y visitar al propietario, conocido como el Maestro.

Jasón y los argonautas

El mítico héroe griego navega a través de las Arpías y las rocas que chocan con el vellocino de oro, protegido por la Hidra.

Reckoning

Los caminos de Mike Serrato y Leo Doyle se unen tras el asesinato de una adolescente. Desde ese momento, los dos hombres comienzan un viaje de destrucción mientras intentan proteger a sus seres queridos.

Mis queridos amigos

Dear My Friends Mis queridos amigos, representa la vida realista y agradable de las personas mayores.

2º de Junio

Fuller House

Las aventuras de la familia Tanner continúan. Al morir Tommy, su marido, y enviudar con tres hijos, D.J. recibe la ayuda de su hermana Stephanie y su amiga Kimmy, quienes se instalarán en la casa para colaborar con la crianza de los niños.

4º de Junio

¿Me escuchas?

Tres amigas de un barrio bajo encuentran humor y esperanza en sus vidas mientras se enfrentan a relaciones toxicas y familias disfuncionales.

Baki the Grappler

Baki the Grappler es una serie Manga escrita e ilustrada por Keisuke Itagaki. Fue originalmente publicada en Weekly Shōnen Champion desde 1991 hasta 1999 en 42 volúmenes Tankōbon.

5º de Junio

Queer eye

Cinco nuevos expertos en moda y estilo ayudan a hombres y mujeres de los Estados Unidos que los necesitan.

Perdida

Un hombre reporta que su esposa desapareció en su quinto aniversario de bodas, pero la imagen pública de una relación feliz empieza a desmoronarse por la presión de la policía y de los medios de comunicación.

The Last Days of American Crime

En un futuro no muy lejano, el Gobierno de los Estados Unidos planea activar una señal para detener todo comportamiento delictivo. Un ladrón se suma a un plan para dar el último golpe que pasará a la historia.

El castillo de cristal

Basado en una biografía; cuatro niños luchan para crecer en un ambiente pobre y muy poco convencional supervisados por sus disfuncionales y amorosos padres.

La extraña fuente de la fortuna

Una empleada bancaria abrumada por las deudas de su marido desempleado y sus sueños rotos encuentra una fuente secreta de dinero en su propia casa.

7º de Junio

365 Days

En un intento de salvar su relación, Laura, su novio y sus amigos vuelan a Sicilia. Sin embargo, se alteran de manera dramática sus vacaciones cuando a Laura la recoge Massimo, quien a ella le da 365 días para enamorarse de él. '365 dni' es un drama erótica polaco que está basado en la novela de Blanka Lipinska

El rey Arturo: la leyenda de la espada

Arturo fue robado al nacer y tuvo una educación espartana en una zona conflictiva de la ciudad, pero cuando extrae la espada Excalibur de la piedra en la que estaba clavada, la profecía se cumple y acepta el destino de liderar a su pueblo.

#blog #personal #netflix #and #chill #cuarentine #movie #serie #pelicula #peliculas #movies #argetnina #estreno #junio #2020 #new #kim kardashian #keeping up with the kardashians

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uniendopueblos · 5 years

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El largo periplo de la esperanza

Salió huyendo de una amenaza de muerte. Afganistán no es país seguro para nadie. Menos, para mujeres que osan desobedecer órdenes de talibanes. Aunque apeados del poder, su presencia, su fuerza impositiva lejos, de desactivarse ha seguido creciendo. Y quiso salvar su vida y la de su familia. Sólo encontró un medio: alejarse, escapar a un lugar donde nadie la conociera, donde nadie la encontrara, donde no tuviera que estar encerrada en su casa como único lugar seguro, temblando cada vez que sonaba ese teléfono cargado de muerte para ella y los suyos. Entonces aún no sabía que su viaje estaría plagado de cíclopes con un ojo en la frente, de vientos huracanados, de islas donde sobrevivir se convertiría en una proeza diaria.

Ella era feliz. Se había casado “por amor”, lo que en esta tierra regida por la tradición, anclada en el medievo y controlada por los talibanes es harto difícil. Inmersa en una guerra iniciada hace casi veinte años, había formado una familia en la que había nacido un niño. Trabajaba en un banco hasta que comenzaron las extorsiones, las amenazas, los golpes.

“Me negué a darles la información que me exigían. El Islam prohíbe esas prácticas. Los talibanes han cambiado el Libro Sagrado para adaptarlo a sus intereses, para dominar a los afganos. Odian a todo el mundo y especialmente nos odian a las mujeres.” “La guerra de EEUU sólo ha provocado más miedo, más violencia. Si recibes la llamada de un talibán puedes darte por muerto. De mi querían que les proporcionara datos de los clientes para extorsionarles. No podía hacerlo.” “Llegaron a ofrecerme montones de dinero si trabajaba para ellos y hacia lo que me decían”.

De las amenazas verbales, de la extorsión y el chantaje, de las llamadas clandestinas exigiendo la colaboración pronto pasaron a la agresión física. El día en que en la calle y a plena luz del día la golpearon supo que había llegado el momento de huir. En una sociedad cerrada como la afgana, en la que la tradición es contraria a la razón, quedan pocas alternativas. Sobrevivir se convierte en una pesada carga. “La madre de mi marido le insistía en que me dejara, que me abandonara. Decía que yo no era buena musulmana, que no tenía que trabajar ni salir a la calle. Que yo no era una buena esposa porque no obedecía”. “Llegó un momento en que llegué a pensar si sería verdad, si Alá estaba castigándome. Me volvía loca, me encerré en mi cuarto. No podía estar todo el día oyendo las amenazas de ella por un lado y esperando las de los talibanes por otro”.

Sólo quedaba una salida: huir. Para ello tuvieron antes que desprenderse y vender todo lo que tenían, conscientes del largo y duro camino que les aguardaba. Pasaron a Irán, luego a Turquía. Es la ruta habitual de los afganos. En Moria más del 90% de la población procede de Afganistán. Huidos de una guerra interminable.

En Turquía, el dinero con el que salieron estaba llegando a su fin.

Europa parecía quedar cada día más lejos. Esa tierra de libertad, la que hacía más de medio siglo había promovido la Declaración Universal de los Derechos Humanos. La madre protectora incapaz de dar cobijo. El lugar donde creyó que encontraría el refugio que necesitaba.

Encontrar un traficante en Turquía es muy fácil. Pero exige dinero. Mucho dinero. Su tarifa va unida a la mayor o menor garantía de conseguir llegar a Grecia, la puerta de entrada en Europa.

Tras el acuerdo del 2016, Turquía, a la vez que se convertía en una muralla de contención de personas en busca de refugio, lo hacía en paraíso de mafias que cualquiera conoce. “Es muy fácil, todo el mundo sabe dónde tienes que ir para contratar un traficante. Nos pidieron 700 € por cada uno de nosotros. No los teníamos”.

La desesperación volvió a cernirse sobre ella. ¿Cómo conseguir ese dinero, pasaporte a la felicidad? “Entonces llamé a mi hermana, que vive en Australia. Me dijo que era mi problema, que no me ayudaba”. “Pero Alá se apiadó de mi y se apareció en forma de una buena mujer que me buscó trabajo. Cuando conseguimos reunir lo suficiente fuimos a contratar al traficante”.

Y lo contrataron por 700 €. Casi una fortuna. Compraron tres salvavidas en la misma tienda. Una tienda bien conocida por turcos y no turcos. Basta con preguntar a cualquiera. Y un buen día les avisaron. Saldrían esa misma noche.

El mar en calma. La Luna llena. Sería fácil. Son pocos los kilómetros que separan las dos costas. Si tenían suerte, en unas horas estarían por fin en Grecia.

Pero no la tuvieron. La policía intercepta de vez en cuando alguna barca. Generalmente, una pequeña, que no moleste mucho. Las demás parece que no se ven. Y aquel día les tocó a ellos.

Dos meses de cárcel fue el coste. Una noche, una psicóloga se acercó a ella, se interesó por su historia. Y logró que la dejaran salir. Tras la agrupación familiar volvieron a intentarlo. De nuevo fueron a la tienda, pero esta vez pagarían más y elegirían mejor.

Y así fue. Esta vez los 800 € de cada uno les permitieron llegar. Antes de salir les dijeron que las barcas de los traficantes con mayores tarifas muy rara vez son interceptadas y devueltas. Pero 100 euros de más por persona se convierten en un dineral para muchos. Si la familia está compuesta por varios miembros la opción de garantizar el pasaje está cerrada.

Ellos lo consiguieron. Tras una travesía que parecía interminable llegaron a la playa del otro lado. A una playa griega.

Allí fueron recogidos por unas buenas gentes que noche tras noche vigilan los puntos de llegada, que les quitaron las ropas mojadas, les dieron una manta, los recibieron con una sonrisa y brazos abiertos en vez de con gritos y empujones. Después vinieron los guardacostas. Por entonces aún no sabían quiénes eran, demasiado asustados para entender nada.

En Lesbos existen dos puntos de rescate de personas al norte de la isla y uno al sur. Cada noche otean atentos el horizonte en busca de una barca, de seres desesperados, asustados… Cuando ven alguna, esperan su llegada. Rápidamente disponen toallas, mantas, ropas secas y calcetines. Al menos, que el primer recibimiento al llegar sea amable. Ya tendrán tiempo de conocer el infierno al que llegarán en pocas horas.

Tras recogerles llaman a los guardacostas. Entre una cosa y otra pasarán entre 15 minutos y media hora. “Los africanos son los más alegres cuando llegan. Con los brazos levantados al aire bailan, cantan, llaman por teléfono a sus familias, quieren que hables con ellas para que su familia les crea. Es una fiesta” cuenta una leader de grupo.

Las leaders de grupo son la referencia dentro del mismo. Su responsabilidad es grande. Cuidan de la seguridad del grupo, coordinan, vigilan que esté todo en orden, que no falte nada. Saben que de ellos depende que los que llegan puedan tener un mínimo de abrigo. Y son, al mismo tiempo, como cabeza del grupo, los que mayor riesgo corren. Salvar, socorrer a la gente es una obligación reconocida cuyo incumplimiento es considerado un delito. Pero socorrer a los que vienen en busca de refugio se considera tráfico de personas y puede ser castigado con más de 40 años de prisión. “Casi nunca se aplica”. “Sí nos detienen si quieren, sobre todo si algún policía ha tenido un día malo o está de mala hostia. Ahora estamos esperando que salga el juicio de una compañera. Pero lo normal es que te absuelvan. Eso sí, después de amenazas, de algún tiempo en la cárcel… nadie te resarcirá por ello, pero generalmente en el juicio el juez nos absuelve”, asegura una leader de Lesbos.

No es fácil esta tarea. Posiblemente sea de las más difíciles pero también de las más gratificantes. “Esperamos alerta su llegada. Tenemos poco tiempo. A veces, en una noche movida como las que hubo hace un par de semana coincidiendo con la guerra de Erdogan contra los kurdos, pueden llegar hasta seis o siete barcas. Hay que sacarlos, secarlos, darles mantas, calcetines secos. Llegan ateridos de frío. Muchos, con quemaduras producidas por la mezcla del combustible del motor con la sal del mar. Hay que hacer las primeras curas porque es posible que pasen horas antes de que un médico ya en el campo los vea. Vienen asustados. Aunque sean pocos kilómetros, la inseguridad de esa barca frágil y sobrepoblada en medio de ese mar negro y a veces furioso impone. Además, muchos no saben nadar. Otros vienen con hijos pequeños… En cada barca vienen de 35 a 60 personas. Luego avisamos al guardacostas”. “Hacemos dos turnos de cuatro horas -continúa diciendo- pero no todas las noches llegan donde estamos. Al ser una isla, los puntos de entrada pueden ser varios. Tenemos que estar con prismáticos intentando ver esa pequeña luz que nos indica que es una barca la que se acerca. E ir hasta allí. A veces tenemos que hacer reanimación pulmonar. Pero lo peor son las quemaduras, enormes quemaduras de tercer grado que levantan la piel descarnada”. “Hacemos la primera cura pero no sabemos cuando le harán la siguiente. En el campo sólo hay dos médicos y no dan abasto para verlos. Tienen que ver a todas las personas que han llegado esa noche -a veces más de trescientas- para hacer el registro”.

El registro supone la identificación. “Algunos no quieren pero son los menos. Saben que es la única forma de sentirse un poco más seguro. Y siempre queda la esperanza de poder salir del infierno que les espera aunque aún no lo conozcan. De todas formas, si alguna persona, generalmente jóvenes, pues las familias ni se lo plantean, quiere salir corriendo, le dejamos. Es su deseo y su voluntad. Nosotras estamos ahí para recibirlas en las mejores condiciones”.

El guardacostas les lleva directamente a Moria. Allí los inscriben, les toman datos y les entregan una manta y una tienda. El infierno de Moria ha comenzado.

Al día siguiente, sin demora, hay que llamar a la tienda turca a la que pagaron el pasaje y avisar de la llegada. Si no lo hacen, los problemas se multiplicarán. El brazo de la mafia es largo, muy largo. “Nadie sabe quiénes son, puede ser tu propio vecino. Una vez la llamada a la tienda se ha producido, ésta paga al traficante. Nunca antes. Si no se llama, el traficante te buscará hasta encontrarte y obligarte a que lo hagas. Dentro y fuera de Moria están conectados. Todos saben quién ha llegado esa noche y por dónde anda. Te persiguen hasta que llamas. Luego te dejan en paz”.

Junto al registro, la primera y posiblemente única visita médica. Sólo hay dos médicos, griegos, desbordados de trabajo y mal pagados, para todo el campamento. Su primera labor es realizar esa primera visita médica. Pero el día sólo tiene 24 horas y cada día entran en Moria cientos de personas nuevas. No es posible atender a todos. ¿Cómo hacerlo con las que llevan más tiempo? Sólo en casos urgentes se les llevará al hospital. Allí se decidirá si se les atiende o no.

Tras ese primer registro llegará, por fin, la tarjeta con sello rojo que les supondrá empezar a recibir algo de dinero mensualmente.

90 euros el cabeza de familia. 50 los demás miembros hasta 5. Si son más no recibirán nada. El tope, cinco miembros. Con eso tendrán que apañarse la vida.

La situación empeora si hay bebés. Pañales y leche maternizada son productos caros, poco accesibles.

Afortunadamente, su hijo tiene 5 años. Ya no necesita ni pañales ni leche maternizada pero sí unas mínimas condiciones alimenticias, higiénicas, sanitarias… establecidas en el informe Esfera. Todo ello está muy lejos de, siquiera, acercarse a la realidad.

La familia de esta afgana que nos cuenta su particular odisea llegó el 21 de julio. Un mes más tarde le dieron su primera cartilla con el sello rojo que les permite salir del campo. Han llegado sin nada. Hasta noviembre no comenzaron a percibir los 190 euros (90 al cabeza de familia, 50 más por ella y otros 50 por el hijo) que les permitió aliviar un poco su situación. Colas interminables de dos, tres horas para recibir el desayuno, la comida o la cena. Otras tantas para recibir una botella de agua dos veces al día, otras tantas para recoger el obligado documento con sello de color, para ir al médico, para coger un bus… el día se transforma en una espera de infinitas filas de gente desesperada.

Poco a poco, los más afortunados pueden ir conociendo los proyectos que desarrollan las pequeñas organizaciones y colaborar con ellas. En Lesbos hay casi un centenar, atendidas, en general, por personas voluntarias. Reparto de ropa, de comida, pequeños centros médicos, espacios donde encontrarse fuera de la gran cloaca que es Moria. Una forma de sentirse útil, de ocupar las interminables horas de cada día marcadas por la inacción y el permanente deambular sin nada que hacer sino respirar el aire malsano del campo y hacer cola.

Uno de los grandes problemas de estas miles de familias es el de escolarizar a los y las hijas. El derecho a la educación es otro de los derechos fundamentales sistemáticamente violados por las instituciones y el Gobierno. Los hijos e hijas de las familias refugiadas no tienen acceso a la escuela pública. Ni aún fuera del horario habitual de funcionamiento.

Hubo un tiempo en que en la isla de Chios los niños y niñas refugiadas iban después de que los hijos griegos hubieran dejado las aulas. Todo fue bien hasta que, en 2016 y tras el acuerdo con Turquía, comenzaron a llegar cada día más. Surgió el rechazo de la población hacia ellos y actitudes xenófobas que nunca antes habían tenido lugar hicieron su aparición. En la calle pero también en la escuela. Ni siquiera la segregación entre griegos y refugiados se mantuvo. Argumentos como la falta de limpieza o el mal olor terminaron expulsando a los niños refugiados de su derecho a la educación. Las autoridades de la isla no hicieron nada para impedirlo.

Sólo pequeñas organizaciones, como Together for better Days, con la que colaboró nuestra testigo, o Refugees for Refugees crean espacios donde aprender algo de inglés y griego. La primera de ellas cuenta con un local cerca de Moria y otro en el propio Mitilini. Pero son miles las criaturas que hay en una población de más de 15.000 habitantes. La segunda actúa en el olivar que hay junto al campo. Organizan actividades como pintar las piedras de colores que alegrarán la fealdad obsesiva de este espacio deshumanizado. Por entre esas piedras los niños corren y juegan. Al fin, no dejan de ser niños.

Hace unos días, esta familia recibió la tarjeta de identificación personal, esto es, el DNI.

Tendrán seis meses para reunir el dinero para el transporte de los tres. Durante esos seis meses percibirán 150 euros cada adulto y 40 por el niño. Después, nada. En total, 390 €. De ahí tendrán que ahorrar para los billetes de ida al país elegido. Tendrán seis meses para ello. “El anterior gobierno les siguió dando el dinero aunque permanecieran aquí y el tiempo hubiera pasado. Ahora no. Si no nos vamos dejaremos de percibir ese dinero. No sé entonces de qué viviremos porque, como refugiados, no podemos trabajar”.

La historia de esta mujer valiente llega a su fin. El café se ha quedado frío, atrapado entre las palabras que brotan incansables como un grito en el desierto. Es una historia más, la de una vida que se vio truncada un día cualquiera, una vida rota, amenazada. Una vida con derecho, según las leyes internacionales, a ser protegida. Pero en Moria, como en tantos otros campos de refugiados, ese derecho es negado. La historia de esta mujer está a punto de tomar otro rumbo. Una red solidaria se ha creado en torno a ella. Pronto, cuando se consiga reunir el dinero para pagar los billetes de transporte, estará junto a los suyos en un país europeo en el que empezar de nuevo. Cientos de miles de personas refugiadas nunca lo harán. Quizás algún día puede ser la historia de cualquiera de nosotros.

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