Amaranta

Amaranta, en cambio, cuya dureza de corazón la espantaba, cuya concentrada amargura la amargaba, se le esclareció en el último examen como la mujer más tierna que había existido jamás, y comprendió con una lastimosa clarividencia que las injustas torturas a que había sometido a Pietro Crespi no eran dictadas por una voluntad de venganza, como todo el mundo creía, ni el lento martirio con que frustró la vida del coronel Gerineldo Márquez había sido determinado por la mala hiel de su amargura, como todo el mundo creía, sino que ambas acciones habían sido una lucha a muerte entre un amor sin medidas y una cobardía invencible, y había triunfado finalmente el miedo irracional que Amaranta le tuvo siempre a su propio y atormentado corazón.
—  Gabriel García Márquez, «Cien años de soledad»
Late Meetings

It was late, yes, but time never seemed to flow quite right in this world, at least when it didn’t want to. Amaranta held her lantern up just a bit higher, clutching her add-ons, in their portable plush forms, to her chest. Like the other Guardians, she had felt the presence of someone entering the zone they called home. She was the only one even so much as reluctant to go out and check. Their current living engine had suggested that it was merely a glitch, since the code for their transport blocks and Nothingness matched most codes.


Regardless, here Amaranta was, her puppeteer visor pulled over her face as she meandered to the closest transport spot, as stats glinted in the corner of her vision. The sun was setting and the lights were coming on, so she didn’t have much time to check around for any person or animal that may have wandered over.


Her pace slowed as her visor began to blink new stats on screen. Of course someone else was there. It was probably glitch, but she figured she’d check.


“Hello, is there someone there?”


( @waywardbatter)

anonymous asked:

Hello! So i just finished reading the available chapters of "through his eyes" by littlestwolf (I cannot wait till it's updated again) and I really loved it. So do you have something like it? With Stiles being a mastermind criminal and Derek being an FBI agent or cop (and maybe them working together)? Thank you, and love your blog!

Can’t promise how close these are, but they all feature FBI/Cop/Deputy!Derek and Criminal!Stiles.  Enjoy!  -Emmy

Originally posted by super-hoech

Here’s the referenced fic, if anyone else wants to read it:

Through His Eyes by LittlestWolf 

(63,628 I Not I Rated I Complete)  *sterek

A (kind of) psychic Stiles gets offered a deal to leave his 8 year prison sentence early and be a criminal consultant with the FBI. Agent in Charge Derek Hale is assigned to be his handler on his first day back after a four month leave due to an undercover case going wrong and resulting in the death of his partner. Derek keeping his job as Agent in Charge relies on the success of Stiles and Stiles’ eventual freedom depends on their success together. Simple enough.

Now onto the others

Can I Steal You by Rena 

(4,920 I Explicit I Complete)  *deputy!Derek, pickpocket!stiles, sterek

One day Derek will learn how to not be affected by a cheeky, barely legal, pick-pocketing brat. Today is not that day.

Unfinished Business by Nival_Vixen

(7,704 I Mature I Complete)  *fbi!derek, criminal!stiles, sterek

The FBI has sent Agents Lahey and Hale to investigate a pair of grifters who are supposedly operating out of a high school in California. Apparently the fact that Isaac’s a newbie and Derek has impulse control issues means that they get saddled with all of the lame cases. What could possibly be that interesting about a pair of teenage miscreants?

Absolute by amaranta 

(21,767 I Teen I WIP)  *thief and forger!stiles, fbi!derek, sterek

The first time he really met Stiles was back when his name was still unpronounceable, and the worst he could do was pick pockets.

Sort-of White Collar AU

Catch Me If You Can by illusemywords 

(32,470 I Teen I Complete) 

Before Stiles Stilinski is 20 years old, he successfully cons millions of dollars’ worth of checks posing as a Pan Am pilot, doctor, and lawyer. This is the story of him, and Derek Hale, the FBI agent chasing him.

Based on the movie Catch Me If You Can.

Delinquency Is an Art Form by Aaeris 

(39,446 I Explicit I Complete)

When pickpocket Stiles stole Deputy Derek’s wallet, his dad gave him two choices:

A) The Sheriff can’t bend the rules for his wayward son anymore, so he will have a criminal record to his name.
B) In order to walk away freely, he needs to attend Derek’s sister’s wedding and pretends to be his boyfriend during that time.

An AU where Stiles is a delinquent, with a lot of issues, steals people’s wallets with no remorse and Derek, the newest Deputy in town who has to fake his own relationship status in order to be left alone by his too nosy family, doesn’t put up with Stiles’ shit.

It’s my own twist on the fake/pretend boyfriend tag.

Todo hacía pensar que Amaranta se orientaba hacia una felicidad sin tropiezos. Pero al contrario de Rebeca, ella no revelaba la menor ansiedad. Con la misma paciencia con que abigarraba manteles y tejía primores de pasamanería y bordaba pavorreales en punto de cruz, esperó a que Pietro Crespi no soportara más las urgencias del corazón. Su hora llegó con las lluvias aciagas de octubre. Pietro Crespi le quitó del regazo la canastilla de bordar y le apretó la mano entre las suyas. «No soporto más esta espera -le dijo-. Nos casamos el mes entrante.» Amaranta no tembló al contacto de sus manos de hielo. Retiró la suya, como un animalito escurridizo, y volvió a su labor.
-No seas ingenuo, Crespi -sonrió-, ni muerta me casaré contigo
—  Cien años de soledad / Gabriel García Márquez

“(…) Amaranta, en cambio, cuya dureza de corazón la espantaba, cuya concentrada amargura la amargaba, se le esclareció en el último examen como la mujer más tierna que había existido jamás, y comprendió con una lastimosa clarividencia que las injustas torturas a que había cometido a Prieto Crespi no eran dictadas por una voluntad de venganza, como todo el mundo creía, ni el lento martirio con que frustró la vida del coronel Gerineldo Márquez había sido determinado por la mala hiel de su amargura, como todo el mundo creía, sino que ambas acciones habían sido una lucha muerte a muerte entre un amor sin medidas y una cobardía invencible, y había triunfado finalmente el miedo irracional que Amaranta le tuvo siempre a su propio y atormentado corazón (…)”

(Cien años de soledad. Gabriel García Márquez)

Pietro Crespi le quitó del regazo la canastilla de bordar y le apretó la mano entre las suyas. «No soporto más esta espera -le dijo-. Nos casamos el mes entrante.» Amaranta no tembló al contacto de sus manos de hielo. Retiró la suya, como un animalito escurridizo, y volvió a su labor.

-No seas ingenuo, Crespi -sonrió-, ni muerta me casaré contigo.

—  Cien años de soledad.
“Amaranta buscó entonces la manera de retrasarse cuarenta y ocho horas, y hasta pensó
que la muerte la estaba complaciendo, porque en la noche del cuatro de febrero una tempestad
descompuso la planta eléctrica. Pero al día siguiente, a las ocho de la mañana, dio la última
puntada en la labor más primorosa que mujer alguna había terminado jamás, y anunció sin el
menor dramatismo que moriría al atardecer. No sólo previno a la familia, sino a toda la población,
porque Amaranta se había hecho a la idea de que se podía reparar una vida de mezquindad con
un último favor al mundo, y pensó que ninguno era mejor que llevarles cartas a los muertos”.
—  Gabriel García Márquez. Cien años de soledad.
He had not stopped desiring her for a single instant. He found her in the dark bedrooms of captured towns, especially in the most abject ones, and he would make her materialize in the smell of dry blood on the bandages of the wounded, in the instantaneous terror of the danger of death, at all times and in all places. He had fled from her in an attempt to wipe out her memory, not only through distance but by means of a muddled fury that his companions at arms took to be boldness, but the more her image wallowed in the dunghill of the war, the more the war resembled Amaranta. That was how he suffered in exile, looking for a way of killing her with his own death…
Random Facts about my DA Worldstate

I’m bored…I shall spam you all!!

  • Zevran Arainai is Spymaster of the Ferelden Court. Frighteningly astute at his job, he brings Eamon Guerrin’s power crashing down by laying a trap for him.
  • He has a daughter with the Duchess Amaranta Karasai d’Beaumon (nee Trevelyan). Her legal name is Alitash d’Beaumon. Alitash is the product of a one-night stand between the two after she assisted him with intrigues in the Grand Game. Her conception, despite being a brief affair, may not have been accidental at all.
  • Svyonne Hawke and Fenris have twin children: Vanes and Aenas. Although they have their mother’s coloring, they resemble their father heavily. They are eventually joined by a third brother, Malcolm, although his paternity is more dubious.
  • After years of relative failure, in 9:35, Inverna gives birth to a shockingly healthy baby boy, Duncan. He resembles Alistair completely. The paternity of her daughter, born 3 years later, is less certain, and rumors fly that her father is either the Warden Commander Surana or Spymaster Arainai.
  • Duncan is healthy but sensitive to magic, likely an effect of the taint.
  • Azola Trevelyan, the mother of Inquisitor Trevelyan, is not Bann but Teyrna of Ostwick. After the sudden death of her cousin, she had rallied enough support to be instilled over his younger sister.
  • Ostwick has a ‘quaint’ relationship with elves, in the sense that they are mostly treated as equals, to the point that Azola married an elf without much fuss. Her husband, Dalinev, is the father to her five children.
  • The most politically vital marriage that Azola makes is that of her eldest daughter, Karasai, who marries the wealthy and nominally powerful Duke Artois d’Beaumon. Despite the benefits, the marriage was loveless and within weeks of the wedding, they were living apart. Karasai, as a result of her skillful acting and beautiful appearance, becomes perhaps the best player of the Grand Game, accomplishing much and gaining favor while keeping up the illusion of a silly, vivacious woman with little interest in politics. Her prodigious sexual affairs allowed her to gain her husband’s entire fortune and estates after his sudden death—despite rumors she murdered him, he actually choked on a chicken bone while she was in Val Royeaux.

aleatorio basado en esto.

¡Campeones, campeones, oe, oe, oe! —canta a pleno pulmón en su lengua natal con una botella de vinotinto en la mano mientras la música de fondo es completamente distinta a sus cánticos de borracha. 

No solo había ganado España contra Italia aquel día, sino que aquella noche había hecho mucho dinero en sus dos peleas; era para morir de felicidad. Así que ¿por qué no tomarse un respiro e irse de fiesta con su equipo? Nada se lo impedía y ella realmente quería hacer algo diferente. Y vaya que lo había conseguido. Ahora se hallaba bastante borracha, en una discoteca desconocida, con sus amigos igual de borrachos y la inhibición por la nubes. Era el momento perfecto para hacer una tontería.

Con una sonrisa traviesa, una seña a una de sus amigas más cercana y un plan en su cabeza, Amaranta comienza a palmear la parte trasera de todas las personas que están a su alcance, fingiendo desconcierto después cuando volteaban a ver quién había osado a profanar sus glúteos. Tres, cuatro veces hizo lo mismo con su amiga hasta que, para su desgracia, la quinta victima de su accionar se giró incluso antes de que su mano pudiera estrellarse en su cuerpo, obligándola a detenerse y clavar su vista nublada en el/la desconocidx.

— Ups, me has descubierto —dice, y suelta una risita ebria sin sentir culpa o remordimiento. @imnotxlive

2

Photo of me and Amaranta Gomez Ti Muxe Zapoteca.

I attended to a conference related to gender issues and Muxes on the Tecnológico de Monterrey with Amaranta Gomez, muxe, political candidate and advocate for LGBTQIA and indigenous communities.

Ti (the preferred pronoun) talked about what ti calls “Identidades Genéricas Indígenas” which could be translated to “Generic Indigenous Identities”. It started with the issue of how indigenous people are seen around the world specially on the emotional and erotic aspect which ti believes even mexicans have this idea that only white people “the European” feel passion and have sexual encounters, ti joked saying “only the people in the north of Mexico feels and desires, the whites, the ones from Monterrey” in which the audience laughed a lot since people from here are known to feel superior from other states in the country.

Ti talked about the role of ti muxe in a lot of areas such as intersexuality, identity, feminism, virginity, migration, religion, the LGBTQIA community, etc… But mainly ti focused on the studies of indigenous identities and the importance of recognizing the transgender movement. Although ti said muxes can’t completely relate to this since it sometimes feel like this movement it’s saying “have operations and wear high heels, when I don’t need those operations and I’m actually wearing huaraches!” said Amaranta. And it also can’t be connected directly to feminism since a lot of feminists have an issue with the way muxes loses ti virginity.

One of the most essential part of the talk was when ti refereed to the problem of romanticizing muxes, there’s an actual belief that these people are somewhat holy in Juchitán and that they don’t suffer since it’s a kind of paradise to them. Well this is completely untrue. She attributes this misinterpretation to a statement two Spanish reporters made about them ages ago, but there are no privileges on the muxes community but only roles they perform since they’re acknowledged as muxes. Being a muxe it’s more than a sexual orientation: it’s a third gender.

Amaranta talked a lot about the problems muxes are getting into related to modernity: the peer pressure of operations, clandestine injected oils that can end up in mutilated body parts, but mainly the problem it’s related to work: when prostitution and styling end up being the only options for them causing migration to Mexico City.

So I was very curious about this part related to facts and myths about the muxes community, since I did learn about muxes on the internet specially on photographs in tumblr and a video made from VICE, so I asked ti about it to what ti said the problem with this investigators and photographers is that they only stay in their communities for a week or so not giving enough time to actually get to know ti, there’s not a “muxe paradise”, the part of muxes being very festive shouldn’t be the only element characteristic about ti since they actually have a very interesting social compromise between the community.

So finally Amaranta pointed out not wanting to just be folklore of investigators and photographers with the idea that they are doing well, yeah there’s been progress like the big step they did on participating on labor and politics, but there are still challenges in which the talk ended with a phrase that could be roughly translated to: “We refuse that history deny us and disappear us”

Amaranta, invece, la cui durezza di cuore la spaventava, la cui concentrata amarezza la amareggiava, le si rivelò in ultima analisi come la donna più tenera che fosse mai esistita, e comprese con una compassionevole chiaroveggenza che gli ingiusti tormenti ai quali aveva sottoposto Pietro Crespi non erano dettati da una volontà di vendetta, come tutti credevano, né il lento martirio col quale aveva frustrato la vita del colonnello Gerineldo Márquez era stato determinato dal fiele della sua amarezza, come tutti credevano, ma che l'una e l'altra azione erano state una lotta a morte tra un amore smisurato e una codardia invincibile e finalmente aveva trionfato il timore irrazionale che Amaranta aveva avuto sempre per il proprio tormentato cuore.
—  Gabriel García Márquez, Cent'anni di solitudine

García Márquez died the april 17th, 2014. Here I copy some words I wrote  by april 18th, 2014. (Sorry for the english translation… I just copied the result from google translator. I’ll try to arrange it the soonest possible)

Imagen: Vasco Szinetar fotografiando a Gabriel García Márquez

Hasta siempre García Márquez.
‘Hasta siempre’ tal vez sea una de las expresiones más extenuantes del idioma.
Al hermano, al padre, la madre, seres queridos que se fueron, se les recuerda así, ‘hasta siempre’; a pocos más, aunque nunca los hayamos conocido en persona, sino por haber sido sido marcados por la profundidad impactante de lo que han hecho, también se les despide ‘hasta siempre’, porque de eso va esta expresión, de despedidas, casi siempre tristes, dolorosas, nostálgicas, en el conocimiento de que ya no podremos esperar palabras nuevas, ideas o historias, si bien nos queda lo que ya han dicho.
Este tipo de individuos a los que uno despide ‘hasta siempre’ tienen la facultad de haber dado a sus obras el carácter de lo eterno y lo mutante, y cada vez que uno abre una página de cualquiera de sus libros, que ya ha leído innumerables veces, ésta se le presenta como nueva y desconocida, cargada de una luz que llega directa a la sensibilidad del corazón y el intelecto.
Así me ocurre con García Márquez, cada una de sus palabas, páginas, obras, se me presenta como nueva, de ahí lo eterno y lo mutante:
El Coronel Aureliano Buendía cambia con cada lectura, como cambian Úrsula o los José Arcadio, no hablemos ya de Amaranta o Rebeca. Todos ellos, ya, más que personajes, personas del mundo real cambian, como todos cambiamos con el tiempo, nos hacemos viejos y aprendemos de las experiencias de la vida y de lo que dichas experiencias representan en nuestra evolución.
Conocí la obra de García Márquez desde muy joven, y muy joven tuve también la suerte de leer los artículos que, allá por los 80 del siglo pasado, publicaba cada miércoles, si no recuerdo mal, en el Diario EL PAIS, en la época en que dicho periódico me merecía el respeto debido a un medio serio. Aquellos artículos abrieron mi mente a nuevas ideas, conceptos, maneras de ser y actuar que moldearon mi personalidad, matizaron mi rabia y rebeldía, me hicieron madurar: tuvieron en mí la incidencia que la opinión de un padre tiene en la formación del carácter de su hijo.
Aquellos artículos también evidenciaban la calidad humana del hombre que los escribió.
Ese hombre murió ayer y me entristece tremendamente la noticia. Yo no sabía que a un desconocido se le puede llorar como se llora a un hermano, una madre, un padre. En esta vida siempre estará uno aprendiendo cosas nuevas, aunque sea a golpe de muerte.
Víctor M. Alonso / 18 de abril de 2014
Imagen: Vasco Szinetar fotografiando a Gabriel García Márquez

—-
google translator:
Until forever, García Márquez.

‘Until forever’ may be one of the most strenuous expressions of the language.
The brother, the father, the mother, loved ones who left, are reminded thus, 'forever’; A few more, although we have never met them in person, but because they have been marked by the shocking depth of what they have done, they are also dismissed 'forever’, because that is what this expression of farewells, almost always sad , Painful, nostalgic, in the knowledge that we can no longer expect new words, ideas or stories, although we have what they have already said.
This type of individuals to whom one fires 'forever’ has the faculty of having given to his works the character of the eternal and the mutant, and every time one opens a page of any of his books, he has already read innumerable Sometimes, it presents itself as new and unknown, charged with a light that comes directly to the sensibility of the heart and the intellect.
This is what happens to me with García Márquez, each of his words, pages, works, presents itself to me as new, hence the eternal and the mutant:
Colonel Aureliano Buendia changes with each reading, as Ursula or the Jose Arcadio change, let’s not talk about Amaranta or Rebecca. All of them, more than just characters, people of the real world change, as we all change over time, we grow old and learn from the experiences of life and what these experiences represent in our evolution.
I knew the work of García Márquez from a very young age, and I was also very fortunate to read the articles that, in the eighties of the last century, published every Wednesday, if I remember correctly, in the newspaper EL PAIS, That the newspaper deserved the respect due to a serious medium. Those articles opened my mind to new ideas, concepts, ways of being and acting that shaped my personality, tempered my anger and rebellion, made me mature: they had in me the impact that a father’s opinion has on the formation of the character of his son.
Those articles also evidenced the human quality of the man who wrote them.
That man died yesterday and the news tremendously saddens me. I did not know that a stranger can be wept as a brother, a mother, a father. In this life there will always be one learning new things, even if it is a deathblow.
Víctor M. Alonso / April 18, 2014
Image: Vasco Szinetar photographing Gabriel García Márquez

Amaranta pensava a Rebeca, perché la solitudine le aveva selezionato i ricordi, e aveva incenerito gli intorpidenti mucchi di mondezza nostalgica che la vita aveva accumulato nel suo cuore, e aveva purificato, magnificato e eternizzato gli altri, i più amari.
—  Gabriel García Márquez, dal libro “Cent'anni di solitudine”.
Hola me pidieron recomendaciones de libros, aquí las dejo.

@navegandoenletras
@the-s-u-n-and-m-o-o-n

La luna no está de Nathan Filer. Habla sobre las enfermedades mentales, discapacidades y el impacto que estas tienen en la familia.

Amaranta de Care Santos. Tiene muchas reflexiones, sobre la vida, el amor,y las cosas materiales que nos rodean día a día.

Las luces de Septiembre de Carlos Ruiz Zafón.

El caparazón de la tortuga de Lola Mariné. Libro de suspense, en el que nada es lo que parece.

El tren de los huérfanos de Christina Baker. Este es un libro más que recomendable, es corto pero inolvidable. Si lo leen, me cuentan que les parece.

El año que duró dos segundo de Rachel Joyce.

Esas son algunas recomendaciones.

¡Un abrazo inmenso!
💕

In quella Macondo dimenticata perfino dagli uccelli, dove la polvere e il caldo si erano fatti così tenaci che si faceva fatica a respirare, reclusi dalla solitudine e dall'amore e dalla solitudine dell'amore in una casa dove era quasi impossibile dormire per il baccano delle formiche rosse, Aureliano e Amaranta Ursula erano gli unici esseri felici, e i più felici sulla terra.
—  Gabriel García Márquez, Cent’anni di solitudine