#Pedro Nieto

[muxas-world]

Two race and now pedro is geting compare even more to marc and now vale can we all stop if that girl is like anything remote to a rider is angel nieto now you ow history !!

[waru-chan8]

🔢 - 🎬 - ❤️‍🔥(current and past) for the motogp ask game 💗

Thank you so much Mira 💜💜💜💜

🔢 what would be your racing number? That's an easy one! It will be 08 because it's my favourite number. And if I can't that one, then a number that finishes in 8 with the exception of 88 (for some reason I'm not fan of double 8).

🎬 any motogp related media you would recommend? MotoGP unlimited and Hitting the apex. And for those Spanish speakers, whatever DAZN does or gets his hands on.

There's Ángel Nieto el hombre que vencio al tiempo that' is a documental about Ángel Nieto told by his family, friends and rivals and helps you understand why Spain is so important in motorcycling and why is it like it is today.

I also love 12+1 títulos en la mesa, where DAZN put together several world champions and let them talk. We have at least 3 different generations in there al let you see how it much racing changed over the years.

And then there' Cuatro Tiempos (my beloved) that is basically a 2 hour long Pedrenzo story (mostly) just 4 MotoGP legends talking and comparing racing between them and currently and how they see the future. It's fun to watch and the talk about diferent stuff like nutrition, how they got into racing, rivalries, rituals and stuff they did when racing... I haven't gone through DAZN's whole catalogue but what I saw already is amazing, so if anyone of you can get your hands on them, please watch them

❤️‍🔥 favorite rivalry? Past? It's that even a question? Pedrezo 100% The raw emotion and the tension And currently? Fermín Aldeguer vs track limits it's just... No seriously? In MotoGP they are pretty boring and tamed, and mostly done by the press, so my favourite one is actually a Moto2 rivalry. It's Pedro Acosta vs Alonso and Aldeguer. I swear Pedro is pretty bitchy about the SpeedUp guys and taking notes and making snarky remarks here and there.. basically he is 2 seconds away from punching them (or screwing with them). It's a time bomb ready to go off.

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

En gallego también pasa!!! "E ti de quen vés sendo?" (Literalmente, "¿y tú de quién vienes siendo?", o sea, "¿De qué familia eres?")

Es frase tipiquísima de abuelos, pero también la usan / usamos los jóvenes de coña!!

AY qué maravilla jo!!!! es que además en gallego suena todo mas bonito la verdad

[aeshnalacrymosa]

Sleepover with Abuela

Camilo had suggested it as a joke, but when Abuela had agreed to let her grandchildren have their monthly sleepover in her room, everyone was pleasantly surprised. Normally, no one was allowed in Abuela’s room. Rarely had anyone seen Abuela with her hair undone and wearing her nightclothes. But a little over a year since Mirabel had revived Casita, there had been a significant shift in her demeanor. She laughed more and joked more. She sang and danced more. Now that Camilo thought about it, maybe allowing them into her private space was not that far behind, after all.

“Bienvenido, mis nietos. Come in, come in,” she said, grinning brightly as stepped aside to let in her grandchildren. Everyone was carrying their own sleeping bag except Antonio; Luisa was carrying Antonio’s and her own. Abuela looked odd wearing a peach-colored robe and her silver hair in pigtails. But she also looked younger and lighter than usual.

“I hope we’re not intruding, Abuela,” said Isabela as she kissed her Abuela’s cheek.

“Not at all. I love having you all here.” Abuela clasped her hands in front of her. “Now, what do you usually do at these sleepovers, huh?”

Everyone looked at Camilo, who squirmed where he stood. “Why are you all looking at me?”

“This was your idea. What did you have in mind when you suggested sleeping over with Abuela?” said Mirabel, smirking at him.

“Um...” His heartbeat mounting, Camilo locked eyes with Abuela. “I guess... I want to know her more. And Abuelo.” His eyes shifted to the gilded picture frame at the nightstand. It was their wedding photo.

“Aww.” Abuela put her hands over her heart. Camilo relaxed when his sister and cousins were now smiling at him. “Then, I’m glad I granted your request. Make yourselves comfortable, mis amores. Antonio, let me...”

They spread out their sleeping bags until they covered most of the floor. Abuela brought out a stack of photo albums from a large wooden chest. “Most of these photographs are of our family here in the Encanto. But I have a few of my own family and also your Abuelo’s.” Abuela sat at the foot of the        bed while her grandchildren listened to her stories of her youth outside the Encanto. Abuela seemed to transform in front of their eyes as she spoke about her parents, her extended family, her friends, the animals in their household. Her energy and zest for life was most similar to Pepa, and Abuela’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly as she recalled how she had controlled her daughter throughout her life. “Julieta and Bruno didn’t only get their father’s looks. They are so alike Pedro in their personalities, too.” The grandchildren already knew about Pedro’s writing talent and sense of humor, but they didn’t already know about his passable culinary skills and his desire for an extended alone time.

“We wish we could have met him, Abuela,” said Dolores.

“I like to think that you have. There’s a little of him in all of your parents,” said Abuela.

A few hours later, everyone was asleep. Camilo stirred awake. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight from the window, he noticed that Abuela was sitting up on her bed and watching them. “Abuela? Aren’t you able to sleep?” he whispered, concerned that she had insomnia like Tío Bruno.

“I will sleep soon, Camilo. Just let me admire you all for a little while.”

[achitka]

Day Sixteen: Grief

Oooo... halfway there now - go me. So this is more about letting go of grief, rather than just grieving. Maybe more moving forward into the light. Something Alma has clearly struggled with.

Day Sixteen: Grief

Camilo tapped the page of the script he was working on for an upcoming project. It was not going well so when he heard a light tap on his door, he grumped and shouted, “Enter!” he was expecting Mira to come help him with some editing and put the sheets into a folder. He turned was taken aback to find his Abuela there. She was holding a somewhat ornate box and said, “Good evening, nieto.”

“Good evening, Abuela, how can I help you?”

“I understand you are working on a play about our family.”

Camilo glanced back at the folder on his desk. He was indeed working on that. It was supposed to be a secret, and he decided he’d have to throttle Mirabel later and said, “Yes, I meant to talk with you about some of it, but... I didn’t want to bring up any bad memories for you.”

“Actually,” she said and came closer holding out the box, “I wanted to give you these. You have quite the talent for writing, and I think these should stay with you now.”

Curious, Camilo took the box and saw it was carved with tiny flowers and butterflies. It was not something he’d seen before and curious he tipped the cover. There were several small notebooks as well as some letters, and he asked, “What are these?”

“Poems, letters and a play your Abuelo Pedro wrote. I want you to use them however you can. You have always had your Abuelo’s flair for the dramatic,” she said.

Camilo looked again at the box and moved to take off the cover, but first he glanced back to his Abuela. She gave him a small smile as she nodded. He set the box on his desk and carefully removed the lid. He picked up one of the little books and gently flipped through the pages. Every page was full, and Camilo recognized the marks of revision on the pages. Some appeared to be unfinished works and Camilo felt weirdly excited as ideas began to storm through his mind. He set the book back in the box gave her a hug, something he’d not done since he was seven and said, “Thank you Abuela, I’ll make sure to take good care of them.”

[gamerbearmira]

Alma...vampire...sad :(

GUYS WHAT IF. THR SAD AGAIN :((( no but uhhhh thus idea has been stuck in my head. Gotta do more for this au. Maybe some HB later, idk. Definitely working on writing and some art, its just taking a while 😭 Writing wise, I'm probably going to also post some Giant Siren (Alma and Antonio), and then some magical precure au because I found art that I just??? Hadn't shared i'm pretty sure.

Anyyywayyy. I love Alma but. Where's the fun and letting her be happy? Lets throw some more angst at her!!!!1!1!1!

LEA GEA IT

-----

Alma held Antonio, staring out the window. Her eyes were unfocused, glazed almost, as she sat in that chair, staring at the moon. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there. She had lost track of time.

This was because of her. All of just like how Pedro's death was her fault. If she had been more careful if she hadn't been exposed...

Then maybe that stake wouldn't have pierced Pedro's heart. Maybe it would've pierced hers. They would've had a chance at a normal life.

And she thought she was careful. She helped lead the village, the one place she thought she and her children would be safe. And while none of them, and originally, none of her grandchildren had been affected...somehow someone found out. Someone spread rumors, spread lies. She wasn't a monster, at least...she wasn't trying to be. She was trying to survive in a cruel world that hated people, creatures, like her.

And Alma's family had suffered the consequences. It was her and her nietos now. And she would do anything to protect them. Just like how many others like her would do the same. And even if that meant changing them, taking those poor children, and turning them into monsters like her, then so be it. Whatever it took to keep them alive...or at least on this Earth with her. She just couldn't bear to see them suffer anymore than they had to.

Alma turned her head, looking towards the interior of the room. She had brought them to the room just above her own. It was the only safe place right now. Because not even the nursery was sade. Well, it probably was, but she couldn't leave them alone there. at least here she could watch them. Watch them with tears in her eyes as their cherubic faces contort in pain and suffering because of her. Their bodies curled in on themselves as they barely handled what was happening to them. But she had to. It was the only way.

The centuries-old woman heard gentle cooing, and she looked down at the baby in her arms. He was curled close, and his eyes began to open. His eyelids fluttered. Alma held back choked sobs as she looked at Antonio.

His eyes were red, a deep shade of red, rather than the dark brown they used to be. He blinked up curiously at his abuela, his tiny hand gripping her now shaky finger. He pouted for a moment, squirming in discomfort. She immediately knew what was wrong, she had expected it.

She a solemn laugh, and she held him closer, cooing gently. "Are you hungry mi vida?" Alma said softly and Antonio simply babbled softly, holding her finger a bit tighter. Alma stood, her black shawl draped over her shoulders as she practically glided across the room, her footsteps gentle and quiet. "Your siblings and primas will awaken soon. Let's go get them some bl-...em, food, and some for you too, hm?"

Antonio snuggled closer to Alma, ellicting a sad laugh from her. For the first time in a while, she left the room, though she couldn't help but glance back. Hopefully this time, she would be able to keep them safe this time. She wouldn't fail. She couldn't. Not a third time.

-----

You know what they say 3rd times a charm :DD I'm just kidding but seriously. The grandkids in this au are a little sheltered (as are a lot of other vampire kids, like Mariano). Not even cause of them sunburn, but because of what happened to Alma and the adults and. Her being paranoid for a while. At least until Antonio got a lil older.

Also??? Debating on whether to keep this in canon time (mid 1900s) or. Throw it back a few centuries for the sake of. ☆Fashion☆ and redesigns and wanting to make Alma really mf old. Idk, what do y'all think????

OKKKK MORE TOMORROW. OR LATER IN MY CASE ITS 12 AM <33

MY HEART WANTS ALMA AND THE MADRIGALS TO BE HAPPY. BUT PROMISE BY LAUFEY AND MY MIND SAYS NO.

[tengomilpalabrasparati]

Cumpleaños 🎂

¡Hoy cumple 49 años Pedro Pascal!

José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal (Santiago de Chile, 2 de abril de 1975), conocido como Pedro Pascal

Es conocido por interpretar al príncipe Oberyn Martell en la serie de televisión "Game of Thrones", a Javier Peña en Narcos de Netflix; a el Mandaloriano en la serie "The Mandalorian", y por la serie "The Last of Us" de HBO, donde interpreta al protagonista Joel Miller.

Pascal nació en Santiago de Chile. Su madre es Verónica Pascal, psicóloga infantil, y su padre es José Balmaceda, médico de fertilidad. Es nieto de un matrimonio chileno y otro matrimonio español: su abuela nació en la isla de Mallorca y su abuelo en el País Vasco.

Sus padres fueron simpatizantes del presidente Salvador Allende,​ y estuvieron involucrados en el movimiento de oposición contra la dictadura militar de Augusto Pinochet alrededor de la fecha de su nacimiento. Además, su madre Verónica Pascal es pariente de Andrés Pascal Allende, dirigente del Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria

Se mudó a Nueva York en 1993 y ha vivido allí desde entonces. Estudió arte dramático en la Orange County High School of the Arts y la Tisch School of the Arts de la Universidad de Nueva York.

Mientras estudiaba en la Universidad de Nueva York, su padre estuvo involucrado en un escándalo en la clínica de fertilidad del condado de Orange que dirigía con otros dos hombres,​ como resultado de lo cual su padre, madre y dos hermanos menores regresaron a Chile.​ Su madre falleció poco tiempo después.

Pascal ha aparecido en series de televisión como "Buffy, la cazavampiros", "The Good Wife" y "Graceland".​ También apareció en la tercera temporada de "Homeland", en septiembre de 2013 y también como el agente del FBI Marcus Pike en la serie "El mentalista".

[jartitameteneis]

Recetas caseras.

Pedro Nieto

Panecillos de aceite.

500 gramos de harina todo uso

280 gramos de agua.

12 gramos de levadura fresca de panadero o 4 de levadura seca de panadero.

5 gramos de sal.

50 gramos de aceite de oliva.

Amasar todo hacer una bola ponerla en un recipiente grande tapado con papel de fil reposar 2 horas hacer unos panecillos sobre 100 gramos salen unos 8 unidades con esta receta ponerlos en una bandeja de horno o endos si es pequeña pintar con aceite tapar con un paño hasta que doble unos tres cuartos de hora yo le hago un corte en el centro los vuelvo a pintar con aceite horno 180 grados unos 15 minutos.en la foto hay doble receta faltan dos lo digo por si pregunta.yo los congelo para toda la semana.

[hiperbaton]

LA QUEMA (2020). Las siguientes fotografías son parte de una pieza audiovisual de danza contemporánea del coreógrafo Diego Vega Solorza (@diegovegasolorza), en colaboración con Carla Fernández (@carlafernandezmx), el Museo @anahuacalli y el artesano Leonardo Linares, nieto de Pedro Linares, el inventor de los alebrijes. Bailarines: @carla_segovia @tonsaguilan @fersa_alas, Rogelio Arrañaga, Ximena Covarrubias y Fernando Guez. Fotografía: @ricardoramosphoto. Video: Héctor del Mal. Maquillaje y peinado: Maripili Senderos. Fotografías cortesía de Diego Vega Solorza. Ciudad de México, 2020.

via @coloralamexicana

[cartoon-lovers-world]

(Tiffany Fluffit mode: on)

I was rewatching Encanto for the 11th time bla bla bla bla...let's get to the point, we're gonna talk about the resemblance between Pedro and...i can't even believe i'm saying this...Pedro and Camilo!

Let's start off easy, Camilo is the first male grandchild in the family

I don't know why that one was important but the next one's is gonna leave you mind blown (i guess?)

Camilo wears a white shirt just like a certain person, and not just that, they both have their sleeves rolled up (i wouldn't be surprised if Camilo's shirt was originally Pedro's but Abuela gave it to him)

Aaaand, they have the same smile, look at them! LOOK AT THESE CUTIES!

Now that we've studied their faces (yeah, i'm a simp), can we appreciate their faces when they see something they like? Like, these faces

Now...for some heartbreaking, they may act like idiots, but they're hereos when it comes to people around them safety

In the end, we conclude that, like Abuelo, like nieto

[joseandrestabarnia]

Luis Caravaque (1684-1754) RETRATO DEL ZAREVICH PETER ALEKSEEVICH Y LA PRINCESA NATALIA ALEKSEEVNA EN LA INFANCIA, EN FORMA DE APOLO Y DIANA 1722 (?) Tamaño - 94x118 Material - lona Técnica - óleo Número de inventario - Inv.8646 Recibido de la Cámara de Armas del Kremlin de Moscú. 1923

El lienzo del maestro francés Louis Caravaque representa al zarevich Peter (1715-1730), quien más tarde se convirtió en el emperador Pedro II (1727), y a su hermana mayor, la princesa Natalya (1714-1728). Peter y Natalya eran hijos del zarevich Alexei Petrovich y nietos del emperador Peter I. Se presentan bajo la apariencia de los héroes de los mitos antiguos Apolo y Diana, que también eran hermano y hermana. El príncipe está representado con una lira en sus manos, un atributo de Apolo, quien era considerado el patrón de las artes y las ciencias, personificaba al sol. Su hermana mayor es representada como la diosa de la luna, la caza y la castidad femenina Diana, esto se indica con una media luna plateada en su cabello.

De acuerdo con el diseño alegórico, se decide el color del cuadro. El tono dorado de la ropa y el manto rojo forrado de armiño de Peter armonizan sutilmente con el vestido azul oscuro de Natalia, adornado con volantes y lazos rosa pálido. La relación de dos personas en un lienzo se basa principalmente en la participación de Peter y Natalia en una sola acción teatral. El retrato de los niños reales se distingue por la sofisticación galante y la gracia refinada, una inclinación por el juego de disfraces, característica del estilo rococó europeo. Al mismo tiempo, la obra transmite la atmósfera de la era petrina, cuando las mascaradas, las representaciones teatrales, los torneos de carrusel comenzaron a ponerse de moda gradualmente, y los maestros del arte y la cultura comenzaron a recurrir cada vez más al lenguaje de los símbolos y las alegorías.

El retrato de Peter y Natalya se puede atribuir a la tipología de un retrato mitológico infantil, que aún no se ha generalizado en Rusia en el primer cuarto del siglo XVIII. Caravaque, como otros pintores extranjeros que llegaron a Rusia gracias a la política cultural de Pedro I, trajo aquí las ideas e imágenes de su escuela nacional. Concluido en 1715 con el representante de Peter I, Baron P.P. Lefort, un contrato de trabajo "al servicio de la Majestad del Zar", natural de Marsella, un Caravaque hábil y polifacético, se convirtió en uno de los mejores representantes de la escuela extranjera que trabajaba en Rusia. El maestro vivió en nuestro país durante unos treinta años. Sus imágenes de miembros de la familia imperial contribuyeron a la formación y desarrollo en Rusia del género del retrato secular de la corte de la Nueva Era.

Información e imagen de la web de la Galería Tretyakov.

[muxas-world]

Why are people saying pedro is the new marc marquez now your own history he is more like angel nieto thatn anyting else

[simpforarepawoman]

Demi gods

Encanto x Greek mythology Accurate PJO

“So…we are all here?” Camilo asked, getting smacked at the back of his head by his Sister “Of course we are you dimwit!” “Sorry, Señorita Melodia!” The Two started bickering for a bit until symbols started to appear above their heads “Uh Guys..” Mirabel exclaimed “Why do i have a Hammer above my head?” Luisa looked around “Greek Gods and Goddesses symbols. Dolores, you’re a Huntress of Artemis.. “

Dolores’ head shot up “Artemis as in the Greek goddess of the hunt?” Luisa nods “Camilo you’re a Child Of Apate, Goddess of deceit” Camilo smiled widely “Mirabel you are a-“ “child of Hephaestus, God of craftsmanship!” Mirabel smiled “Isabela do you know who’s child you are?” Dolores asked “No.. I don’t” Isabela muttered looking at the peace of grain, Mirabel snaps her fingers suddenly “Demeter! Your a child of Demeter! Goddess of The Harvest, Agriculture and Seasons!” Isabela smiled “That actually makes sense not going to lie, What’s Tonito Though?..” The three with Greek mythology knowledge called out in Unison “Pan.” Antonio was asleep on Parce “Do our parents know that we are demi gods?” Camilo asked “I honestly don’t think so- But! We’ll figure it out.. This will only be for a year.. right?” Luisa muttered “I hope so, Mamá would be Petrified if we didnt come home after what 7 years?” isabela said, Everyone shrugged absolutely not knowing what they were in for “Wait who is our Camp counselor?-“ A chuckle came from the Entrance “Hola Mi Nietos!” The Group turned to the man “Abuelo Pedro!?” “sí you’ve all been called to camp half blood to escape your current situation with your Abuela” Everyone paled besides Antonio and Dolores “It was a long time Coming”

[janetbrown711]

Control

Alma Madrigal copes in her own ways, no matter how cold and unfeeling it may appear.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Final

Ao3 link

.o0o.

Alma Madrigal hadn’t been in Julieta’s room for more than a minute at a time since Julieta first became ill. 

Yes, she checked to see if Juli’s clothes and bedding were clean, but apart from that she remained completely away. 

Whether in her room or in the church; whether to Pedro or the Miracle or God, Alma prayed constantly. When she woke, she prayed. When she got dressed, she prayed. As she went down the stairs, she prayed. As she greeted her beautiful nietas and nieto, as she ate her breakfast, as she went to the village, as she entered the church, as she kneeled before the cross, as she lit two candles, as she tightened her shawl, as she walked out, as she served her people, as she walked back to her home, as she looked upon her family’s weary eyes, as she checked upon her eldest baby, as she changed the rag upon her head, as she went back to her room, and as she went to sleep, she prayed. 

Four days of this. 

Four days of being the only Madrigal wanting to help, save for Isabella. 

Alma of course tried to make up for it, but she wasn’t as young as she used to be, and while she piled book after book on health research, everything seemed so hopeless.  She needed to protect her people– she needed to protect her daughter– she needed to protect what Pedro sacrificed for, or else…

40 years. 

40 years, today. 

Alma’s knees trembled as she arose from her bed. Her tired eyes glanced at her locket. 

Julieta had always looked so much like Pedro. She had his nose, his crooked smile, and those brilliant, warm brown eyes. 

To see her lying there, to see cherry blood drip from her mouth, to see the yellow consume her skin and those once comforting eyes–

Alma had seen him get stabbed, collapsing to his knees and then into the water. She hadn’t seen him go cold. Instead, she had held her babies close to her chest, hearing herself screech in agony. When she had looked up, the mountains had already begun to form. 

Seeing Julieta lay in that bed, seeing her blood, watching her sleep…

It was as if Pedro was dying all over again. 

40 years. 

Today. 

Alma got dressed. 

In one sleeve, in the other, step here, step there, tie that, button this, sit here, brush that, look there. 

Alma Madrigal was an old woman. 

Dark circles ran under her eyes, and wrinkles pressed against almost every other part. Her hair was teetering on the edge of “mostly-gray”. Her old shawl had aged too, worn out in spots where she had pulled one too many times. 

40 years does that to a person.

40.

Sometimes, Alma could still smell the smoke. 

Often, she could still hear Pedro’s cry. 

Always, she felt the pain of seeing him fall. 

40 years. 

Alma opened her door. 

Silence, except for the dull sizzle of the kitchen grill, and the pitter patter of two tiny pairs of feet. As Alma went down the stairs, it became more apparent voices were speaking too, though hushed. When she got to the kitchen, Dolores and Isabella were there, with Camillo and Mirabel just now running out to the patio. 

“A-abuela! How are you doing? Do you need anything?” Isa asked, quickly summoning a rose and handing it to her. 

Alma forced a sweet smile. “I came down to tell Pepa I won’t be at breakfast. Instead, I’ll be down at the church praying, and helping the village prepare for tonight.” 

Dolores glanced at her cousin a moment, before sheepishly saying, “W-well, Papá actually wanted Mamá and Tío Agustín to have a break and he suggested that maybe you–”

“The village still needs help, Dolores. I cannot abandon our duties or our miracle while Julieta heals. Besides, Pepa is more than capable of watching over Julieta another day,” Alma said, rubbing her thumb on her shawl. 

Dolores quickly nodded and apologized, squeaking before heading out. 

Isabella remained. 

“Something wrong, flor?” Alma asked. Isa blinked and shook her head with a smile. 

“Just… thinking about Mami. And that flower,” The girl said, almost hiding behind her hair. 

Alma brushed it back. “Do not worry. Focus on the village and your flowers, that is something you can control.” 

The girl thought another moment, before nodding. 

Abuela nodded too. “Did you do the flowers this morning?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good. You go ahead and eat with the others. I’ll be gone until the… festivities begin,” Alma felt her heart pound in her chest, its rhythm echoing in her empty chest. 

There shouldn't be festivities. If there were, it would be false. Then again, when has anything felt real? When was this day ever truly a day of celebration? 

It had been 40 years since the fall of her home, since the loss of her Pedro, since the creation of the Encanto. 

People celebrated. There was music, there was dancing, but all Alma could ever feel was empty. 

Even when the miracle blessed her children with gifts, all Alma could think of was the sacrifice that brought it here. 

The others may have died off or forgotten, but Alma never forgot. 

.o0o. 

The people decided to celebrate; to carry on with the festivities anyway. 

Alma Madrigal had no choice but to help. 

She helped put up streamers and candles, she helped plate foods and treats, she helped decide where to put what decorations where, and she decided when and how and who. The entire village was about, a seemingly new energy about them due to the celebration. Laughter filled the town square, children ran along the streets with their pinwheels, and Alma could only stare. 

They were celebrating. 

Her husband died, one of her babies was dying, and the people were celebrating. 

Life never did ask Alma how she felt. It always seemed to carry on. 

And onward Alma went. 

.o0o. 

Alma made it back to the Encanto just when the celebrations were beginning. People flooded the plaza with baskets of food and instruments of every kind as they all began to dance and drink and sing, but almost none of the Madrigals were celebrating. Sure, they were all out and about, as per Alma’s orders, but something was holding them back from truly enjoying themselves, and she could tell.

Isabella, Dolores and that boy Mariano  Guzmán were all talking in one corner, while Luisa sat and arm wrestled with some of the men in another corner (evident her heart wasn’t quite in it), Mirabel and Camilo were somewhat playing with other village children with Pepa watching over, though they seemed more focused on each other than any festivities. Agustín, Félix and Bruno were drinking, though they weren’t talking much. 

Alma was normal though. She gave her speech about Pedro’s sacrifice, and the creation of the Encanto as she did every year, teaching it to a new generation. After that there were fireworks, and then it was over, and all she was left with was a cold, empty house. 

Then it was time for the cake. 

Bruno and Pepa approached it with nervous smiles, Pepa stroking her braid at an increasingly quick pace to keep the skies clear. 

“Was it worth it?” 

Agustín’s voice spoke behind her. 

“Your clumsiness hits your speech when you drink,” Alma ignored his remark. 

“You know, you could act like you care about your daughter, you know?” He dug in.

“I care for Julieta very much–” 

“You could at least show it then,” He sneered. 

Alma huffed. “I do show it. I show it in my dedication to this town and in making sure the sick and wounded are still cared for in her absence, and that the celebrations continue on, as she would have wanted.” 

The crowd began to sing and bring in the flour to “surprise” the two triplets. 

“What do you– what do you know of what she wants? When was the– the last time you were in her room? When you gave her the– the tea?” He rubbed his forehead, clearly having to focus to get words out. 

Alma didn’t reply. She clapped as her children blew out the candles and the flour was dumped over their heads, as laughter filled the Casita. 

“You wouldn’t understand, you are not a Madrigal,” She remarked. 

“I married her, didn't I?!” He raised his voice, garnering the attention of some of the guests– Pepa and Bruno included.

“Agustín, silence before you make yourself into even more of a fool,” Alma’s voice was sharp, keenly aware of the eyes on her. 

“I am as Madrigal as anyone else in this goddamned familia! I love everyone here more than anything! It is you who’s questionable! You haven’t been at Julieta’s side for more than five minutes this whole time!” 

Silence filled the air as all eyes landed on her and her son-in-law. Whispers started to spread through the crowd and Agustín was finally aware of what he said. 

“Lo– Lo siento, Alma, I-i–” 

She silenced him. 

“I will not take this disrespect in my own home. You need to leave. Now.”

More silence. A small whisper from a child. 

Agustín looked at his daughters, then Félix, then Julieta’s door before he slowly left. 

“Mami, don’t you think–” Pepa started to speak but Alma silenced her too. 

“Let the celebrations continue! We are here to celebrate forty years of peace and safety now! All together now!” She clapped and the musicians quickly began to play. People were hesitant to push aside the awkwardness, but knowing Alma was in charge, they obeyed, soon returning as they were.  

“Mamá, don’t you think it’s a little harsh? Agustín is probably just tired and you know he doesn’t know how to handle his alcohol,” Bruno went over and whispered to her. 

Alma rolled her eyes. “Agustín needs to learn what it means to be part of this family, which means he needs to learn respect.”

“Come on, he’s just worried about Julieta. We all are,” Bruno sympathized.

“We wouldn’t be so worried if you had agreed to have your vision,” Alma eyed him. 

Her son paused. “W-well, hey now– I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, I just–” 

“Bah. It is your duty to look into the future for potential dangers. Am I the only one here who seems to even remember our duties to this community?” Alma controlled her volume to be under the music. 

“Mamá,” Bruno sighed, “We’re just… it’s a lot, you know?” 

Alma did know. But she also knew life moved on. 

“And so we do a lot to make up for it. We cannot and will not abandon our community for the sake of one person.” 

Bruno looked like he wanted to say a great many things, but he held his hand in a fist by his face and stayed quiet, thinking God knows what. 

Eventually, he whispered, “I’m going to my room.” 

“Bruno, this is your party,” Alma grabbed his arm as he tried to walk away.

“Well I don’t want it. Besides, everyone's here to celebrate the miracle, not us.” Bruno replied coldly. 

“Bruno, that isn’t–” Alma was going to say more, but music silenced and the crowd gasped.

“Mamá..?”

...No...

It... it couldn't be...

She wasn't well enough, the tea was only given yesterday, she--

“Julieta!!!” 

A roar of cheers spread through Casita, and when Alma turned, sure as day her eldest was standing, shakily holding the railing as she looked at her mother with a strained smile. 

The tea had worked. Not.. completely. 

But it worked. 

Julieta was going to live. 

[allatonceness]

100 Conferences

Belém Lima 

Luisa Penha 

Rui Neto 

Bartolomeu costa Cabral 

João Paulo rapagão 

Cristina Guedes 

Carlos Castanheira

Jean Pierre Porcher 

Troy Howie 

João Pedro Serôdio

Gil PitA Penumbra 

Carlos Lobo 

João Mendes Ribeiro 

MVCC

Alexandre Alves Costa 

Francisco Providência 

Zalraa zawcwi 

Nuno Senos 

Arquitectos anónimos 

Eduardo Aires 

Andre Tavares 

Go Hasegawa 

Jean phillipe Vassal 

Manuel Graça Dias 

ESM 

Nadia Tolonikva 

Sou Fujimoto 

Frances Kéré 

Maurizio Lanzarato 

Santiago Cirugeda 

Eva Franch 

Ali cherri 

Pankay Mishra 

Hans Ulrich Obrist

Kazuo Sejima

Guido Beltrami 

Josep Quetglas 

Inês Lobo 

Nuno Brandão Costa 

Made in 

Nieto Sobrejano 

Dominique Perrault 

ESM 

Camilo Rebelo 

Tony Fretton 

Roger Diener 

Go hasengawa + Office KGDVS 

 SAMI

Pascal Flammmer 

De Vylder 

Arq. G 

Barbas lopes 

Nuno Brandão Costa 

Norland 

E2A

Arno Brandhuber 

Valerio Olgiati

Pascal Flammmer 

Norland 

E2A

Arno Brandhuber 

Valerio Olgiati 

Humberto Napolitano 

Rui Furtado + Ricardo Bak Gordon 

Job Floris 

Charllote Von Moos 

Stephen Taylor 

Barão Hunter + Girão Lima 

Madelon Von Vriesendrop 

Alvaro Siza 

Francesca Torzo

Manuel Mendes 

Madelon Von Vriensendrop 

Richard Wentworth 

Thomas Thaites 

Assemble 

Benjamin Seroussi 

Iris Rogoff

Olivier Marboeuf 

Aires Mateus + Fernanda Fragaterio 

Alejandro Aravena

Peter Markli 

Nuno grande + Adriana Calcanhoto 

Sergison Bates 

Eric lapierre 

Thomas Daniel 

Tim Benton 

Paul Owen 

Rick Joy 

Juhami Pallasmaa 

João Luis Carrilho da Graça 

ESM+ NBC+ Luis Ferreira Alves 

Bernando pinto de almeida + JM + Nuno Lacerda Lopes 

Eduardo Souto Moura

SPBR Arq+ NBC 

Morrettin arq. + Mapa arq.+ Cristina Guedes 

Arq associados + Laboratório de projectos da FAUUSP

Metro arq. + MMBB + ÁLVARO Puntoni 

Vijitha Basmayaka + Guilherme Wisnik 

Camilo rebelo + João Mendes Ribeiro + Alexandre Dias 

Ricardo Carvalho + NBC

101.Marina Tabassum + Inês lobo

Steven Holl 

Ruy Nishizawa

Joan Oackman 

Joan Oackman 

Tom Avermaete 

[davidsoto666]

LA NEGRA CASILDA

Líder comprometida con la causa, como lo fue Benkos Biohó en Cartagena de Indias.

CASILDA CUNDUMÍ DEMBELE habia nacido en Malí, en el África Occidental en 1823. Tuvo 14 hijos y más de 60 nietos a quienes les heredo su gran legado de Liderazgo libertario. Llegó a Cartagena de Indias en un barco negrero y fue vendida, Junto a otros Jóvenes Africanos (Hombres y Mujeres), a un comerciante español de nombre Pedro González que la revendió para trabajar en las Plantaciones de Caña de Azúcar de los Ingenios en Palmira, Colombia , a mas de 900 Kilómetros al sur de Cartagena.

Casilda Cundumí, Más conocida como "La Negra Casilda", vivio muchos años como esclava en las Plantaciones de Caña de Azúcar, hasta que en el año 1840 se fugo a las Montañas de Palmira con 45 cimarrones más, organizándose en un palenque dirigido por ella.

Desde ese día, ella, junto con los demás negros cimarrones, empezaron una promover la fuga de Otros esclavos. Aconteció que un día Casilda fue capturada e iba hacer descuartizada para atemorizar a los demás cimarrones, para que no siguieran incitando otros negros de fugarse, pero con sus conocimientos de magia y brujería, logro escapar para continuar liberando su pueblo del yugo esclavista. El 21 de mayo de 1851 se firmo la Abolición de la Esclavitud en Colombia (* 1) Pero lastimosamente esa Abolición Sólo se Hizo parcialmente Porque en algunos Lugares de los Actuales departamentos del Valle del Cauca, Chocó, Cauca y Bolívar, los negros siguieron Siendo Perseguidos y esclavizados por Sus amos blancos.

LA NEGRA Casilda, Además del Liderazgo, FUE Admirada Por Sus Conocimientos de magia y medicina natural. Curaba con hierbas y semillas, y Su especialidad Eran las picaduras de serpientes y de otras alimañas. Fue una mujer Que Tuvo Un gran Liderazgo y mucha Sabiduría. Era devota de Sus dioses africanos y no acepto Convertirse al catolicismo Que Siempre considero la religión de Sus esclavizadores y verdugos. Fue una mujer guerrera Que Nunca agachó la Cabeza, ni se dejo humillar o maltratar por ningún blanco. Era esbelta, alta, de hermoso Cuerpo, cantadora de cantos Nativos, dueña de una bella voz, tocaba la marimba, era muy orgullosa de su raza, y dueña de un Espíritu Libre y Guerrero.

Casilda aprendio a Leer y escribir, en La Época Que vivio con un español criollo Que Fue el padre de sus primeros 5 hijos. Hombre sensible, Apoyo a su compañera y actuó como intermediario para que los Negros de Varias haciendas se fugaran. Acusado de conspiración, fue fusilado en abril de 1857 en La que Ahora se denomina Plaza de Bolívar en Palmira, Valle. Despues Casilda tuvo un Segundo marido Llamado Juan Gregorio Caicedo, o Anatolio Chala Lucumí, hijo de africanos esclavizados (padre y madre). Nacido en Guapi, Cauca, Anatolio era curandero, brujo hechicero y también rebelde Que Despues De Ser declarado liberto Salio de Guapí En Busca de Una Nueva Oportunidad de Vida en Cali Donde se encontró con Varios paisanos Que lo llevaron A Trabajar Como jornalero en el Ingenio Manuelita en Palmira, Donde conocio a Casilda. Se enamoraron, se casaron y tuvieron 9 hijos.

Al pasar los años, Casilda encontró padre quien habia dejado de Ver desde cuando la vendieron cómo esclava en Cartagena y La llevaron a los ingenios azucareros. Su Padre que era un "Hougan" o Sacerdote Vudú, y que también llegó de Malí, África (* 2), en el mismo barco negrero, le transmitió sus conocimientos secretos y la apoyo para que siguiera con la causa de ayudar a los negros cimarrones para que lograran su sueño de libertad.

Despues de ese encuentro con su padre, Casilda se infiltró como jornalera en las plantaciones de caña, y les dio a Los esclavos un polvo tóxico y narcótico para que cuando terminará su día de trabajo se lo echaran en las bebidas de los blancos y así pudieran Huir y unirse al ejército Negro; también convenció a las esclavas de la cocina Para Que hicieran Lo mismo con sus amos, y con eso lograron que muchos negros esclavizados huyeran y se unieran a la causa libertaria, Que Hasta el 14 de Febrero de 1862, Casilda con más de 1000 negros, mulatos , e Indígenas, vencieron al Ejército Criollo de Palmira que les triplicaba en número. Fue un día glorioso para Todos Los Esclavos que llevaban muchos años luchando por su libertad.

Casilda Cundumí Dembele, fue una líder con acciones Libertarias muy parecidas a las de el Líder negro Benkos Biohó, Que en Cartagena de Indias, acaudilló la primera rebelión de esclavos cimarrones Durante el siglo XVII, Convirtiendose en rey del pueblo de San Basilio de Palenque . Casilda, Como Todos Los negros africanos Que llegaban Como esclavos, tan pronto desembarco en Cartagena, se entero de la Historia de este Líder, Quien fue, A partir de ESE Momento, su inspiración (* 3)

Ella Murió en octubre de 1945 en Palmira, y no Pudo Ser enterrada En un cementerio Porque los blancos, influenciados por Costumbres y Creencias Religiosas heredadas de sus ancestros españoles, dijeron que ella no era digna de enterrarse En un panteón cristiano Porque era negra , y porque la consideraban una rebelde, enemiga de las Autoridades civiles, eclesiásticas y Militares, que, en pleno Siglo XX, seguían considerando como el delito que un negro se revelara y luchara por su libertad.

CASILDA CUNDUMÍ DEMBELE, Fue la verdadera libertadora de los Negros en el Valle del Cauca. Mujer fuerte, valiente y longeva, vivió sus últimos años de existencia al cuidado de una de sus nietas. Murió una edad muy avanzada, tenia 122 años.