#para: fish 'em hold 'em

[vanoincidence]

Fish 'em Hold 'em || Van & Cass

TIMING: current. LOCATION: van's house in worm row. PARTIES: @magmahearts & @vanoincidence SUMMARY: cass comes over to find her lost earring. instead, she and van play cards! CONTENT WARNINGS: parental death.

Van had been desperate for a sense of normalcy since… It happened. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Debbie. She saw the others, too. Sometimes they were dead, sometimes they were standing over her. Would they do the same to her, if they’d known what had happened with Diana? It was a stupid question, because of course they wouldn’t, but she was still anxious all the same. Nora came to mind more and more– the shape of her knife, the way it fit inside of Debbie’s mouth. The way it sounded when she had pulled it out. As much as Van didn’t want to think about it anymore, she couldn’t seem to stop. Keeping busy to the point of exhaustion was her only option, but even then, the night terrors kept her awake through the night. The empty cans of nectarine red bulls were already threatening to capsize from the box she’d been throwing them into. None of it mattered, though. Not if her house wasn’t clean, not if she went to work on time. Because all that mattered was the fact that she’d been responsible for Debbie’s death. She hadn’t been the only one, but after watching Diana fall through the supposed black hole, it was getting harder to believe that she hadn’t brought on the bad luck to cause the entire situation to begin with. 

It was getting harder to pull herself from her thoughts. At work, she had even mistakenly handed over a fifty dollar bill instead of a five. It wasn’t until Janice had commented on it from over her shoulder that she was able to fix the mistake before the customer left. Van knew she needed to shape up, or else her entire life would fall apart. She was usually good at pretending, but this was different. She had somebody’s blood on her hands. 

She lay on the couch now, legs kicked up on an old cross-stitched pillow with black bears on it. Van barely registered the sound of somebody knocking on the door, and only after they knocked several more times did she get up. She tossed her phone with her current boss battle on it, to the side, and looked through the window to the side, surprised to see that it was Cass. She checked herself in the mirror, rubbing her index fingers beneath her eyes as a means to rub away the dark circles. Of course it didn't work. Adjusting her oversized t-shirt, she pulled the door open and tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Hey. Um, I didn’t… did you text?” She hadn’t missed a text, had she? That couldn’t be possible, she was holding her phone the entire time. “I might have missed it, I’ve been playing games. Sorry.” She knew the inside of the house didn’t look great. There were takeout boxes (from when she could eat) on the coffee table, as well as a few dozen more empty cans of red bull. “You can come in. Sorry. I– don’t mind… it’s… Yeah.” 

—

It hadn’t felt like this after Kuma died. It was strange to think about, weird to compare the two, but impossible not to at the same time. After Kuma died, it had been so easy to stick the guilt in a box because that was what she’d been taught to do. When a promise bind killed someone, it wasn’t the fault of the person who’d bound them. It was the broken promise that did it, their inability to keep their word. If they were honest when they made the promise, it wouldn’t have killed them. It wasn’t a particularly kind way of thinking of things, but few things about the aos si she’d lived in as a child had been kind. Humans were disposable, they’d claimed, and just because Cass didn’t feel that way didn’t mean she could toss years of hearing it repeated out the window without thinking of it at all. It didn’t mean there was no temptation to cling to it when it suited her, when it eased the guilt aching in her chest.

But Debbie was different.

Debbie hadn’t broken any promises. If anything, her last words — that she’d only been trying to make people proud — seemed to imply that she was trying to keep a promise to someone. And the wound on Cass’s side still hadn’t healed, was so much slower to fix itself than her injuries usually were, but she still wasn’t sure Debbie had deserved what happened to her. She really didn’t think so, and not thinking so hurt. 

So, she figured a distraction was in order. She’d raked her mind with possible things to do, but none seemed good enough to keep her thoughts away from where they so desperately wanted to crawl. She didn’t want to be alone, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being around anyone who didn’t get it, either. So who did that leave? The girls who’d been there with her that night? Nora had left her behind once already, and was probably going to do it again just as soon as she could. Ren didn’t even seem to like her, and the buzzing feeling of being around another fae, especially one who seemed to view her with distaste, would only make the sinking feeling in her chest that much worse. Thea was a good option, but Cass didn’t really know where to find her and didn’t want to text her for fear of rejection. But Van? She knew where Van lived and worked. And Van had said that they should all get together sometime and watch a movie or something, so it was clear that she at least kind of wanted to hang out. 

The thought overtook her before she could consider it much at all, and she was standing in front of Van’s door not long after and realizing only after the other girl opened it that she probably should have texted first. She’d need an excuse, then. Right? Hesitantly, she glanced around. “Oh. No, sorry, I didn’t — I was just in the neighborhood, and I lost my earring the other night?” It wasn’t a lie, technically; she had lost her earring, but she was pretty sure it ended up in the pit she was trying desperately not to think about. “Maybe we can look for it in your house?”

—

“Oh.” Van blinked, then looked from one of Cass’s ears to the other. She was in fact missing an earring. Did she not have others? Then again, she only owned one septum ring. Her industrial bar was changed out every few years, always with vigorous cleaning every few days. “In my.. house.” This was her house. Right. Not her grandma’s house. Not her parents’ house. Her house. “Yeah, come in!” Van stepped to the side to let Cass in before she closed the door behind her. She kicked her own shoes to the side to make room for Cass’s once she took them off and she hurried towards the coffee table. 

She stacked the takeout boxes on top of one another and held them to her chest awkwardly. “Do you remember–” That night was hard not to remember and she knew that, so she cleared her throat. “It looks like the other one?” Van went into the kitchen, crushing the takeout boxes she was holding into the trash can that was already partially overflowing. “She quickly put a few stray cups into the sink and began to pick up the various wrappers she’d left strewn across the countertop. “Do you want anything to drink?” Her house had gotten worse since the girls left. When they were there, it was almost like somebody normal lived there.

“I have… um…” Van pulled the fridge door open and peered inside, noticing that she was low on red bull. “Red bull. Water. That’s it.” She let the fridge door close with a defeated sigh. “We can…” She couldn’t order food. Or really, shouldn’t. The insurance money she’d gotten after she turned 18 from her parents’ passing was running low and she used it to pay the bulk of her bills. Even though the house was paid off, she needed to live scarcely until she could find something better than Sly Slice. Or… find roommates. Which wouldn’t be happening now, especially with everything that had happened. “Look for your earring. Sorry. That’s why you’re here.” 

—

She should have come up with a better excuse. She knew that now, because this one was finite. Eventually, she’d have to admit that her earring wasn’t here and she’d have to leave, and then she’d be just as alone as she had been before. Only it’d be worse, probably, because being alone was always worse when it was a fresh feeling. You could forget, after a while, what it felt like to have someone there with you. The reminder only ever served to sting all the more when it was inevitably snatched away from you.

But she had a little while, at least. Van’s house was one of the biggest Cass had ever seen, though the only house she really had to compare it to was the one bedroom duplex that Kuma had lived in. It could take them a long time to search this whole house. As long as Van didn’t ask her any point blank questions she’d have to lie in response to in order to keep the search going, they could probably stretch it out for a while. 

“Water would be good,” she said with an encouraging smile. She liked Van. Van was nice, and friendly, and didn’t turn Cass away the moment she saw her on the other side of the door. Maybe Van was only going to forget about her like everyone else, but at least for now they could be friends. “No, it —- It’s okay,” she said quickly. “I mean, if you want to do something else while I’m here, I don’t mind. We can always look for the earring later, too. It’s not super important or anything, if you want to just hang out.”

—

Van nodded at Cass’s request for a glass of water and she checked each of the cabinets, hesitating when she saw the mug that had been her dad’s. She had barely touched it since he had passed. One day, her grandma tried to use it and Van had a meltdown in the kitchen. That day, the plastic of the ice trays that sat on the countertop had begun to melt into the vinyl and the glass windows of the hutch that contained photographic memories shattered. That was only a few days after she’d gotten home from her roadtrip– only a few days after she had lost Diana. Her grandmother left a week later. 

She felt statuesque, desperate to feel normal over the stupid fucking mug. It was basic enough, a weird off-tan color with a baseball bat on it. Her dad had loved baseball. Stupid. Van ground her teeth and closed the cabinet a little too hard before turning towards one of the cups in the sink. She grabbed it and began to scrub at it with a sponge after pouring way too much soap onto it.

“Are you sure?” Van looked over her shoulder at Cass as she began to rinse off the cup. She didn’t want Cass to think that she wasn’t up to looking for the earring. Maybe Cass thought that the house was a little too dirty to actually find it. Van needed to clean, but cleaning took energy that she didn’t have. She turned off the water and dried off the cup with a paper towel before filling it with water from the brita filter. She held it out to Cass with a smile and went to grab herself a redbull. “We can, if you want, but we can… I’d hate for you to not have your earring.” Whether or not it was expensive, Van had no clue. She knew fuck all about expensive things. The money her parents made had been posthumous, and even then, it had gone to bills, mostly– to paying off the house, and to whatever dumb purchases Van had started to make after her grandmother left; namely the dumb gacha games in her phone. 

—

Cass watched Van navigate the kitchen, trying not to be curious in spite of the way the curiosity stubbornly tugged at her gut. She hated the way she couldn’t look away, hated the fact that she was observing someone she thought might be her friend in a moment where she was clearly vulnerable. It was the kind of thing that was hard to turn off, though. When you spent all your life trying to be who people wanted you to be in order to convince them you were worth keeping around, watching them became something of a necessity. 

So she watched Van open the cabinet, watched her freeze as if she’d seen a ghost etched into the wooden shelves. Was she thinking about Debbie? It would certainly make sense. Cass wasn’t sure she’d thought of anything else since the night they’d thrown the girl’s body into the pit. Debbie’s face was a thing that she thought might haunt her until the day she joined her in death. Maybe if Van and the others felt the same, the weight would be easier to carry. Or maybe some things didn’t get easier. Maybe they weren’t supposed to. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” There was no discomfort with the statement because it was true. Cass was sure she wanted to hang out with Van, was sure that she’d stay until Van asked her to leave. She took the cup as Van offered it to her, smiling gratefully but not offering any kind of verbal thanks. She didn’t think Van would hold her to it, but she didn’t want to risk it, either. Cass liked to be the one holding all the cards. It was selfish of her, she knew. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind wearing just the one for a while. I think it looks kind of, um… punk rock.” She’d steal another pair eventually, but she was fine being unbalanced until then. 

—

“Kind of punk rock?” Van stared at Cass for a moment, gaze shifting from one of her ears the other. It would, if it weren’t for the clothes that Cass wore. They were a lot girlier and flowy than anything she owned, but did that matter? It wasn’t like they were sharing a wardrobe. “Yeah, I guess so.” Even though Cass didn’t smell like it, she looked like she should smell like the beach; like sunscreen and sand, and even the salt from the rolling waves. Van didn’t think that was very punk rock, but she knew that being punk was about rejecting the idea of mainstream. Maybe this was Cass’s idea of doing that. It didn’t matter, anyway. It had just been a throwaway comment. Van wasn’t sure why she was so lost in her head about it. Maybe it was guilt over the lost earring, or guilt over something else. 

“Then um…” She looked around, still frustrated by the state of her home. She wouldn’t ask Cass to help her clean, that was rude, especially because the mess hadn’t been her fault. The fallout of why things had gotten so bad may have had her included, but it wasn’t like Cass had made her help with Debbie’s murder. Cass had been attacked too. Van wanted to ask how her wound was. Her own had been shallow enough that after the deep cleaning and cauterization, it wasn’t all that bad. She hadn’t ever been hurt like that before, and so the phantom pain was worse than anything that was actually wrong with her. “What do you want to do?” She knew she had mentioned to Cass about watching a t.v show or a movie, but she wasn’t sure she had the attention span for that today, but she didn’t want to leave her house, either. 

—

For a moment, she feared she’d said something wrong. Van was looking at her in a strange sort of way, and what if this was the comment that got Cass kicked out of her house for good? What if this was somehow the straw that shattered the camel’s back and made Van realize that Cass really wasn’t someone she wanted around, no matter what terrible secrets they shared? But the fear dissipated when Van spoke again, agreeing even if it didn’t sound like she fully meant it. “Probably not, like, super punk rock,” Cass added quickly, trying to recover. “Just, like, the general vibes.” 

What do you want to do? It was such an open ended question. Cass didn’t know how to answer it. She wanted to do a thousand things, and she wanted to do nothing. She wanted to talk about what they’d gone through, and she wanted to never mention it again. She wanted too much and nothing at all. But she didn’t know how to say any of this, so she only shrugged. “Maybe we could play a board game. Or cards? Do you know any card games? I only know Go Fish.” 

—

So she’d been obvious about her confusion over the statement. She spent way too much time online to have these kinds of conversations in person. “No– I. Sorry.” She let out a sigh and dented the can of red bull lightly with her fingers. “Punk rock isn’t really…” She hesitated, not knowing really what she was trying to say. “It doesn’t matter, you know? Punk rock is punk rock. If you say you’re punk rock, you’re punk rock.” People said that the kind of people who did say they were punk rock were not punk rock, but what the hell did they know about a girl who had saved her own life and the lives of those around her? Of the girl with the red branding iron that was meant to help their injuries. They didn’t know, and even though Van didn’t really know her either, a part of her wanted to get to know her. 

Cass seemed to be working through the possibilities of what they could do and Van paused after her recommendation, eyes darting to the closet of board games she only ever really played with her parents. She hadn’t been in that closet in years, it probably had cobwebs. Or, by the state of her place, a rat or two. No, that was dramatic– her house wasn’t that bad. “Um…” She had a deck of cards in her room, though. That was safer. Less falling into a memory. “I have some cards!” She set her red bull down and hurried down the hall before returning with the deck. “It might be missing two or three, I’ve never been good at keeping track of things, but–” She held them out for Cass to take. “You deal since it was your idea.” She cleared the kitchen table quickly, ignoring the engravings on it of her parents’ names she’d done with a kitchen knife at seven years old. Her own was just below it. She’d gotten into so much trouble that day. “You can sit here.” Far from the engravings, far from the memories. She pulled out a chair and motioned for the girl to take a seat. 

—

It doesn’t matter. Van said it so flippantly, like she had no idea how freeing that statement was. The idea of something being true only because you said it was true, the concept of wanting something being synonymous with having it… It was just about a stupid phrase, just about some weird aesthetic thing that Cass had never really understood anyway, but that didn’t stop her from grinning. “I like that,” she said, the statement clearly true from the expression on her face. She liked Van’s explanation, and she liked Van, too. 

The smile only widened as Van replied that she did, in fact, have a deck of cards. She waited for her to return with them, taking them as they were offered to her. “I’ve never played with a full deck, anyway,” she admitted with a shrug, pulling the cards from the box. “But I knew a guy once who loved cards. He mostly used them to scam people — you know, that street game where you try to find the Queen? — but he did teach me how to…” She paused, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she adjusted the cards. The shuffle was clumsy, but she didn’t drop any. She thought that should count for something, and she flashed Van a triumphant grin. “He was way better at it, but I used to be pretty good.” It was one of those things she’d spent hours perfecting in hopes that it might make her easier to swallow. Like most of those things, of course, she’d fallen out of practice as soon as the person who it mattered to left her behind. Skills, for Cass, were only ever worth having if they might trick someone into liking you. She sat down in the chair Van got out for her, glancing to the other side of the table briefly with some curiosity but deciding not to ask. Van looked sad, but Cass was afraid to ask why. She was afraid the answer might have something to do with that pit near her cave and the things they’d thrown into it. “Ten cards to start?”

—

Van sank into the rickety chair, wincing as it wobbled beneath her weight. A screw had gotten loose forever ago and Van hadn’t ever made the time to try and youtube-fix it. Somebody who was a real adult would tell her to simply throw the chairs out, but she couldn’t stomach the idea. They’d been where her parents sat, as well as where her grandmother had sat. They were a part of this family, too, and Van refused to get rid of them. 

As Cass explained her story about some guy who played cards, Van made her best attempt to listen, to not let her memories get the best of her. The chair that Cass sat in had been the one her mom always sat in. It didn’t hurt to see her sitting in it, instead, it made Van feel a little better. Maybe she couldn’t replace the people in her life with others– not that she had ever tried, but maybe she could introduce new ones to sit at her table. It was weird to think about how that night in the grocery store and at the pit had changed so much. She was still traumatized and every time she did think about it, it felt like she was going to evaporate out of fear and anger (mostly at herself), but right now? Having one of the girls from that night across from her, it made her feel like things were marginally better than they had been in the past few days. 

Van watched as Cass worked her magic with the cards and she offered an amused smile. It was genuine, at least, despite how tired she was. “That’s cool. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like that.” She paused. “I met a woman trying to sell makeup once who then tried to get my– me to sell makeup. I guess that’s a scam, too.” She let out a soft laugh before clasping her hands, resting them on the table. “Ten? Yeah! That sounds right.” There should be enough for them to play at least a few deck draws. “I think I know some other card games too, if you get bored of this one.” She would have to probably look it up, but she didn’t think Cass would mind. She waited in silence as Cass dealt the cards, and then she slid her hand across the table collecting and then rearranging them in order of her already existing pairs (she had half of one). She should have a normal conversation with Cass. She knew that. Maybe something without the weight of what they’d done. She didn’t know what to say, so she instead asked the obvious. “You’re not from Wicked’s Rest.” Van would remember her, if she had been. “Where did you move from?” 

—

She didn’t think Van was listening to her, but that was okay, too. Cass talked just to fill the silence sometimes, spoke only to hear herself speak. There was some empty comfort in it, some quiet reassurance. She didn’t like the quiet. The quiet would swallow you up if you let it, would eat you whole without stopping to chew. She’d had so much quiet over the course of her life, had lived in it a little too long. In the mornings when she woke up to find that whoever she’d been with the night before had left without saying goodbye, or at night when she found no one and nothing to occupy her. Silence was bad, was heavy, was wrong. If Van would let her fill it with rambling stories, she’d do so even if she was the only one listening to them. 

Van said the story was cool anyway, even if she’d only been half-listening to it, and Cass offered her a smile and looked down at the cards again, fiddling absently with the corner of the one on top of the pile. “There were always a lot of people like that around.” When you lived on the streets, most people were scamming or stealing to stay alive. Cass had never been good at the former — it often required lies that she wasn’t good at telling — but she’d built up a lot of skill with the latter. Slipping into places unseen, slipping out again without leaving anything behind. She’d always been good at being invisible; the key was to be a thing no one wanted to look at. Homeless children with dirty hair and ragged clothes were something most people turned away from quickly, because if they didn’t they’d feel bad. Guilt was something you could use to your advantage, sometimes. Cass had built a ‘career’ on it. 

Nodding as Van spoke, Cass began dealing out the cards. Ten a piece, and the rest between them. “You’ll have to teach me,” she said, flipping her cards over and rearranging them in her hand. Two tens, but no other matches. She didn’t care much about the game, anyway. She looked back to Van, shaking her head with a hint of hesitancy. “I’m from Hawai’i,” she replied, a little uncertain even though she knew it was true. “I haven’t lived there in a long time, though. I left when I was still a kid.” Left wasn’t the right word for it. Left implied that she’d wanted to, that she’d been given a choice. Her departure from the island hadn’t been that, of course, but… That wasn’t something she wanted to say. If Van knew that the people who were supposed to be wired to love Cass had cast her out anyway, she’d start to wonder why. And wondering was the first step to figuring it out. Cass didn’t want her to figure it out, even if that was selfish of her. “Are you from here?” She thought she might be, but it seemed a weird thing to assume.

—

The idea of whether or not she deserved to find a friendship with the other girls was something that bothered Van. Would they want to be her friend if they knew about Diana? Sure, she hadn’t stabbed her, but she had left, after what happened. Van still couldn’t wrap her mind around what did happen, and every time the memories began to linger, she pushed them out as quickly as possible, occupying her time with other things. The kinds of things that could be a means for distraction for hours on end. She was good at distracting herself, even if it never solved for the ache in her chest. She had to believe that it would work one day. Like now, with Cass in front of her. It was different from her usual distractions, but it was enough to work, to at least remind her that she didn’t need to think about the past, or the people she lost. She could live in the now, if only for a little while. It didn’t matter what she deserved, because didn’t Cass need someone to rely on? If she couldn’t entirely rest her head on Cass’s shoulder, then maybe she could be that for Cass, or something like it. 

“Oh, really?” Van flipped her own two pairs over– “two sevens.” She looked up at Cass. “Do you miss it?” Maybe that wasn’t the right question to ask, but even during the summer when she would visit New York, she often missed Wicked’s Rest, even if it was a little weird. “Do you have an eight?” She shuffled around the cards in her pile again, then nodded at Cass’s question. “I’ve lived here my whole life. My mom was born in New York and my dad was born in Fresno. They met at university in Portland, but moved here after my dad got a job as baseball coach. Wanted to go pro, but those dreams sorta crashed and burned.” She paused, not knowing whether or not she should go into the details about her parents' deaths and how her grandma had been the one to raise her since fifteen years old. 

—

Cass flipped her own pairs onto the table absently, lining them up so that they were across from Van’s sevens. She considered the question, considered her answer. Did she miss the island? Some days, she wasn’t sure. She missed what she’d wanted it to be, missed the idea of a community even if she’d never fit into it. She missed the feeling of the volcano and its close proximity, missed the way her veins used to sing in a harmonious choir with the magma flowing through the rocks. She missed parts of it, but she wasn’t sure she missed being there. You had to belong to a place to miss it, didn’t you? And Cass had never belonged anywhere at all.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, sliding the 8 out of her hand and pushing it across the table towards Van. “Sometimes I think I do. Or I think I miss parts of it. But sometimes I’m not sure. I don’t think I was really happy there.” But then, she wasn’t sure she’d been happy anywhere. Her happiness had always been tied to people instead of places, and that made it so much harder to hold. Places stayed where they were, mostly. Hawai’i was still Hawai’i, still out in the ocean where it had always been, but the people there didn’t want her. New York was still New York, but Nora was gone from it. Wicked’s Rest was still Wicked’s Rest, but Kuma was dead and buried. It would have been easier, she thought, if she loved places instead of people. Happiness would have been so much simpler to hold. “Does he coach at the school? Or somewhere else?” She didn’t know much about Van’s parents. She wondered if they lived here, or if Van had already moved out and was living on her own. The house seemed big for one person, but what did Cass know about houses? Maybe this was normal.

—

Van took Cass’s 8 with a smile and paired it with the one she already had in her hand before setting it down onto the table. As she explained how she felt about Hawai’i, Van tried to understand what it might feel like to be so far away from the very place you were born, but she wasn’t sure she could. Even while in New York, she was only ever about 10 hours away, depending on the traffic. “Well, maybe you can be happy…” Here, Van thought? Where they’d just murdered someone? Where they could be found out at any moment, if one of them broke? “Some day?” She offered with an awkward laugh. 

She knew she opened up the discussion to reveal she even had parents at all, but she silently cursed herself for letting it flow freely. It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with discussing them, it was that other people might stay stupid shit like I’m sorry for your loss. She’d heard that too many times to count. Van knew that lying about it would be worse considering the fact she lived alone in a house that an older adult should definitely be in charge of. “He coached at the elementary school for a while.” Van smoothed out the corner of one of the cards that had been bent. “My mom worked as a secretary. They both died when I was fifteen.” She offered Cass an awkward smile. “But it’s okay, I’ve had time to like, process.” She didn’t. “What card do you need? Maybe I have it.” 

—

Maybe you can be happy some day. Cass wanted to protest, wanted to say I’m happy now, but even the thought of it made her stomach ache. It was understandable, though, wasn’t it? Not being happy right now, so soon after they’d killed someone. Being happy now, in the aftermath… It would be a terrible thing. To feel joy, to celebrate, to be content in a world she’d just helped tear someone else away from, that wasn’t something heroes did. And Cass was trying so hard to be a hero. It was the only thing she’d wanted for so long now. People liked heroes. They had to. 

Something shifted in Van’s expression, and Cass realized what she was going to say just a moment before she actually said it. She never knew how to react when people confessed to things like this, never knew what you were supposed to say. She’d never had anything to lose, so how could she begin to understand what it felt like to go through loss? Did time really make it better? She couldn’t imagine that the years that separated Van from her parents’ deaths made it any easier to carry the weight of them. She couldn’t imagine anything did. There was certainly nothing she could say, so she looked back down at her cards instead, smile brief and apologetic. “Got any twos?”

—

It was clear that Van had made Cass uncomfortable with her statement and she flinched inwardly, doing her best to control her expression. Whether or not she was doing any good at it was another thing. She cleared her throat and shuffled through the cards she had and held out the two she had to Cass with her own smile. She didn’t want to have somebody shut down on her because they didn’t know what to say. Van hated when that happened. Hated when she felt othered just because she had lost the people who were supposed to be there for… well, a whole lot longer than they had been. 

“Any sixes?” Van scratched an itch that’d begun to form on her ankle and she shifted in her chair. She didn’t know what else to say other than continue to play the game they had decided on. It was a little quiet now and she reached across the table to grab her phone from where it was laying. She quickly pulled up spotify and began to play Dizzy’s Calico on a lower volume than she would have liked. “If you want to listen to anything specific, just let me know.” 

—

The air in the room had shifted, become thicker than it should have been. It hadn’t exactly been relaxed before — Debbie’s ghost hung between them like a tangible thing, even now — but it hadn’t been quite this tense, either. Cass hated herself a little. For not knowing what to say, for always managing to say the wrong thing with the right one eluded her. A better friend would have known how to comfort Van here. A better friend would have known if they were friends at all or if she was only fooling herself, if she was wanting something so badly that she was making false things true. She did that sometimes. It was suffocating.

Van’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked back at her cards. “Go fish,” she replied with a small smile. She watched Van fetch her phone, watched her turn on the music. She didn’t listen to music often. Only when someone else wanted to, really, only when she thought it would make her easier to swallow. “Whatever you like is fine. Um… What’s your favorite? I think I’d like to hear that.”

—

Van drew a card and paired it with the additional ten she had, putting them face up just next to the other pair. “My favorite?” Van scrolled down through her playlists with her index finger as she held her cards against the table. She could easily drown out the awkwardness with music. She knew how to do that. She knew how to preoccupy herself so that the bad things didn’t take over. 

“Have you ever listened to Lunar Isles?” Van put Bloomon and let it begin to play. “If you’re not into this, I can change it.” She smiled at Cass, and even though it didn’t reach her eyes, it still felt genuine enough that she didn’t feel guilty for not giving her all the energy in the world. “Your turn.” 

—

Music filled the space like a physical thing, and Cass relaxed into the sound’s embrace. Hearing someone’s favorite song, someone told her once, was like hearing a snapshot of the inside of their head, seeing a hint of what made them who they were. She wasn’t sure she had a favorite song herself; maybe that said a lot about her, hinted at the way she’d change anything about herself if it meant making someone else like her just a little bit more.

“No,” she said quickly when Van offered to change it. “I like this. It’s nice. It’s got a cool vibe. Quiet, easy. It’s great.” She made a note of the band’s name — maybe she could find similar ones, introduce Van to something new, something she’d listen to and think of Cass. That sounded like a dream. “Got any fours?”

—

“Cool.” Van was glad that Cass seemed to like the music. If she didn’t, she was sure that the other girl would say something. There was nothing worse than being in an enclosed space while somebody was playing bad music. Well, there were worse things, but a normal terrible thing to Van would be being stuck at Sly Slice while Janice played Taylor Swift over the speakers. 

“Yup!” She seemed a little too giddy to hand over the four, so she toned it down slightly by slouching in her chair. Even though Cass didn’t seem like she knew what to say about the whole parent thing, at least she didn’t let her continue to get her down. Van looked over her cards, then asked, “do you have a one?” She looked up over them at Cass, slightly hopeful. 

—

Even though things were relatively easy with Van, Cass still felt, on some level, like she was putting on a performance. She always did. Every conversation was a dance she hadn’t known how to rehearse properly, every attempt at friendship a complicated choreographed event with no director. But Van was nice, and Cass wanted to try. She wanted to be her friend. Maybe then they could play Go Fish more often.

She grinned as the other girl handed over the card, placing the pair down with the rest. “Hmm…” She looked over the cards in her hand before shaking her head. “Go Fish again!” She wished she had had a one to give to Van; she worried if she won the game, Van might be upset with her. Deciding to distract from her lead, she jumped back into conversation. “Do you like living here? In the town, I mean. It seems like weird stuff happens sometimes.” She didn’t know how much Van knew about the weird stuff, and maybe that would be a good thing to figure out.

—

“Dammit, seriously?” Van laughed aloud before she plucked a card from the deck. “Oh, never mind. Got it on my own.” She stuck her tongue out playfully at Cass before slapping her pair down. She huddled her cards together in both hands, tapping the first card with her thumb. At Cass’s question, she shrugged. “Weird things have always happened here, that’s just… sorta how it is.” She spread her cards back out and shoved them together again as a means for something to do with her hands. 

“Some people are really weird, you know? Tell you to not say thank you and stuff.” Van rolled her eyes. “My gra– I would…” She paused. “I was taught to be polite. Unless somebody doesn’t deserve it, then screw them.” Van rolled her eyes. “But I don’t really listen to them, usually they aren’t saying things that make any sense and they sorta lose me, makes it hard for me to put any faith into them.” Because if she did, she’d see a lot more than she was willing to, and that scared the hell out of her. “What about you? Do you think it’s really weird here?” 

—

Cass was about to apologize, nonsensically, for not having the card Van needed, but it wasn’t necessary. She got her one anyway, and Cass pretended to be upset by the development, hiding her grin behind her fanned out cards. She listened as Van spoke, making a note of what she said. She was one of those people, then, one of the ones who wrote off the supernatural stuff. It solidified Cass’s earlier assumptions that she should never deglamour in front of the other girl, made the notion a concrete one in her mind. That was what had made Kuma hate her, after all, and she didn’t want a repeat of it.

“I was taught not to say it,” she admitted. It was true, even if she was leaving out the fact that she was also taught why. She wanted to tell Van that she really shouldn’t thank people, because she didn’t want her new friend bound by some malicious fae, but… It was clear that Van would probably do it anyway. And she might not like Cass if Cass told her not to. So she left it alone, focusing on her cards instead. “Any nines?” She rearranged them absently the more Van spoke, making note of each and every word like she was creating a comprehensive guide on how not to make the other girl dislike her. “I’ve lived in weirder places.” Another true statement. The aos si had definitely been weirder than Wicked’s Rest in comparison to the rest of the human world, after all. “I like the kind of weird they have here, anyway. It’s exciting, most of the time.” She didn’t have to say when it wasn’t exciting. Van had been in that supermarket. She already knew.

—

“Really? Was there a reason?” Van was curious. Even if she didn’t believe in the superstitions behind a lot of the weird things Wicked’s Rest’s residents got up to, she wanted to know why they’d started in the first place. “Recently, or when you were in Hawai’i?” She looked over her cards at the girl opposite her curiously. 

“Weirder than here?” Van leaned back in her chair, nodding slightly as if it were possible. Maybe it was. Then again, even out of Wicked’s Rest, somewhere in an abandoned parking lot, Van had watched Diana tumble through a black hole. It hadn’t been there, and then it was. That was weird, and it was heartbreaking, but she didn’t want to focus on that. Couldn’t. “That’s a hard sell, but if you say so.” She flashed a smile at Cass, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s alright, but it gets old after you’ve lived here your whole life.” Cass skirted around the topic of Debbie and Van was grateful. “I guess it’d be like that anywhere. Hawai’i for example.” She focused on getting the name to sound right as it came off her tongue. “But I’m glad you like it here. We’re glad to have you.” Even if our first events together had been traumatic, Van nearly added as an afterthought. 

—

Hesitating, Cass debated how to proceed. She didn’t think she could lie; even if she could properly hide the effect it had on her, she didn’t particularly want to lie to Van. But what if she told the truth and Van didn’t like her anymore? She rearranged her cards absently, as if distracted by them. Then, after a pause that may have lasted a beat too long, she shrugged. “I was always told that thanking someone means you owe them,” she said carefully. It was true, because it was what she was told. She just… left a few things out. “That was in Hawai’i. Maybe people do it for a different reason here.” Again, not strictly a lie; people in Wicked’s Rest, for the most part, probably did avoid thanking each other for a reason that was technically different than what Cass had been taught. After all, humans in the know didn’t thank strangers on the off chance that they might be fae. Fae didn’t thank anyone on the plausible chance that they’d be bound to it.

“Sometimes. Or maybe it’s just… a different kind of weird, you know?” She’d thought the world outside of the aos si had been weird when she’d first been thrust into it, so maybe weirdness was relative. “I think every place has its… quirks. Wicked’s Rest just has quirkier quirks than some other places.” The topic of Debbie still hung between them, even unspoken. Cass was happy to leave it a silent thing, and maybe Van was too. Maybe it was better that way, even if it did feel a little like a child hiding under their comforter, convinced that no monster could touch them so long as they couldn’t see it. She looked up from her cards as Van spoke, nearly dropping them onto the table as the words settled. We’re glad to have you. “Really?”

—

“Hmmm… if that’s the way you roll, I can respect it.” Van’s grandmother had always insisted on giving thanks to those who were helpful, so she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. But if that was how somebody else lived, who was she to judge? She wondered how many sneers Cass had gained by the simple act of not saying thank you. Maybe the next time Janice did something for her, Van wouldn’t say thank you either, just to show her that she didn’t owe her. But Van wasn’t sure she could do that with anyone else. She didn’t like being thankless. Rocky never said thank you. Maybe he was from Hawai’i. “Thanks for explaining it though.” Van sighed propped her elbow up on the table, laying her chin in the palm of her hand as she fanned out the cards in her opposite. 

“I guess New York can be pretty weird. The city, and outside of it.” She didn’t want to comment on Maryland or North Carolina. “So maybe it’s not just Wicked’s Rest.” But nothing terrible had ever happened to her in New York, except maybe getting the phone call about her parents from the authorities. That had been terrible. Van poked her tongue against her cheek as she stared absentmindedly at her cards. “Yeah, dude, of course.” She smiled at Cass, and this time it reached her eyes. Whatever anxieties Cass was feeling about whether or not Van actually liked her, Van was totally oblivious. “You’re nice and you’re funny, and you like comic books…” You’re pretty, too, Van decided to leave out. “What’s not to like?” 

—

Van accepted the explanation well enough, and Cass offered her a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” she replied, choosing not to hold Van to her gratitude. Making a rare choice, she added, “Actually, um… I would prefer it if you didn’t. Thank me. Just, you know, because of my… experiences.” The temptation to bind someone to their words was always going to be there for Cass, and she wasn’t sure she wanted that with Van. She liked Van. She wanted a real friendship, a true one. Maybe this was how she got it. 

Especially if Van was being honest now. As if liking Cass was easy, as if it was something that came naturally to her. The idea that someone actually felt that way, with no promise or bind driving it… It filled Cass with a warmth she’d never felt before. Van might change her mind eventually, but for now? She meant what she said. And that was incredible. “I think you’re nice and funny, too,” she replied with a bright grin. There was still a ghost in the room; maybe there always would be. What they’d done to Debbie, both in killing her and in getting rid of her body, wasn’t the kind of thing they could ever undo. But they were in it together, weren’t they? That had to mean something. “Now… Got any nines?”

[bts-scenarios-br]

🦊 ela/dela — 1,53

🦊 castanho escuro, curto e cacheado.

🦊 dark academia e coquette

🦊 editar fotos, tirar fotos, pintar...

🦊 direto (porém info desnecessária: tô fazendo físio)

🦊 daniel caesar, ed sheran, bruno mars, chase atlantic, ariana grande, lana del rey, daniel di angelo, jhené aiko, montell fish, novo amor...

🦊 hold me tight

🦊 entp — sou carinhosa, carismática, ambivertida, gosto de dias chuvosos com trovoadas, gosto bastante gosto de ler fic p/ me distrair e me desconectar um pouquinho do mundo real

ai eu preciso dizer que eu dei uma risadinha sincera quando disse que tá fazendo fisio😭😭

Mas enfim! Amg a fic ja veio pronta na minha cabeça ja com o...

TAEHYUNG

Tudo tudinho me fez te relacionar com ele, desde o estilo (por motivos obvios) ate seu gosto musical, que pra mim é mto a vibe dele mdss

Muito bem, queria começar dizendo que você seria absurdamente paparicada e mimada por ele. E não adiantaria de nada você querer impedir ou negar, ele vai sim fazer tudinho pra você e te dar tudo aquilo que ele achar que tu possa gostar.

Além disso, eu te prometo que seu dia-a-dia com ele vai ser a coisa mais apaixonante da vida. Jantares românticos a luz de velas, assistir filmes que adoram encolhidos no sofá, ficar de conchinha sempre que estiver chovendo, apenas ouvindo o som das gotas batendo contra a janela. Ai ai... uma verdadeira fanfic, viu?

Mas ele também iria te puxar para fora de casa as vezes. Com a vida que ele leva ele está constantemente participando de eventos sociais dos mais diversos, e por mais que ele jamais te obrigaria a acompanhá-lo, ele com certeza ficaria muito muito feliz se o fizesse. E caso de fato o acompanhasse, ele passaria a noite te observando com olhos apaixonados e uma carinha de feliz.

Ah, ele definitivamente iria pedir para que tirasse fotos dele e as preparasse para postar, e iria te marcar em todas. Além disso, seria o maior fã de seus desenhos, te convencendo até mesmo de fazer alguns para ele enquadrar e enfeitar seu apartamento.

E é isso, com ele você não precisaria ler fanfic alguma, porque ele mesmo as tornaria realidade, sem brincadeira.

Espero que tenha gostado!

Beijinhos <3

[edisonblog]

The Nazca culture was an ancient civilization that flourished on the southern coast of what is now Peru, specifically in the Nazca region, between the 1st and 7th centuries AD. It is known for its impressive lines and geoglyphs, as well as its highly decorated ceramics and its achievements in agriculture and hydraulic engineering.

One of the most famous aspects of the Nazca culture are the enigmatic lines and geoglyphs drawn in the Nazca desert, representing animals, plants, and geometric figures. These enormous figures are only visible from the air and have sparked theories and speculation about their purpose and how they were created.

The ceramics of the Nazca culture are recognized for their complexity and detail. The Nazca were experts in making polychrome and multiform ceramics, with artistic representations that included human figures, animals, deities and natural motifs.

The Nazcas developed complex irrigation systems to make the most of the water available in the arid region where they lived. They built aqueducts and underground canals that allowed them to practice agriculture, growing corn, beans, cotton, among other crops.

The Nazca society was organized in clans or extended families. They were expert traders and maintained commercial relations with other cultures in the region. They are also believed to have had a hierarchical social structure, possibly with prominent leaders or priests.

Religion played a significant role in the life of the Nazca people. They worshiped various deities and considered fertility and agriculture important. Their beliefs and rituals were reflected in their art, including ceramics and geoglyphs.

The Nazca culture had cultural interactions with other civilizations, such as the Moche and the Tiwanaku. However, around the 7th century AD, the Nazca culture declined, possibly due to factors such as climate changes, depletion of natural resources, and internal conflicts.

Despite its decline, the Nazca culture left a lasting legacy in terms of its art, architecture, hydraulic systems, and its mysterious iconography on the Nazca lines. Its influence is still felt in the region and remains an object of study and fascination today.

Nazca Culture (100-800 AD)

Image: Aloc, Peruvian Archeology

Set of fine polychrome vases, decorated with anthropomorphized flying hybrid beings or deities, carrying or holding decapitated heads, arranged horizontally. They also present non-figurative motifs such as circles, steps and squares, as well as fish figures.

#edisonmariotti 

edison mariotti

.br

A cultura Nazca foi uma civilização antiga que floresceu na costa sul do que hoje é o Peru, especificamente na região de Nazca, entre os séculos I e VII DC. É conhecida pelas suas impressionantes linhas e geoglifos, bem como pelas suas cerâmicas altamente decoradas e pelas suas conquistas na agricultura e na engenharia hidráulica.

Um dos aspectos mais famosos da cultura Nazca são as linhas enigmáticas e geoglifos desenhados no deserto de Nazca, representando animais, plantas e figuras geométricas. Estas enormes figuras só são visíveis do ar e suscitaram teorias e especulações sobre o seu propósito e como foram criadas.

As cerâmicas da cultura Nazca são reconhecidas pela sua complexidade e detalhe. Os Nazca eram especialistas na confecção de cerâmicas policromadas e multiformes, com representações artísticas que incluíam figuras humanas, animais, divindades e motivos naturais.

Os Nazcas desenvolveram complexos sistemas de irrigação para aproveitar ao máximo a água disponível na região árida onde viviam. Construíram aquedutos e canais subterrâneos que lhes permitiram praticar a agricultura, cultivando milho, feijão, algodão, entre outras culturas.

A sociedade Nazca foi organizada em clãs ou famílias extensas. Eram comerciantes experientes e mantinham relações comerciais com outras culturas da região. Acredita-se também que tinham uma estrutura social hierárquica, possivelmente com líderes ou padres proeminentes.

A religião desempenhou um papel significativo na vida do povo Nazca. Eles adoravam várias divindades e consideravam importantes a fertilidade e a agricultura. Suas crenças e rituais foram refletidos em sua arte, incluindo cerâmica e geoglifos.

A cultura Nazca teve interações culturais com outras civilizações, como os Moche e os Tiwanaku. No entanto, por volta do século VII d.C., a cultura Nazca declinou, possivelmente devido a factores como alterações climáticas, esgotamento dos recursos naturais e conflitos internos.

Apesar do seu declínio, a cultura Nazca deixou um legado duradouro em termos de arte, arquitetura, sistemas hidráulicos e sua misteriosa iconografia nas linhas de Nazca. A sua influência ainda se faz sentir na região e continua até hoje a ser objeto de estudo e fascínio.

Cultura Nazca (100-800 DC)

Imagem: Aloc, Arqueologia Peruana

Conjunto de finos vasos policromados, decorados com seres híbridos ou divindades voadoras antropomorfizadas, portando ou segurando cabeças decapitadas, dispostos horizontalmente. Apresentam ainda motivos não figurativos como círculos, degraus e quadrados, bem como figuras de peixes.

[piristephes]

Prayer to Poseidon, the God of the Seas

portuguese:

Poseidon, criador dos cavalos que galopam na terra

Tu que a amparas das ocultas profundezas

Cercado por seus filhos peixes e infindáveis riquezas

Olha para nós que te chamamos sobre Gaia

Com teu tridente brônzeo te mostres em sabedoria

Ó infindável senhor tudo que é líquido

Nos ajude a mergulhar nobremente em nosso espírito

Tu que és como as ondas, sê lembrado neste dia

english:

Poseidon, creater of horses that gallop the earth

You who holds her from the hidden depths

Surrounded by your fish children and endless riches

Look at us who call you on Gaea

With your bronze trident show yourself in wisdom

O endless lord all that is liquid

Help us to nobly immerse ourselves in our spirit

You who are like the waves, be remembered on this day

[bio-facts]

Under Pressure - Freddie Mercury ft marine animals

Thank you @phylcian ​ for asking me to make this post! I hope it helps you! :) 

| Español | English | Português

Primero, por qué nosotros o cualquier otro mamífero terrestre no puede sobrevivir a la presión que ejerce la columna de agua?

La presión hidrostática puede llegar a ser descomunal, por cada 10 metros que aumenta la profundidad, la presión se incrementa en 1 atmósfera.  La profundidad máxima registrada es de 10.790m en la Fosa de las Marianas, A esa profundidad, la presión es 1.100 veces la experimentada en la superficie.

Nosotros tenemos cavidades con aire (fosas nasales, oídos, vasos sanguíneos, pulmones…) y los gases se pueden comprimir, su volumen es fácilmente modificable. A gran profundidad, la presión comprime los gases fuertemente, lo que lleva al colapso de las estructuras que lo rodean, dañándolas de forma irreversible.

Qué hacen los animales marinos para combatir esto?

Fuera las cavidades que puedan acumular aire. En su lugar, sus cuerpos son mayoritariamente agua, porque los líquidos no pueden comprimirse, -o al menos no con tanta facilidad como los gases, y cuesta mucho más modificar su volumen. Por esta razón, los peces abisales tampoco poseen de vejiga natatoria (un órgano grande con aire en su interior, que permite a los peces que se encuentran en la superficie flotar o hundirse en el agua).

Cuerpos pequeños: no necesitan ni quieren petisuis. Sus cuerpos suelen ser blandos, con estructuras esqueléticas también pequeñas y blandas (huesos dúctiles) Piensa en una pelota antiestrés; es blanda y cuando la aprietas modifica fácilmente su forma, pero si la pelota es dura, podrías incluso romperla. Esto lo que les permite también es no tener ningún tipo de oquedad; espacios huecos en el interior que puedan ser rellenados con gas.

El hecho de que sean pequeños, aporta poca superficie corporal, lo que permite que la presión del agua de su interior esté en equilibrio con la presión del agua del medio.

A nivel citológico y químico, nos encontramos con unas adaptaciones interesantes:

Bicapa lipídica: la membrana de las células es grasa, y en el caso de los animales está formada por ácidos grasos saturados, mientras que la de los vegetales son ácidos grasos insaturados. Que estén o no saturados va a influir en la fluidez de membrana y su permeabilidad, lo cual influye en la estructura de la membrana, y por tanto en la interacción de las cargas.

La fluidez de la membrana también depende de la temperatura, y no olvidemos que la presión no es la única condición extrema que encontramos ahí abajo; la temperatura oscila entre los 4ºC y 1ºC.  Los animales de aguas profundas aumentan su porcentaje de ácidos grasos insaturados, porque éstos permanecen líquidos a bajas temperaturas (fundamental para el correcto funcionamiento de la célula) y mantienen las membranas elásticas. Para ilustrarlo, imagina, por ejemplo, un trozo de tocino (grasas saturadas) sobre agua, y ahora aceite (grasas insaturadas) sobre agua. El aceite es más fluido, y bajo presión puede moverse mejor que el tocino.

Proteínas: para que funcionen correctamente, las proteínas deben de ser capaces de cambiar su forma y tamaño, ya que normalmente suelen agrandarse. Bajo presión, esto resulta difícil, como Jeffrey Drazen explica; “Una simple analogía es la de inflar un globo. Es fácil hacerlo en aire, pero intenta hacerlo en el fondo de una piscina”. Así, la presión tiene un efecto paralizante en las proteínas, desnaturalizándolas cuando penetra el agua en su interior hidrofóbico.

Para evitar esta inhabilitación de las proteínas, los animales de los fondos recogen unas moléculas orgánicas llamadas piezolitos en sus células. Estos piezolitos se unen fuertemente a las moléculas de agua, lo que les proporciona a las proteínas más espacio y evita que el agua ingrese al interior de las proteínas y las distorsione. A más profundidad, más piezolitos tienden a acumular las células. El piezolito por excelencia, dada su presencia universal en los organismos marinos, es el óxido de trimetilamina (TMAO), que también es el responsable de aportarles a los peces su olor característico.

Los elasmobranquios tienen una gran cantidad de urea en su sangre, un compuesto orgánico que es tóxico. El TMAO no sólo estabiliza las proteínas, sino que también neutraliza los efectos dañinos de la urea. La cuestión es que la presión puede provocar que este tipo de moléculas se vuelvan más o menos tóxicas. Por esta razón, los tiburones de los fondos marinos acumulan más TMAO que sus primos.

Estas son una de las muchas adaptaciones que existen, si bien no se conoce al 100% el funcionamiento real de éstas, ya que están basada en hipótesis. Hay que tener en cuenta también que hay mucha diversidad animal en el fondo marino, y cada grupo tendrá unas u otras formas de conllevar las condiciones extremas que existen ahí abajo. Además, no he profundizado demasiado en cada tema con el fin de mantener el post ligero y digerible.

|||||

Firstly, why we or any other terrestrial mammal can't survive under the pressure exerted by a column of water?

The hydrostatic pressure can be enormous; it increases about one atmosphere for every 10 meters of water depth. The maximum depth recorded is 10,790m in the Mariana Trench. At this depth, the pressure is 1,100 times greater than the one at the surface.

We have cavities filled with air (nostrils, ears, blood vessels, lungs...). Gases can be compressed, their volume is easily modified. When you dive to the bottom of a deep swimming pool or the sea, you might start getting a painful or unpleasant feeling in your ears and sinuses.  that feeling comes from the air sacs in your body being squashed by the pressure of the water.

At great depth, the pressure compresses the gases strongly, leading to the crushing of the surrounding structures, irreversibly damaging them.

So, what do marine animals do to combat this?

Out with the cavities that can be filled with gases. In its place, their bodies are filled with water mostly, because liquids cannot be compressed- or at least not as easily as gases, and its volume is hard to change. For this same reason, deep-sea fish don’t have a swim bladder either (a large organ with air in it, which helps surface fish float up or sink down in the water).

Small and flaccid bodies: Their bodies are usually small and limp, as well as their skeletal structures (ductile bones). Think of a stress ball and a random ball; under enough pressure the normal ball will probably break, while the stress ball modifies its shape to fit the strength of your squeeze. The small structure of their skeleton also allows them to avoid any holes that could hold air.

Another advantage of a small body is that provides little body surface area, which allows the pressure of the water in the inside to be in equilibrium with the pressure of the water in the environment (remember we mentioned deep-sea fish are filled with more water instead of air).

However, having no air cavities and a small body will only get you so…deep?

At the cytological and chemical level, we find some interesting adaptations:

Lipid bilayer: the cell membrane contains fats. In the case of animals, it’s usually made up of saturated fatty acids (solid at room temperature), while that of vegetables is unsaturated fatty acids (liquid). Whenever or not they are saturated will determinate the fluidity and permeability of the membrane, which influences its structure and its charges.

Fluidity also depends on temperature. Let’s not forget that pressure it’s not the only extreme condition down there; the temperature oscillates between 4ºC and 1ºC. Deep-sea animals increase their percentage of unsaturated fatty acids, because these remain liquid at low temperatures (fundamental for proper cell functionality) and keep the membranes loose.

Proteins: to function properly, proteins must be able to change their size and shape, as they usually become larger. This becomes difficult under pressure, as Jeffrey Drazen explains: "A simple analogy is blowing up a balloon. It's easy in air, but try doing it at the bottom of a swimming pool." Thus, pressure has a paralyzing effect on proteins, denaturing them by penetration of water into the hydrophobic interior of the protein.

To prevent this, deep-sea animals collect piezolytes in their cells, organic molecules that bind tightly to water molecules, giving the proteins more space and preventing water from entering the interior of the proteins. The deeper we dive, the more piezolytes tend to be accumulated on cells.

The piezolyte par excellence –due to its universal presence in fish- is the trimethylamine-oxide (TMAO), also responsible for the characteristic smell of fish.

Elasmobranchii, have a large amount of urea in their blood, an organic compound that is toxic. TMAO not only stabilizes proteins but it also neutralizes the harmful effects of urea. The thing is, pressure can cause molecules to be more or less toxic. For this reason, deep-sea sharks accumulate more TMAO than their cousins.

undefined

These are some of the many adaptations that exist, although it’s all based on hypotheses and nothing is proved 100%. It must also be taken into account that there is a lot of animal diversity on the seabed, and each group will have one way or another to deal with the extreme conditions that exist down there. Plus, I haven’t delved too much into each topic in order to keep it light and digestible.

|||||

Primeiro, por que não podemos nós (ou qualquer outro mamífero terrestre) sobreviver à pressão exercida pela coluna de água?

A pressão hidrostática pode se tornar enorme, a cada 10 metros que a profundidade aumenta, a pressão aumenta em 1 atmosfera. A profundidade máxima registrada é de 10.790m na ​​Fossa das Marianas, nessa profundidade a pressão é 1.100 vezes maior que a experimentada na superfície.

Temos cavidades com ar (narinas, ouvidos, vasos sanguíneos, pulmões ...) e os gases podem ser comprimidos, o seu volume é facilmente modificável. Em grande profundidade, a pressão comprime fortemente os gases, levando ao colapso das estruturas circundantes, danificando-as irreversivelmente.

Então, que fazem os animais marinos para combater isso?

Fora as cavidades que podem acumular ar. Em vez disso, seus corpos  são principalmente água, porque os líquidos não podem ser comprimidos - ou pelo menos não tão facilmente quanto os gases, e custa muito mais mudar seu volume. Por essa razão, os peixes de águas profundas não têm bexiga natatória (um grande órgão com ar dentro dela, que permite que os peixes que estão na superfície flutuem ou afundem na água).

Corpos pequenos: Seus corpos geralmente são moles, com estruturas esqueléticas pequenas e suaves (ossos dúcteis). Pense em uma bola anti estresse; é macio e quando você aperta facilmente modifica sua forma, mas se a bola for dura, você pode até quebrá-la. Isso também permite que eles não tenham nenhum tipo de espaços vazios no interior que podem ser preenchidos com gás.

O fato de serem pequenos proporciona pouca área de superfície corporal, o que permite que a pressão da água no seu interior esteja em equilíbrio com a pressão da água no ambiente.

No nível citológico e químico, encontramos algumas adaptações interesantes:

Bicamada lipídica: a membrana celular é graxa e, no caso dos animais, é composta por ácidos graxos saturados, enquanto a dos vegetais é composta por ácidos graxos insaturados. O fato de estarem saturados ou não influencia a fluidez da membrana e sua permeabilidade, que influencia a estrutura da membrana e, portanto, a interação das cargas.

A fluidez da membrana também depende da temperatura, e não esqueçamos que a pressão não é a única condição extrema que encontramos por lá; a temperatura oscila entre 4ºC e 1ºC. Animais de águas profundas aumentam sua porcentagem de ácidos graxos insaturados, pois estes permanecem líquidos em baixas temperaturas (essenciais para o bom funcionamento da célula) e mantêm a membrana elástica. Para ilustrar, imagine, por exemplo, um pedaço de banha  (graxa saturada) na água e agora azeite (graxa insaturada) na água. O azeite é mais fluido e, sob pressão, pode se mover melhor do que a banha.

Proteínas: para funcionarem bem, as proteínas devem ser capazes de mudar de forma e tamanho, já que costumam ter tendência a aumentar de tamanho. Sob pressão, isso é difícil, como explica Jeffrey Drazen; “Uma analogia simple é encher um balão. É fácil fazer no ar, mas tente fazer no fundo de uma piscina”. Assim, a pressão tem um efeito paralisante sobre as proteínas, desnaturando-as quando a água penetra em seu interior hidrofóbico.

Para evitar essa desativação de proteínas, os animais da parte inferior coletam moléculas orgânicas chamadas piezólitos em suas células. Esses piezólitos se ligam fortemente às moléculas de água, dando às proteínas mais espaço e evitando que a água entre no interior das proteínas e as distorça.

Quanto mais profundo, mais piezólitos tendem a acumular células. O piezólito por excelência, dada a sua presença universal nos organismos marinhos, é o óxido de trimetilamina (TMAO), que também é responsável por conferir aos peixes o seu cheiro característico.

Os elesmobrânquios têm uma grande quantidade de uréia no sangue, um composto orgânico que é tóxico. TMAO não só estabiliza proteínas, também neutraliza os efeitos prejudiciais da ureia. A questão é que a pressão pode fazer com que esses tipos de moléculas se tornem mais ou menos tóxicos. Por esse motivo, os tubarões do fundo do mar acumulam mais OTMA que seus primos.

undefined

Esta é uma das muitas adaptações que existem, embora o seu funcionamento real não seja 100% conhecido, uma vez que se baseiam em hipóteses. Devemos também ter em mente que existe uma grande diversidade animal no fundo do mar, e cada grupo terá uma ou outra forma de lidar com as condições extremas que lá existem. Além disso, não me aprofundei muito em cada tópico para manter a postagem leve e digerível.

Quando terei piezólitos para me ajudar com a pressão da vida?

References and images sources

http://biomodel.uah.es/model2/lip/fluidez.htm

https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S000634951730810X

http://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20150129-life-at-the-bottom-of-the-ocean

https://pubs.acs.org/doi/10.1021/acs.jpcb.0c03319

https://www.animalescuriosos.com/pulpo-dumbo/

https://www.businessinsider.es/fotos-criaturas-abisales-terrorificas-cambiaran-forma-ver-oceano-312807

[arvoresertecnologico]

PORTUGUÊS

Pescadores e agricultores de Gujarat, na Índia, processaram a Corporação Financeira Internacional/ IFC pelo financiamento de uma usina de carvão que causou danos graves ao meio ambiente local, incluindo o ecossistema marinho. Foram prejudicados pela instalação e operação da usina mais de 870 mil famílias de pescadores, destruindo importante setor pesqueiro indiano. 

Em abril de 2008, o Conselho da IFC do Grupo Banco Mundial aprovou um empréstimo de 450 milhões de dólares para a usina Tata Mundra Ultra Mega. Essa usina causou danos diretos e irreparáveis, incluindo ameaça à saúde, destruição de propriedade, perda de meios de subsistência, destruição ambiental e deslocamento econômico e físico. A poluição térmica danificou o ecossistema marinho local; o transporte de carvão do porto para a usina levantou poeira e cinzas volantes que prejudicam o meio ambiente, a saúde e o bem-estar da população local. 

Em 27 de fevereiro de 2019, uma decisão histórica e marcante com votação 7-1 determinou que organizações internacionais –incluindo o Grupo Banco Mundial–, podem ser processadas nos tribunais dos Estados Unidos por suas atividades comerciais. Apesar da decisão histórica Supremo Tribunal Federal dos Estados Unidos, o caso ainda está em andamento e a usina da Tata Mundra continua em operação. 

Investidores também precisam ser responsabilizados pelos danos econômicos e ambientais causados pelos empreendimentos que financiam. Este caso está estabelecendo um precedente histórico: pode dar poder às comunidades da linha de frente que atualmente são ameaçadas por abusos corporativos, penalizando as instituições internacionais e Investimentos Estrangeiros Diretos que financiam e são cúmplices desses projetos de alto custo social e ambiental. 

Saiba mais: Estudos de Caso - Roteiro para responsabilização jurídica: https://liabilityroadmap.org/case-studies-por

ESPANHOL

Pescadores y agricultores de Gujarat, India, demandaron a la Corporación Financiera Internacional / CFI por financiar una planta de carbón que causó graves daños al medio ambiente local, incluido el ecosistema marino. Más de 870 mil familias de pescadores resultaron perjudicadas por la instalación y operación de la planta, destruyendo un importante sector pesquero indio. 

En abril de 2008, el Directorio de la CFI del Grupo del Banco Mundial aprobó un préstamo de $ 450 millones para la planta Tata Mundra Ultra Mega. Esta planta causó daños directos e irreparables, que incluyeron amenazas a la salud, destrucción de propiedad, pérdida de medios de vida, destrucción del medio ambiente y desplazamiento económico y físico. La contaminación térmica ha dañado el ecosistema marino local; el transporte de carbón desde el puerto hasta la planta ha levantado polvo y cenizas volantes que dañan el medio ambiente, la salud y el bienestar de la población local. 

El 27 de febrero de 2019, una decisión histórica con un voto de 7-1 determinó que las organizaciones internacionales, incluido el Grupo del Banco Mundial, podrían ser demandadas en los tribunales de EE. UU. por sus actividades comerciales. A pesar de la histórica decisión de la Corte Suprema de Estados Unidos, el caso aún continúa y la planta de Tata Mundra todavía está en funcionamiento. 

Los inversores también deben ser responsables del daño económico y ambiental causado por las empresas que financian. Este caso está sentando un precedente histórico: puede empoderar a las comunidades de primera línea que actualmente están amenazadas por abusos corporativos al penalizar a las instituciones internacionales y de inversión extranjera directa que financian y son cómplices de estos proyectos de alto costo social y ambiental. 

Conozca más: Estudios de caso - Hoja de ruta hacia la responsabilidad legal: https://liabilityroadmap.org/case-studies-sp

INGLÊS

Fisherfolk and farmers in Gujarat, India, have sued the International Finance Corporation (IFC) for financing a coal plant that has caused serious damage to the local environment, including the marine ecosystem. More than 870,000 families whose livelihoods are tied to these fisheries were harmed by the installation and operation of the plant, which destroyed an important Indian fishing sector. 

In April 2008, the World Bank Group's IFC Board approved a $450 million loan for the Tata Mundra Ultra Mega Power Project. This plant caused direct and irreparable damage, including threatening people’s health, destruction of property, loss of livelihoods, environmental degradation, and economic and physical displacement. Thermal pollution has damaged the local marine ecosystem, and transporting coal from the port to the plant has raised dust and fly ash that harm the environment, health, and well-being of the local population. 

On February 27, 2019, the U.S. Supreme Court determined, in a landmark 7 - 1 ruling,  that international organizations – including the World Bank Group – could be sued in U.S. courts for their commercial activities. Despite this historic decision, the fisherfolks’ case is still ongoing, and the Tata Mundra plant is still operating. 

Investors also must be held responsible for the economic and environmental damage caused by the ventures they finance. This case is setting a historic precedent: it can empower frontline communities that are currently threatened by corporate abuses, by holding international institutions and those that fund them accountable for the high social and environmental costs of their projects. 

Learn more: Case Studies - Liability Roadmap: https://liabilityroadmap.org/case-studies

[aliceinanderson]

two doors down - self para

who?: alice anderson & male oc (with a special appearance from lincoln clarington-smythe) where?: dan & nia’s wedding reception / mckinley choir room when?: saturday, november 7th / monday, november 9th about?: alice has a revelation of sorts while hiding in the bathroom at the wedding and decides to bring her new found confidence to the glee club just in time for dolly vs. taylor week. set to dolly parton’s two doors down.

Alice couldn’t help the niggling feeling of regret that sat in her gut. Yes, the wedding had been beautiful and she had enjoyed watching the married couple’s first dance and it gave Alice an excuse to wear the dress she had been given for Christmas last year, but it became pretty clear pretty quickly that most of Alice’s night was going to spent standing against the wall. 

As Jaz & Serenity continued their Wedding Party Opener, Alice felt her stomach twist and turn with anxiety. Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt section of her dress, Alice did her best to discreetly get up so that she could head to the bathrooms. Head down and shoulder slumped, the brunette felt someone grab her by the elbow and spin her around. It was Lincoln, making his way to the side of stage for his duet, dressed it what Alice had to assume was a recreation of a Doja Cat look from her knowledge of the song she new Bodhi and Link were going to performing. His face was pulled into a look of disapproval and Alice felt herself shrink under his glare. “You’re really going to dip right before I go on? I’ll remember that, bitch,” he stage whispered to her, as if to not disturb the other wedding guests around her. While Alice knew there was more likely than not no actual malice behind his words, it certainly didn’t help with her sudden and intense episode of anxiety and the second he let go of her arm, she dashed out of the hall and into a bathroom stall.

Locking the stall door and sitting on the closed seat of the toilet, Alice put her head in her hands. This was a mistake. She just didn’t know how to be a person in social situations where she wasn’t playing a character. Alice was a nobody, she didn’t have the private school experience that her brother did, she didn’t have the popularity and social circles that some of the other girls in Glee did. And every day she had to deal with the fact she was planning to pack her bags and leave her family behind and run back to L.A. She didn’t belong here but how the Hell was she supposed to belong in L - fucking - A?

“ two doors down they're laughing and drinking and having a party. and two doors down they're not aware that I'm around.” 

Alice choked out a sob, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, not caring if her makeup ended up smudged of if she had just ended up with a total snot rocket on her face. She had no plans on going back to the reception. But the last thing she was going to do was call her dad to pick her up.

“ but here i am crying my heart out, feeling sorry but they're having a party just two doors down. ”

Pulling a wad of toilet paper out of the roll and giving her face a quick wipe-over before flushing it, Alice took a deep breath and unlocked the stall, only to be staring at the face of a total stranger through the mirror, who was washing his hands and looked just as emotionally fucked over as she felt. Alice gave the boy, who appeared to around her age, although she assumed he must’ve been from NIa’s side of the family considering she had never seen him around McKinley, a empathetic smile and went up to the sink next to him.

“i think i'll dry these useless tears and get myself together. i think i’ll wander down the hall and have a look around 'cause i can't stay inside this lonely room and cry forever. i think I'd really rather join 'em two doors down. ”

She nudged the other teen’s shoulder with her own, trying to get him smile. Alice hated seeing people sad, it was the last thing she wanted. He let out a breath through his nose, corners of his mouth twitching up. “I’m Alice,” she said as she turned off the faucet, and as she pulled out a few sheets of paper towel from the dispenser, she heard him answer; “Pleasure’s all mine. I’m Coop.” 

Alice turned around, nose scrunched up. “Coop? Like Cooper? I wish you didn’t tell me that, that’s my dads name!” she exclaimed playfully, faking a look of disgust that got a proper laugh out of him. God, he had a really nice smile...

“So, you from Dan’s side of the family?

“Kinda, he coaches one of the Glee club’s at my school and my uncle’s were his dad’s students because dad also coached the same glee club, like, a billion years ago. It’s a weird family dynamic,” she explained with a shrug. She tried not to over think how everyone she knew was connected in some way or another. “Enough about me though, Coop, what’s got you so sad for?” She quickly changed the subject, handing the boy some paper towel of his own.

“I’m...not great at parties. Even back in New York, I’m much a mess at them. Big social events with people I don’t know? With two white boys singing Tia Tamera no less? It was just too much for me, I needed to step out for a second.”

Alice nodded in understanding, looking down at her feet. She knew exactly how he felt. 

“Come here, lemme fix your face up real quick,” he said softly, holding up a piece of the paper towel he had been given, the corner wetted.

Tucking a section of her hair behind her ear in nervous habit, Alice took a few steps forward until the two were only a few inches away. Coop took the extra step, closing the gap, and carefully wiped away some of the smudged mascara from under her eyes. Alice’s mouth grew dry, breath becoming shallow. She’d never been this close to a pretty show off-stage before...She swiped her tongue over her now-dry bottom lip and watched as Coop’s eyes followed down to her lips.

Oh my God...Was what Alice thought was going to happen...about to happen?!

Coop slowly pulled his hand away, resting the paper towel on the sink bench before bringing it back up and placing it on Alice’s cheek. Her face red, Alice felt something in the back on her mind click and she placed her own hand over Coop’s, his skin warm against hers. Slowly, the two leant close into a kiss.

This was it, Alice’s first ever off-stage kiss with a boy and she didn’t even know his last name. She fucking loved it!

When Coop eventually pulled himself away, a smile curving up across his face that Alice couldn’t help but copy, the two stood, frozen for a few more moments.

“So...my folks were able to get me a room with a double bed, so they could be with my baby sister...if you wanted to, I dunno, stay the night or something.” Coop’s voice was quiet and his tone hesitant, not knowing where things were going to go from here.

Alice reached out and straightened out Coop’s bowtie before letting a smirk sneak upon her mouth.

“‘Or something’ sounds like it could be nice.”

“ two doors down we're laughing and drinking and having a party. and two doors down they're all aware that i'm around. 'cause here i am no longer crying and feeling sorry. we're having a party just two doors down! ”

The two teens ran down the hall of the Inn, hand-in-hand and Alice’s heel clutched in her free hand, past the ballroom and into the elevator.

It felt like a dream. A hot boy from New York City had just kissed her at wedding and now they were going to his hotel room to do...it! Alice had read this trope a thousand times in her books - although they usually ended with the boy revealing he had fangs or something - and never in her eighteen years did she ever think it would happen to her. 

“ i can't believe I'm standing here dry-eyed, all smiles and talkin', making conversation with the new love i've found. i ask him if he'd like to be alone and we start walkin' down the hall to his place waiting two doors down, yeah. ”

The two continued to kiss, pressed against the corner of the elevator, until the universally familiar ‘ding’ of them reaching their desire floor sounded. As they stumbled out into the hall, giggling and laughing just like the movies, Coop fished his room key out of her pants pocket as he did, Alice’s face dropped into a serious expression and she quickly placed her hand over the door knob as he went to unlock the door.

“Just so you know, I’m not prepared for the emotional commitment of a long distance relationship and once I graduate I plan on going to California. But I will happily give you my number and social media and if I ever find myself in New York one day...”

Coop laughed, warm and sweet, and took Alice’s hand in his once again.

“Understood. No strings attached. Just two new friends getting to know each other and having some fun.

“Exactly.”

“ two doors down they're laughing and drinking and having a party and two doors down we're not aware that they're around. 'cause here i am feeling everything but sorry. we're having our own party two doors down! ”

Alice felt like a new woman. Well, not literally. Nothing had physically changed and she wasn’t a strong supporter of virginity as a concept in the first place...

But, boy, it just felt so right! She had gotten the ‘talk’ from her dad, about how she only have sex when she was certain it was the right time, right place and with the right person.

And it felt really right.

It was Monday, the start of a new week at school and she had gotten a text from Coop first thing in the morning, saying he was about to board his plane back to New York and she had sent back a ‘have a great flight!! text me when you land!’ in return.

She had a friend from New York now. Wow. 

It seemed perfect timing that the women of pop month for Glee was in full swing because she sure felt empowered. So much so that she had dug through her wardrobe until she found something at least slightly reminiscent of a cowgirl inspired look. A lacy maxi dress and a pair of old cowboy boots were all she could find, but with the braids she had done the night before, it got the message across. 

Alice strolled into the choir room, head held high and gave a nod to the band who she had spoke to earlier than morning in terms of preparing her song of choice. Dolly had a song for every occasion and this one in particular really spoke to...recent events.

“ oh, oh, ooh, two doors down! two doors down they're laughing and drinking and having a party and two doors down we're not aware that they're around. 'cause here we end feeling everything but sorry. we're having our own party two doors down! 

Jumping up on the piano on the key change and throwing in some simple boot-scootin’ choreography during the choruses, Alice let herself act the fool. It was the most herself she had felt performing in a while. Because she wasn’t ‘performing’ for anyone, just singing a song in a room with some friends.

Yeah, maybe Alice did belong in the Glee club after all.

“ two doors down they're laughing and drinking and having a party and two doors down we're not aware that they're around here we end, feeling everything but sorry. we're having our own party two doors down! ”

[lincolnonline]

what do u wanna wear this season? - self para

𝐖𝐇𝐎?: lincoln clarington-smythe

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍?: 18th of september, mid-day

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄?: new directions choir room

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: lincoln auditions for the new directions with donatella. it’s integral that you understand that he’s dressed like this.

Link marched into the choir room, head held high, interrupting whatever had been taking place before his entrance and gave a sickly sweet smile. Once stood next to the piano, Lincoln slid his bag off of his shoulder placing it on the piano stool before sitting himself up on the closed lid

. “I am so fab,” he drawled, pushing his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.

With a nod towards the band to begin the drum line, Link continued with the intro of the song, nonchalantly checking his nails as he did. “Check it out: I'm blonde, I'm skinny I'm rich...”  Pulling the rhinestoned shades off of his face and cocking an eyebrow, the music fully began.

 “And I'm a little bit of a bitch.”

Lincoln had yet again set out to do the Most™, he had felt a level of hostility from the members of the glee club that he hadn’t already know. He had transferred to the school and, in the same week, had gotten a lead part in the school musical. He probably seemed like a threat. If Link was anyone else, he’d probably feel threatened by the new kid who was already on his way up the social hierarchy.

“I wanna dress you up in silk, taffeta.”

Sure, he had gotten some snarky remarks about how he dressed but it had slowed down the more people realized that he wasn’t going to listen to anyone’s ‘suggestions’. The weird judgement towards him wearing ‘girl’s clothes’ seemed to be something that wasn’t going away anytime soon, but Link really didn’t care. That was why he had made sure to choose an outfit for his glee audition that was both hot and had an air of professionalism about it. Very Cher from Clueless meets Working Girl. So, he had settled on a jacket and skirt set he had bought online a few months ago, a yellow t-shirt underneath, a pair of hand-rhinestoned cat-eye sunglasses, powder blue Mary Janes & a yellow Versace evening bag. He knew he looked good, he always did.

“Tailor these clothes to fit your guilt. What's your size?”

Link moved over to the band, running his index finger across the jawline of the guy playing the keyboard, slowly and seductively before shrugging off his jacket and draping it across the shoulders of the guitarist with a wink.

“This purse can hold my black card and tiara. Versace promises I will, Dolce Vita. What do you wanna wear this spring? What do you think is the new thing? What do you wanna wear this season?”

As the song headed into the pre-chorus, Lincoln began to get in place for the choreography he had prepared, slowly bringing himself down to the ground on his knees and then slowly slid himself into the side splits and then moving through it so he was on his stomach, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. Link couldn’t help but feel like these kinds of moves weren’t going to be incorporated into the New Directions’ performances, but a man could dream. McKinley seemed to be a lot less conservative than Dalton, maybe he had a chance.

“Donatella! I’m smoking 'em on full tank of gas! Mi-Mi-Bella! I'm a rich bitch, I'm the upper class. All of the day, I’m gonna smoke Marlboro Reds and drink Champagne!”

Bringing himself back to his feet, Lincoln walked back against the piano and fished a small compact mirror out of the waistband of his skirt, flicking the lid open. He sang the next section of the chorus while checking himself over; fixing his hair, readjusting his skirt. He hadn’t performed like this in a long time. Probably since his audition for the Warblers where he had brought his own change of clothes. This was a good change for him, Link kept telling himself. While Dalton and the Warblers had seemed to a kind of right of passage for Link, the novelty wore off quickly. There weren’t many people at Dalton who were into horror movies, early 2000′s slut anthems and archery. McKinley had a handful of people that Lincoln could actually call his close friends. He didn’t feel like a traitor, the Warblers had barely accepted him in the first place.

The Warblers hadn’t let any of his song choices be performed, no matter how amazing he knew they would be. But Dan Schuester looked easy enough to manipulate into letting an Ayesha Erotica song hit the stage if they clean up some of the swear words. 

“Donatella! 'Cause she walks so bad like it feels so good. Listen to her radiate her magic even though she knows she’s misunderstood. Voodoo, voodoo. Voo-don-na-na!”

Tucking the mirror back into his skirt, Link finished off the last chorus on the song by placing his sunglasses back on his head and shrugging his jacket back over his shoulders. Leaning against the piano and checking his nails, ensuring his performance hadn’t chipped off any of his nail polish, the band played the last chord of the song.

“Donatella! Oh-oh-oh-oh Donatella! I love the day! All of the day! I’m gonna wear designer and forget your name Donatella!”

Looking up at the teacher, Link gave a smirk and a shrug that said ‘I-Know-I-Was-Great’ and then let out an exhale. “Well, that was a lot of fun, wasn’t it? Sorry to barge in like that, except I’m not sorry at all. As you probably all know, my socials are @ lincolnonline, someone can go ahead and DM me the schedule whenever. See y’all around.” Link blew a kiss towards Mr. Schuester before turning on his heels, picking up his purse on the way out and throwing it over his shoulder.

[elegantengineersweets]

Charles Bukowski: Dinosauria, Nós.

Nascidos como isso Adentro isso Enquanto as caras de giz sorriem Enquanto a Srª Morte ri Enquanto os elevadores quebram Enquanto cenários políticos dissolvem Enquanto o empacotador do supermercado ganha um diploma universitário Enquanto peixes oleosos cospem fora suas presas oleosas Enquanto o sol é mascarado Nós somos Nascidos como isso Adentro isso Adentro essas guerras cuidadosamente loucas Adentro a visão de janelas de fábricas quebradas de vazio Adentro bares onde as pessoas não mais conversam umas com as outras Adentro trocas de soco que acabam como tiroteios e esfaqueamentos Nascidos adentro isso Adentro hospitais que são tão caros que é mais barato morrer Adentro advogados que cobram tanto que é mais barato declarar culpa Adentro um país onde as cadeias estão cheias e os hospícios fechados Adentro um lugar onde as massas promovem idiotas a heróis ricos Nascidos adentro isso Andando e vivendo através disso Morrendo por causa disso Emudecidos por causa disso Castrados Depravados Deserdados Por causa disso Enganados por isso Usados por isso Emputecidos por isso Tornados loucos e doentes por isso Tornados violentos Tornados desumanos Por isso O coração enegrecido Os dedos se estendem para a garganta A arma A faca A bomba Os dedos se estendem em direção a um deus irresponsivo Os dedos se estendem para a garrafa A pílula A pólvora Nós somos nascidos adentro essa lamentável mortalidade Nós somos nascidos adentro um governo há 60 anos em dívida Que logo será incapaz de pagar até mesmo os juros dessa dívida E os bancos irão queimar Dinheiro será inútil Haverá assassinato livre e impune nas ruas Serão armas e quadrilhas nômades Terra será inútil Comida será um rendimento decrescente Força nuclear será tomada pela multidão Explosões irão continuamente sacudir a Terra Homens-robôs radioativos irão espreitar uns aos outros Os ricos e os escolhidos irão assistir de plataformas espaciais O Inferno de Dante se fará parecer com um parque de diversões infantil O Sol não será visto e será sempre noite Árvores irão morrer Toda a vegetação irá morrer Homens radioativos comerão a carne de homens radioativos O mar será envenenado Os lagos e rios irão sumir Chuva será o novo ouro Os corpos em apodrecimento de homens e animais irão feder no vento escuro Os últimos poucos sobreviventes serão tomados por novas e terríveis doenças E as plataformas espaciais serão destruídas pelo desgaste O esgotamento dos suprimentos O efeito natural do decaimento geral E haverá o mais bonito silêncio jamais ouvido Nascido fora disso. O Sol ainda escondido aguarda o próximo capítulo.

*

Dinosauria, We

Born like this Into this As the chalk faces smile As Mrs. Death laughs As the elevators break As political landscapes dissolve As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree As the oily fish spit out their oily prey As the sun is masked We are Born like this Into this Into these carefully mad wars Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness Into bars where people no longer speak to each other Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings Born into this Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes Born into this Walking and living through this Dying because of this Muted because of this Castrated Debauched Disinherited Because of this Fooled by this Used by this Pissed on by this Made crazy and sick by this Made violent Made inhuman By this The heart is blackened The fingers reach for the throat The gun The knife The bomb The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god The fingers reach for the bottle The pill The powder We are born into this sorrowful deadliness We are born into a government 60 years in debt That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt And the banks will burn Money will be useless There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets It will be guns and roving mobs Land will be useless Food will become a diminishing return Nuclear power will be taken over by the many Explosions will continually shake the earth Radiated robot men will stalk each other The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground The sun will not be seen and it will always be night Trees will die All vegetation will die Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men The sea will be poisoned The lakes and rivers will vanish Rain will be the new gold The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition The petering out of supplies The natural effect of general decay And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard Born out of that. The sun still hidden there Awaiting the next chapter.

[angrypixie-sarisa]

The one with the truth

Piedras Rodantes Pt. 6

Okay, so, I wanted to write another fanfic and since nobody pays attention to me on tumblr, the situation it’s just perfect, It’s a Supernatural fic. Now here’s the deal. It’s a polyamorous situation. I know, shush.

Sam x Mexican!Fem!Witch!reader x Dean  

Warnings: Throughout the fic there are gonna be lines in Spanish. Nothing to fancy for google traductor, i hope. “Suggestions” of spanish songs i love.  Swearing in both spanish and english. And the usual, mentions of blood, violence, smut and other varieties. It’s supernatural, really we don’t expect something else. Spoilers?(if you haven’t watch spn of course, or if you are just getting started with it) Also, SLOWBURN. Also, some chapters are short, some are long, depends on my mood.

Descriptionof the whole fic in general: So, remember when Sam took a break of hunting because he thought he was a danger for everyone? Season 5, i think? That’s where the fic starts. Reader and Sam met at the bar where he worked at, developed a friendship and a crush on one and the other. Then Sam has to leave because of all the shit that goes down throghout the season and the horseman and the fight between the archangels. But promises the reader that somehow, he’ll come back. Then, he goes to hell. That’s when reader meets Dean. And yeah, things aren’t as smooth with them in the begining. Reader befriends Lisa and Ben first, which raises Dean’s suspicions. He just wants to keep them save and all. After some stuff they become friends and the Sam comes back. So yeah…

Also if I ever use GIFs, they’re not mine. Credits and Love to the owner. 

“¿Debería decirle?” You asked the cards. It wasn’t like every day that someone could bring themselves to understand what you were. Nevermind accepting it. It killed you not telling him the truth, especially when you felt like you could tell him anything.

Your hands shuffled the deck, their loyal memory to it already continuing with their usual routine. Five cards, each in their right place and the question. A knot formed in your stomach.

Quiero decirle, pero tengo miedo. You took a deep breath. Stop it; don’t fear when you’re handling the cards. Another wave of clean air swam in and out your lungs. And so, you started your lecture.

You opened your door and smile at the sight of Sam standing in front of you. But something was wrong. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes like usual. Sam cleared his throat.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” You let him inside. He turned to look at you. “Okay.” You hold your breath as you took his hand and guided him to the kitchen. You had already prepared some snacks, Sam noted. As you two sat down in front of one another, he reached to grab a piece of cantaloupe.

“Sam, we’ve known each other for a while, have we not?” He nodded as he swallowed.

“Yeah, why?” You licked your lips. Sólo dile.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay?” He looked so innocent, maybe a little bit wary yet confident. Just like the past couple of days, you struggled to get the truth out of your mouth. The worst thing was that he knew there was something wrong. Not a problem but a bother. And as well as he knew that, he also knew you just needed time to think how to express what you wanted to tell him. You would in the end tell him, no doubt about it. He was patient, he could wait.

However, as you took in a deep breath, his cell rang. He took it out of his pocket and stared at the screen, hesitating.

“It’s okay. You can take it.” That way you could muster some courage quicker.

“Are you sure?” It had to be important if he had hesitated. For the both of you, it was clearly a polite gesture not to answer phone calls if you were in a conversation with someone, whether it had just started or it was about to finish, unless it was something important.

You nodded vigorously, closing your eyes like you always did. “Yep, absolutely. In fact, if you don’t take it, I’mma get mad.” Sam chuckled, holding his pinky finger for you to lock with yours, promising he’ll be back. If only it would apply for more than phone calls.

“Dean, am, em, hi. What’s up?”

“What’s up? What has always been up, that’s what.” Sam heard the voice of his brother through the speaker. He sounded annoyed or mad, he sounded kind of like you when annoyed or mad. Or you sounded like him? Well, something like that.

“Listen, I kept thinking and…”

“I was thinking, too.” Sam interrupted.

“You were?”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, not at first. You had keen senses, although controllable, they always activated when needed; whether consciously or unconsciously. That’s how you knew Dean’s voice sounded surprised, cautious and relieved. It sounded like hope in Pandora’s Box; not knowing if to leave or stay.

“Yeah, I really think it was a good idea to get me, you know, out of the picture. That way, everyone’s safe, you know?” Was that a swallow you heard at the other end of the line? Oh, Sammy, sometimes you’re too naïve.

“Yeah, uh, I was just calling to…Check…On you and let you know everything’s been… Uh, going smooth. No signs of demons or Lucifer…” Well, will you look at that? It seems they’re both naïve.

“Great, um, thanks dude. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Not a bye or a goodbye. Seriously, sometimes you understood why men cried over women being difficult, only because they were as difficult if not more. But that was just you’re opinion.

As Sam hanged up, he took the opportunity to check on his voicemail; your keen hearing just starting to fade back to normal.

 He reentered the kitchen with a frown in his face.

“Hey, am, I got a call from work, they need me to start my shift early…”

“Oh, that’s fine.” He gave you an apologetic look mixed with his puppy worried eyes. His stupid eyes that made you want to grab his face in your hands and pamper it with kisses. Not right in that precise moment but in general.

Sam started towards the door, grabbing his jacket, which you never understood why he carried around. He always used two or more layers of clothes and it always confused you.

“Hey!” You reopened the door, grabbing your jacket as well, although unlike him, you only used two layers of clothes, maximum three.

You closed the door behind you, locking it, and whispering your special incantation which Sam couldn’t even hear (he was busy looking at your ass, but never mind that). It was that time were spells started to ware off and needed reinforcements.

“I’m coming with ya.”

“You sure?” Instead of your vigorous, repetitive and excited nods, you gave him a single one though with a bright smile. Even though you wouldn’t walk that long, he still placed his arm around your shoulders, making you hug guiltily his waist.

  “Sam, I’m witch. No.” You cleared your throat. “Hey, Sammy, you know how you’re a hunter and I’m a witch. Funny, right?” You groaned and hid your face in your hands. “Mira corazón, Imma just say this straight and please don’t be upset…” You looked at your reflection in the mirror, hoping it had more courage than you. You took a deep breath. “I put milk before cereal. No! That’s a lie! I only did it once because I was too hungover to care!” You gave some stumps while going around in circles until you ended in the same spot as before, looking at your flustered face. “Dear God, I need help.”

 Sam cleaned the bar, as he continuously stole looks at the ladies restroom’s shot door. It had been a while and you hadn’t come out yet. Not that he was timing you but your trips to the restroom were always quick or average. Finally, you stepped out and walked right towards the stool you were occupying before. Through all the way you kept looking around or at the floor but never at what was in front of you, because he would be there with his gorgeously stupid face.

You sat down and finally looked at him, neutral face on. He raised his eyebrows and you squinted at him, making him chuckle. He broke eye contact and started prepping a drink; first putting some ice, then tequila, some tajín, sangría, sprite, lime and salt. No way, was he…?

“Un vampiro para la señorita.” ¡Chingado, Samuel! ¿Por qué chingados me haces esto a mí? ¡Me la estás poniendo más difícil cabrón! Regardless of your thoughts, you flashed him the smile he was hoping for, a sincere one, the one that totally spoke to him, telling him you were facing a rough patch but you could do it and you just wanted him to be beside you.

Could we just go back at that Spanish, though, Sarisa? Yes, I am breaking the forth wall. Anyway, that Spanish sounded really good, like he practiced it and then he forgot about it but in the moment remembered it all and I’m MELTING. Okay, just wanted to say that, continue narrating.

You took a swig, moaning at the great familiar taste of one of your favorite drinks.

“Damn, Sammy, this is really good.” He took great pride on those words. Even when for you everything was good.

“Glad you like it.” He knelt in on his forearms, resting. He was close, but you had been closer than that yet never kissed.

“Like it? I’m fucking marrying this drink; I hope it’s legal in this country.” He laughed through his nose, scrunching it a little bit, just as you did. You spent so much time together you started to pick on somethings the other did.

You swallowed another swig. “Your Spanish was on point, by the way.”

“Really?” Now you did nod like an excited 5-year old.

“Oh yeah, ten points to Gryffindor.” Sam laughed harder at that.

“First of, you’re such a nerd. Second, I like to think myself as a Ravenclaw.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

“Who’s the nerd, now, huh?” He opened his mouth to debate, opened and closed, like a fish, obviously not having a good argument for that remark.

“Shut up. I spent so much time with you, it’s contagious.” Your mind immediately went on to Smells like teen spirit, singing internally the one part with that word when the song started sounding on the speakers of the place. You smiled; your foot tapping at the rhythm of the guitar. Sometimes these things happened.

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance. He wasn’t particularly fond at the music genre; only knowing the lyrics to some songs because of Dean, although now he had a whole new reason for knowing the lyrics for those types of songs. He couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiastic hands tapping as if you were the drummer.

“Sing with me, Sammy. With the lights out, it’s less dangerous…” You passed your invisible microphone to him. And he complied, but not without expressing a slight faked discomfort.

“Here we are now, entertain us.” Back.

“I feel stupid and contagious.” Forward.

“Here we are now, entertain us.” You laughed at his lack of enthusiasm.

At foreign eyes, it would seem as if you had already had too much to drink. Why people assumed you needed insanely amounts of alcohol in you to be as goofy as you were? You never knew. But you needn’t alcohol to be fun, just someone you would love to make laugh.

“That sounded terrible.”

“What do you want? I don’t like these songs.”

“Okay, fine, I give you that. Still terrible, though.” And you laughed some more, tipping your head back and then forward like your invisible microphone.

“If we were alone, I would get you for that.” His eyes glinted. He was having fun as well.

“If we were alone, I would’ve been laughing for more than one reason.” You were now facing each other, both leaning in, looking at each other’s mischievous eyes. And you could’ve kissed, but the place was starting to fill and some partying college students wanted tequila shots.

 Thanks to having quite a boss, Sam got early off his shift, due to him starting it before his actual work time.

You were now walking in your kitchen. Discussing some dinner options, however neither one of you was that hungry. So you moved the party to the couch, the couch that miraculously fitted Sam’s legs in pretty well.

“What did you want to tell me?” He asked and his questioned died in the air. You were too busy looking at his calves to actually process his words. You rolled the hem of his pants up and pulled at one of his leg hairs.

“Y/N, don’t!” You laughed and tugged at another one.

“Hey!” You repeated the action.

He sat down reaching towards your forearms and trapping them successfully in his massive hands. Then he pulled you in so you both were lying in the couch. His legs were safe and you were lying on top of him with your chest pressed against his.

He placed a lock of your hair behind your ear and rested his hand upon your cheek. Meanwhile, you cupped his face in your hands; both of your faces smiling sweetly at each other.

“What did you want to tell me?” And your smile faltered and you gulped.

Instantly, Sam’s gaze turned from adoring to a worry one.

This was it, there was no escaping it. Well, actually, there was, but you were tired of putting it off. You sat down, away from his touch and closed yourself, hugging your legs into your chest.

He sat as well, giving you space but still keeping at a length he could reach into, in case you needed a hug.

“Well, um, first of all… I know.” You whispered. Sam furrowed his brow. It had been so long since he thought about the hunting style of living; it didn’t flash his mind that it had something to do with this conversation.

“I know you are a hunter.” His mouth fell open. “I’ve known for a while, actually.” You added while he collected himself. He straightened, obviously nervous and alert; after all, there were plenty of things that knew of the existence of hunters. Although, once he had decided he wanted your friendship or even more, he had you tested, so the only thing that could explain such thing was one and only one.

“And I know because…”

“You’re a hunter.” “I’m a witch.” Sam stood up abruptly. “You’re what?”

“Please, Sam, just let me explain.”

“You’re what?!”

“Sam, listen to me! I know, you have history with these things, but don’t you think if I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve already done it?”

“I…” He didn’t know. But he did know that trusting something he would normally hunt wasn’t something he would’ve planed on doing. Yet here he was.

You took in a deep breath. There was a pain in your chest. The mere thought of him thinking you wanted to harm him made your hope shatter into a million pieces. You liked him and didn’t want to lose him just for some stupid stereotype. Or the fault of the actions of others that had nothing to do with you.

“Okay, just listen to me. Sam, please sit, let’s talk.” You neared him carefully. It hurt you so much when he backed a step down. Was it a tear that ran down your cheek? Great, that’ll convince him. The witch fake cries so he falls into the trap. You scolded yourself sarcastically. You quickly wiped it away. It wasn’t the time for crying.

“Fine, I won’t touch you. But please, listen. Yes, I am a witch, however there’s a difference between me and the ones you’ve encountered before. I don’t obtain my power from demons or the devil or anyone. I obtain it from myself and I know it sounds silly, but it’s the truth. There’s so much more than the stereotypical witch. There is so much more of me than just the box that society has put me in, that hunters have put me in. Sam, I’m begging you, trust me. The girl you met at the bar, the one whom you’ve shared countless of nights laughing and storytelling and binge watching TV, that’s me. I have never been fake around you; I just hid a part of my personality until it felt right to show it.” Fucking tears, don’t roll down. Don’t you dare roll down.

You looked at Sam, waiting for a response. He let himself close his eyes for a moment and then he opened them again.

“I need some time, to think.” You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and nodded. With a blurry sight, you watched him exit your home and wondered if he’d ever come back.

[dillvne]

TASK 001.               DIVE INTO YOUR CHARACTER.

oi chuchus, tentei fazer um negócio diferente então acabei juntando algumas coisinhas que, na minha concepção, são bem interessantes. e que coletei durante as aventuras pela tag indie. espero que não tenha problema estar em inglês ! a tag para a postagem da task é task01.apocalypse e sintam-se livres para fazer edits, moodboard ou qualquer opções de aesthetic, ou nenhuma. o que acharem melhor. é isso, espero que gostem <3  

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL MASCULINE SIDE

NEGRITE o que se aplicar ao seu personagem.

you love hoodies.  you love shorts.   dogs are better than cats.  it’s hilarious when people get hurt.   shopping is torture.   sad movies suck.   you own a car racing game.   you played with hot wheels cars as a kid.   at some point in time you wanted to be a fire fighter.   you owned a ds, ps2, n64, or sega.  you used to be obsessed with power rangers.   you have watched sports on tv.   gory movies are cool.   you go to your dad for advice.   you own like a trillion baseball caps.   you used to collect hockey or baseball cards.   baggy sweats are cool to wear.   it’s kinda weird to have sleepovers with a bunch of people.  green, black, red, blue, or silver are one of your favourite colours.  you love to go crazy and not care what people think.   sports are fun.  you talk with food in your mouth.   you sleep with your socks on at night.   you have fished at least once.

YOUR STEREOTYPICAL FEMININE SIDE

you love to shop.   you wear eyeliner.   you wear the color pink.   you go to your mom to talk.  you consider cheerleading a sport.   you hate wearing the color black.   you like going to the mall.  you like getting manicures and/or pedicures.   you like wearing jewelry.   you cried watching the notebook.   dresses are a big part of your wardrobe.   shopping is one of your favorite hobbies.  you don’t like the movie star wars.   you are/were in gymnastics.   it takes you around one hour to shower, get dressed, and make-up.   you smile a lot more than you should. you have more than 10 pairs of shoes.   you care about what you look like.  you like wearing dresses when you can. you like wearing high heel shoes.  you used to play with dolls as little kid.   you like putting make-up on others.  you like being the star of everything.

APPEARANCE

i am shorter than 5’5”. i have scars. i tan easily. i wish my hair was a different color.   i have friends who have never seen my natural hair color. i have a tattoo. i am self-conscious about my appearance. i’ve had/have braces. i’ve been told i’m attractive by a complete stranger. i have more than two piercings. i have/had piercings in places besides my ears.

EXPERIENCES

i’ve gotten lost in my city. i’ve seen a shooting star. i’ve wished on a shooting star. i’ve seen a meteor shower. i’ve gone out in public in my pajamas. i’ve pushed all the buttons on an elevator.i’ve kicked a guy where it hurts. i’ve been to a casino. i’ve been skydiving. i’ve gone skinny-dipping. i’ve drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour. i’ve crashed a car. i’ve been skiing. i’ve been in a musical. i’ve caught a snowflake or snow on my tongue. i’ve seen the northern lights. i’ve sat on a rooftop at night.  i’ve played a prank on someone.  i’ve ridden in a taxi. i’ve seen the rocky horror picture show. i’ve eaten sushi. i’ve been snowboarding.

HONESTY/CRIME

i’ve done something i promised someone else i wouldn’t. i’ve done something i promised myself i wouldn’t. i’ve snuck out. i’ve lied to my parents about where i am. i’ve cheated while playing a game. i’ve ran a red light. i’ve witnessed a crime. i’ve been in a fist fight. i’ve been arrested.

DEATH AND SUICIDE

i’m afraid of dying. i hate funerals. i’ve seen someone/something dying. someone close to me has attempted/committed suicide. i’ve written a eulogy for myself.

RANDOM

i can sing well. stolen a tray from a fast food restaurant. i open up to others easily. i watch the news. i don’t kill bugs. i sing in the shower. i am a morning person. i paid for a cell phone ring tone. i am a sports fanatic. i twirl my hair. i care about grammar. i have “?”’s in my screen name. i’ve copied more than 30 cds in a day. i bake well. my favorite color is either white, yellow, pink, red, blue, black, purple, or orange. i would wear pajamas to school. i like martha stewart. i know how to shoot a gun. i laugh at my own jokes. i eat fast food weekly. i’ve not turned anything in and still got an a in a certain class. i can’t sleep if there is a spider/cockroach in the room. i am ticklish. i love white chocolate. i bite my nails. i’m good at remembering faces.i’m good at remembering names. i’m good at remembering dates. i honestly have no idea what i want to do for the rest of my life.

RUSSIAN CLASSICS AESTHETICS.

NEGRITE o que atrair / se aplicar ao seu personagem.

BROTHERS KARAMAZOV   :   orthodox monasteries   ,   deep woods  ,  starry nights ,   the sound of paper being torn   ,   dimly lit rooms ,   withered roses   ,  an unfinished letter  ,  piles of books   ,   the sound of shattering glass  ,  ticking of clocks in a silent house   ,   heavy wooden furniture  ,   the air before a storm   ,   the smell of earth   ,   a crowd of people dressed in black   ,  distant murmurs   ,  emptied streets  ,   the fear of walking alone in dusk.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT   :   coldness of the skin against a blade   ,   slender pale fingers   &   slightly shaking hands   ,   a red stain blooming on white fabric   ,  lonely steps in a corridor   ,  the slow dripping of water   ,   looking out of the window into the thickening darkness   ,   a single dying candle on the table   ,   listening to one’s breath   &   counting heartbeats  ,  too many stairs   ,   the desire to be invisible   ,   a subtle memory of kind word.

THE IDIOT   :   classical statues   ,   wealth covered with dust   ,   a dark house tainted with inherited madness   ,  an unsettling feeling ,   long walks in a park   ,   useless chatter   ,   a silken ribbon forgotten on a bench   ,   a melancholic face   ,   an unexpected spring rain   ,   the joy of reading one’s favorite book  ,  the clarity of mind after fully perceiving the world around   ,  looking at cloudless sky.

ANNA KARENINA :      fields of crops  ,   flowers brought from an early morning walk   ,  the wind caressing a girl’s hair   ,   a bowl of fruit  ,   the smell of ripe pears   ,   the clatter of a spoon against porcelain when stirring tea   ,   children’s laughter coming from the garden   ,   soft sunlight   &   white curtains  ,   the sensation of velvet against skin ,  pearls from a ripped necklace spilling on marble floor   ,  a sudden silence in a room full of people.

WAR AND PEACE   :   a glass of wine  ,   the brightness of  a crystal chandelier  ,  white lace   , a raging snow storm   ,  the sound of a door being gently closed ,   the moment of holding one’s breath before walking in a ball room   ,   indulging in looking at a beautiful earring against light   ,  closing one’s eyes for a moment while dancing   ,   the sweet smell of strawberries   ,  a pair of gloves left on an armchair ,   light scent of powder.

THE MASTER AND MARGARITA   :    the chaos of a lively city ,   ambient jazz in expensive restaurants   ,   jumping on a moving tram ,    the sight of moscow from the roof of a house   , yellow flowers in a vase  ,  leaning out of the window  ,  shelves stacked with books   , a small tin box with old photographs   ,  strange shapes in the night sky   , laughing in the middle of the night on a balcony   ,   colorful posters for a surreptitious magician’s show floating in the wind.

EUGENE ONEGIN   :    a lonely mansion   ,   reading a book in the parlor   ,  faint piano melody lingering in falling silence  ,   long evenings   ,   passing seasons   ,   discussing french novels of the moment   ,  unspoken thoughts   ,   leaning against the door frame  , quickly averted glance  ,  eating a peach absent-minded   ,  bright mornings   , footprints in snow   ,  a loud gun-shot terrifying a flock of birds nearby.

FATHERS AND SONS   :   birch groves   , morning mist   ,  moss-covered stones near a moor   ,   scientific books   ,   white roses   ,   cheap champagne   ,   shabby pocket-watch  ,   light-hearted irony   ,   a maladroit cello sonata   ,    freshly mowed grass   , leaving thoughts come   &   go   ,  a slow yawn  ,   picturesque plates   &   bowls filled with traditional dishes   ,  drinking tea on the porch.

DOCTOR ZHIVAGO   :   a strange feeling of loss ,  writing poems in a diary , traveling by train   ,   the hesitation before touching someone’s hand   ,   the gaze of one lost in thought  , the warmth of cinnamon   ,   a scarf brightly embellished with flowers   ,  a glass of water   ,    a threadbare jacket  ,   the tempting void   ,  the evanescent serenity of yesterday.

CHERRY ORCHARD   :   a lone chair in an empty room  , falling blossoms   ,   old samovar   ,   the unsettling need for change  ,   a mirror reflecting full moon   ,  the disappointment of a glossy object turning worthless after second glance   ,   a piano out of tune.

[xllxxrbxg]

holding myself accountable for being a hot bitch with retail therapy addiction

hello idek i just need to push myself to write something here. anyways it been hard to do anything productive lately. i badly want to see my friends in naga. especially jence is now staying in naga. maybe soon i can have the time and opportunity to go back to naga for a while and see friends and stuff! HEHE omfg i really want to see them because i want to hang out and somehow catch up w theeem i dont want to over think it and it wont go the exact way i want it i know but like!!!! HNGGG i just want to be freeeee and have friends. apparently i really dont vibe with people i meet here in legazpi. they have a different set of values from mine and making pilit na maging jam friends with people like them wont just make anythign good happen. might end up disastrous or shit. anyways gusto ko lang ng friends and shit because nakakapungot na bestie puros ako online firneds kaya nadadrive ako to being addicted to devices para manlimos ng attention from friends to compensate for the lack thereof hahahahahhaha omfg ang galeng. also putangina ang init?

okay update i kinda got an updated closet. most of my shit are now maninipis na stuff like spaghetti straps and the likes. tapos mga halter tops ganean. ALSO! diba i read my old entries dito.. MERON NA AKONG COMBAT BOOTS, MGA HAMPASLUPA! HAHAHAAHA ANG GALENG KO kaso... wala nang laman gcash ko huhu

so eto randomthot lilista ko things i need and i want to do:

1. shop at shopfreakyfriday for the ff: -thigh belt -corset body shaper - heart leather choker - fishnet gloves - badass leather gloves - fishnet stockings 2. shop at the fake tatt shop for the ff: - small dragonfly or butterfly tatts for the collar bone part - tatts for the sleeves

3. Pay your insurance !! 4. Pay your internet !! (paid na yung May kaya ang next billing naman is for June kaso pag dumating na bayaran na kaagad para guds) 5. Load GCash para may pambayad bills. BILLS HA HINDI DAMIT TANGINAMO GAB DAMI MO NANG GASTOS NGAYONG MONTH! Mga Gastos na Naaalala ko: a. Utang ni deo AHAHHAHA (590) b. Binili kong bustier dress, boddyhugging top, skull skirt, + shipping fee (465) c. Binili kong tatlong damit sa clothingsph kasali shipping ang maganda lang naman yung angel halter top (480) d. Combat boots from jupiterspacemnl + shipping (1565) e. dehins ko na alm basta umuutang si daddy kaso pumapasok naman pera nya sa account ko so dehins ko alam mare lalo na nakay mommy yung atm card ko di ko alam current balance ko basta ang nagalaw ko palang naman sa pera ko yung wala HAHAHAH TANGINA SORRY EWAN icecredit ko na ba sa amount state ko sa taas sa scholarship ko? 12.5k lang naman eon e AHAHSdhaSdha omfg..,.,. ----------- TOTAL : 3100 dehins pa kasali yung iba kong tig gastos with real cash. lahat ean mostly gcash money. gegu pareh di pako nakakabayad sa insurance ko malapit na matapos grace period ko omgosh... ayoko man kulitin si deo ng utang nya at may ano sa ngipen hahsdakjhsdkjahjh tanginah 6. Gawin ang backlogs!!! HAHAHAH tangina gab nalista mo yong mgan asa taas na yan pero dehins mo nalista backlogs mo? eto: BACKLOGS! tapos na mga barkada mo sa backlogs nila iosen mo baccla bat ka nagpapahuli para kang loser : a. art app dance b. art app edit c. art app act d. art app finals e. nstp collage f. nstp accomplishment g. nstp narrative h. pe collage i. pe reggae j. pe chacha So ayon! kita mo yan baccla? iosen mo 10 naman na lang backlogs mo makaka do whatever you want ka na.

7. Submit CV application form pls sana tuloy pa yun para eme eme na aq here HAHAHA pero tangina kung may makita akong match from tinder/bumble. ewan kabugin nalang naten sila ng cboots naten, mareh! tangina naman nila mayon lang meron dito. hehe chourot labyu legazpi people *rolls eyes* charot ulet 8. Get iPhone repaired (4,000.00 nga lang HAHAHA kunin mo nalang baccla sa scholarfunds) 9. Exercise daily! Walang palya sana mars tangina 20 mins lang naman hinihingi sayo nkklk ka ang tamad beh anong loser behavior yan? Dehins tayo magkakabetter self kung dehins mo aalagan boddie mo. Need den yan para maka fish ki sugardaddy hehe.

10. Drink water everyday! Sana maka at lest 3-5 finished bottles a day ka. Partida kahati mo pa nean si chichi. Mas magaling pa si chichi uminom ng tubig sayo. Pag gindew tuloy hala labo labo tangina ano yan bhe? 11. Log in here in tumblr to monitor progress for all the shit

12. Follow the healthy steps!

13. Buy a FUTON!!!!!

14. Wallpaper-up the cabinets.

15. Place up again the LED lights

16. Buy at least one neon light display maybe rainbow/unicorn 17. Detox again! 18. Work on being a morning person. Only have one cheat night a week tho that could mess up your bod clock but u can make it work if u put your mind into it. 19. Morning person = do work in the morning ASAP, since u productive that way :)

20. Go home at naga look for the uwu jacket + makipaghang out with frands 21. Eat on time!!!!!! Pag tinawag kumain baccla, kumain ka haup 22. Ice Heat Exfoliation Skin care every week!!!

23. GET SLEEP BITCH! Tips for quality sleep:

Stick to a regular sleep/wake schedule.

Exercise. Try to get 20-30 minutes of exercise a day

Develop a nighttime routine that allows you to wind down. Engage in calming activities, such as reading, stretching, meditation, relaxation exercises, coloring, or journaling.

Limit blue light exposure and use amber glasses. The light from our phones, computers, tablets, and lightbulbs is what’s called blue light.

Have a fucking futon.... and get another pillow!!!

24. Fix POSTURE 25. Fix BLOAT 26. ean muna hehe hirap talaga tanginah charot stay more downstairs!!!!! para dehins tamarin and dehins mainit and scene

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BATA! You’ve been accepted for the role of PUCK. Admin Rosey: One of my favorite points of this application were the plots because you highlighted how much you wanted Puck to confront realities that they’ve studiously looked away from or have been able to elude. I had to laugh at the description of Puck’s carreer choice -- it’s not glamorous but it’s definitely f u n. You managed to capture a certain amount of carelessness and happy-go-lucky recklessness, while maintaining how cutting and dangerous Puck could be as a character. Seeing them on the dash is going to be a definite breath of fresh air -- which will be short-lived, probably, considering the chaos that is bound to occur because of them. I can’t wait to see what twists and wildness you bring to the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Bata

Age | 19

Preferred Pronouns | Any!

Activity Level | So, there’s four days a week where I work. Hooray for food service during a pandemic I guess! Those four days are super long and I can’t be on the dash. However, for the rest of the week, I fully intended to do at least one reply a day and to schedule replies for days I’m not on. I also plan to be on to talk with other writers every single day, even if it is only for short bursts or small pockets of time. In numbers, I guess a five out of ten?

Timezone | MST

How did you find the rp?  | Um, I think I was tag browsing while procrastinating my homework back when school was in session and I stumbled across you guys? My friends rp a lot and told me which tags I’d probably like, so I took note of ‘em and searched them up every so often when I got bored, and I thought this looked super cool and took a note of it! Now that I have a job again and my life has kind of evened out, I decided now was the time to apply!

Current/Past RP Accounts | None, I haven’t written anything in a super long time.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Puck - Pavel Lam with no faceclaim change, I think Jackson Wang has a certain pizzazz to him that I like quite a bit. Koala-tea choice, admins. I also chose to use they/them instead of he/him pronouns for Pavel, just so you’re aware. Both options were listed and I chose the former! :D

What drew you to this character? | My answer is really short and simple (but I promise it isn’t because I’m not super invested in the character!). Pavel is loyal to themselves and couldn’t really care what the big men in the city are doing. This is so refreshing to me! The biggest thing I took away from their skeleton is that the city could burn around them, the mobs could tear each other until there’s nothing left of the people that once fought, and Pavel would laugh, pack up, and move on. I cannot overstate how much I love that. No, I adore that. It sets them apart from every other character, in my mind. I don’t approve of it, and I think it’s a really dangerous personality trait, but they’re so different from everyone else. And that was really what attracted me to them. There’s something super fascinating about that ideology and I desperately want to explore it!

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

BOY DON’T TRY TO FRONT: Pavel Lam has never, not in their entire life, cared about the expectations of others, unless they were an employer on one of their jobs. Money talks, after all, and until the greenbacks changed hands, they were willing to do almost anything for years. And if there wasn’t an opportunity, they made one, impersonating tour guides and all sorts of other stuff. Pavel kind of forced the world to allow them certain things. But that’s the only circumstance when that’s happened. Everything else, from the expectations society placed towards a “loyal” child to others’ opinions on their pronouns and gender expression, has been met with a laugh and a biting “Oh, love you too!” Pavel is Puck and Puck is Pavel and that is all they are.

Now, that’s all fine and dandy but Verona doesn’t care about things like that. The city is built on expectations and broken promises, and every person living there expects things and wants to see those things delivered. No one, not even Puck, the jester themselves, are immune to such a thing. People want things from them, expect certain actions to be taken, favors to be repaid, and all sorts of other complicated factors Pavel does not want to deal with.

I want them to be forced to deal with it. Perhaps Nick Bottom expects repayment for that bomb Pavel set off three hours early. Maybe Gertrude dispensed a captain/soldier team that ended up saving Pavel’s life and now the Montagues expect Verona’s (least) favorite knave to complete a job for them. Or, maybe, just maybe, they know something about the secrets that seem to swim through the veins of Capulets like fish and those associated with such a family expect them to keep their mouth shut. I just want Pavel to realize people expect things from them and if they don’t deliver, their head will be on the chopping block.

They aren’t used to something like that happening, after all, and I really think it could serve as this vague “come-to-Jesus” moment (as if they’d ever put stock in organized religion), where Pavel realizes if they don’t make a change, they’re going to pay a serious price, and that could really change how Pavel interacts with Verona.

I’M SENT FROM ABOVE: There is freedom in neutrality. True neutrality, not Capulet or Montague Lite like some other so-called neutrals hold, but actual neutrality. Pavel values that freedom above almost anything else, except their rose-gold headphones and the rest of their bank account. Verona is their playground, the paved streets might as well be clouds for how lightly they dance along them. And they’re willing to do almost anything for a pretty penny. Whether they were ordaining a wedding, crashing a wedding, or breaking an engagement off before the bride put on her freakishly-expensive dress, they don’t care. As long as it paid, they’re willing to try it.

That willingness to do anything as long as they’re paid might just lead a particularly desperate Montague or Capulet to their door, willing to pay anything as long as Pavel is willing to help them. Whether they want Puck to take out Alvise’s killer, Othello becoming so convinced of Desdemona’s continued betrayal that he wants her to suffer, or if someone just wants a stash of Titania’s fae blood destroyed, Puck would do it, and do it happily. Just as long as they pay. This would force Pavel to actually be involved in the mobs and their struggles in a fairly direct way that makes use of their talents! And that’s the main reason I want this. Pavel can’t be this lone island forever, and I refuse to let them be uninvolved for too long. There’s no fun in drifting above all this chaos, after all. And how can I possibly rain angst down upon their head if Pavel refuses to talk to any of the mobs?

HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME: The life of a killer (and anything else, really) for hire isn’t as glamorous as the movies make it out to be, but Pavel would be lying if they said it wasn’t fun. It’s a blast, and, if you were to catch them in a rare moment of honesty, they’d admit they wouldn’t change their job for all the money in a Capulet’s bank account. They’d be tempted, sure, but they likely wouldn’t. It’s freedom handed out along biting iron edges that dig into skin and heart, tearing into softness with a brutality probably only matched by Iago.

It’s a shame that others don’t seem to agree with them on the sheer awesomeness that is Pavel’s job.

Doing what Pavel does, it’s inevitable that enemies will be made, and will hang around for a good while after their dislike has been cemented. Pavel seemed to have amassed a collection of these, with the most notable of these being, of course, Nick Bottom. But there are others. There has to be. And whether they haven’t arrived in Verona yet or got there faster than Pavel did, I can’t help but think they’re coming. And they’re out for blood.

I want a rivalry. This is basically what this amounts to. And not a rivalry in the same way that Puck was written to have with Ariel, which I feel somewhat amounts to Pavel feeling undermined by Alva’s skills, but a genuine actual rivalry between assassins (and anything else) for hire. Pavel thinks they’re the best, that no one can compare to their skills. And they’re right to think that, but it’s also just straight up wrong. There’s no possible way that can be true, so the goal of this plot is to take that confidence Pavel has and to cut it down at the knees, to make them try and figure out who they are when their skills and job are in jeopardy, because I feel like so much of who Pavel is is tied to that. So, clearly, it needs to be stripped away!

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I sure am! Look, Puck just kinda. Exists in Verona, free from all this Montague - Capulet stuff. I don’t think they’d know what to do with the expectation of loyalty from anyone, and that’s a great strength. But like, they doesn’t really care about the chaos Verona is currently in, beyond how it serves them. So the likelihood that they’re going to piss someone off and that someone is going to kill them? Oh, it’s massive. Sky-high probability. It’ll be their own fault too, so like, yeah, I’m chill with it.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

The room, from Puck’s perch, stretched into the untold void of normality, only to vanish at the corners as if it fell off the world like those old maps seemed convinced everything eventually would. Thank goodness there were fewer of them in the world now than there used to be. Their bank account was still amazed at how much flat-earthers would pay for proof of their beliefs without taking the time to invest in an insurance plan against Pavel’s more destructive tendencies. Their faith was met with ash, sealed in a manila envelope and signed with a delicate, arching “P”. The only other thing that package had contained was an index card with a smiley face. Faith was a weakness all to easy to exploit, and belief only turned defenses inward. That was the exact reason Puck refused to humor either of such things. There wasn’t any use believing in the goodness of others or the gentleness of their hearts, not when ash-filled envelopes were so easy to get through the mail.

Besides the point. Irrelevant. Potentially useful for the end of this job, yeah, but they weren’t there yet, were they? Ding-ding, five points to the person crouched below the roof. Ten more and they’ll be able to trade in their earnings for a Starbucks gift card. Assuming this job went as it was meant to. If it didn’t, then they’d have no choice but to get two gift cards and their waistline certainly couldn’t survive that, oh no. It was already a precarious relationship, Pavel and their suits. No need to further jeopardize it with more frappuccinos.

Off-topic, Pavel. Focus. The big man with the too-strong cologne just returned. He must be trying to compensate for something if that’s the best he can do. Smells like something with a ship on the bottle. Damn thing offends the senses and Pavel’s thirty feet off the ground, they can’t imagine what it must be like down below. Maybe the guy strapped to a chair is fighting to get away from that scent. Puck certainly would be. They’ve probably lost nose hairs up here, Christ on an ever-loving fucking bicycle.

The dialogue that big man starts spewing sounds like something out of Austin Powers. Pavel could not restrain their eyeroll if they tried, and they were not trying. Blah-blah-blah, look at me and my awful choice of cologne. I’m big and scary, Pavel filled in, mouthing out the words they were convinced he was saying, and no one ever messes with me because I’m the big man with a big car but a really small penis that everyone knows I have because the girls on the street corners laugh when I leave. They snorted. Ah, if only there was someone in the world that appreciated Pavel’s wit. Blah-blah-blah, they continued to mouth. Look at me, bullet in the peanut I call a brain.

It was at that moment Pavel squeezed the trigger on the rifle that had been keeping them company up in those rafters for the past two hours. The job was dead or alive and the target was way less likely to object to being dragged through a river a few times if the piece of metal in his brain shut him up long before the water did. They learned their lesson after the first couple guys had tried to bully, flirt, and beg their way out of the contracts. Silent was always better, especially on long trips like the one that awaited Puck.

A groan escaped their mouth as they swung themselves down to the ground, taking a few pit stops along the way to make sure their bones stayed together. Reporting back was just not as fun if they couldn’t make an entrance that would make the gods weep with appreciation. “You know,” Pavel began as he approached his target and the man still in a chair, “you were not supposed to be here.”

A second bullet put an end to the witness, leaving him slumped in the chair, zip ties around his wrist keeping him upright. Puck wondered, briefly, if he’d appreciate the irony in something used to control him now maintaining the last little shred of dignity. Course, Puck agreed, there wasn’t much dignity left once the dead shit themselves, as they did every single time. The British guy with a name that sounded like it came off a birdwatching book was right. Killing did get easier.

The rest of the base had been as easy to dispense of as these too had been. The six figures that now rested comfortably in Pavel’s bank account had made the job seem difficult, or at least time-consuming. Barely three hours had passed from arrival to now. People are either really dumb and think too highly of others or… Naw. That was it. People were dumb and overestimated the abilities of literally everyone else. Aw, to be naive and believe humanity actually was worth the resources it sucked up like a particularly determined leech. Without such belief, Pavel would be a lot poorer though, so they supposed it all evened out in the end.

“Alrighty, up you go, you big oaf,” Pavel grunted. “Let’s get you out of the literal pile of shit you created and off to those friends you thought you left behind in Bulgaria. This is an improvement on your smell though, so I guess you get a few points. Maybe like two. I’m still in the lead though, and because I’m the one that took you out, I get your points now that you’re dead. Thems the breaks. Should have read the rules more carefully before deciding to play.”

As if life ever had such rules. Throwing around such phrases let people believe there was an order to all of this, that their lives weren’t statistically impossible and utterly insignificant.  But Pavel knew better. The game was that there was no game, no purpose behind it all. Only puppets dancing on strings they never noticed were cut. Those that believed otherwise were just better suited to stepped on rather than growing into the ones doing the stepping.

Extras:

Puck’s playlist is entirely 90s and 2000s pop.

His motto is 100%: “Chivalry is dead but you’re still kinda cute.” or “I want you on my team/So does everybody else”, depending on how annoying and persistent the Montague and Capulets are that day.

This was submitted through Puck’s mockblog, which you are more than welcome to examine!

[fnazareth]

"1. Disse Mâncio: 'O peixe é uma coisa de que eu gosto. Outra é a pata de urso. Se não posso ter as duas coisas, deixo o peixe pela pata de urso. Também gosto da vida, junto com a dignidade própria. Se não posso assegurá-las ambas, sacrifico a vida pela dignidade própria. 2. 'Realmente gosto da vida; mas há coisa de que gosto muito mais do que da vida. Por isso não farei nada à toa para assegurar a vida. Ao mesmo tempo, eu detesto deveras a morte; mas detesto algo mais que a morte. Por isso haverá ocasiões em que não me furtarei a essa desgraça.(...)'" ~ "As obras de Mâncio", Trad Joaquim de Jesus Guerra, 1984

As traduções do Padre Joaquim de Jesus Guerra para os Clássicos Chineses podem ser baixadas aqui: http://padreguerra.blogspot.com/ consultado em 11/05/2020 15:00

"1. Mencius said, 'I like fish, and I also like bears' paws. If I cannot get both together, I will let the fish go, and take the bears' paws. So I like life, and I also like righteousness. If I cannot keep the two together, I will let life go, and choose righteousness. 2. 'I like life indeed, but there is that which I like more than life ; and therefore I will not seek to hold it by any improper ways. I dislike death indeed, but there is that which I dislike more than death, and therefore here are occasions when I will not avoid calamity [that may occasion death].(...)'" ~ The Life and Works of Mencius, Trad. James Legge, 1875

A tradução de James Legge pode ser lida on line ou baixada aqui: https://archive.org/details/chineseclassics02leggiala/page/316/mode/2up  acessado em 11/05/2020 18:30

[mushmeyers]

why do we do this to ourselves?

Spot/Jack - ao3 link - co authored by @spotsies

hi everyone, i'm back from not updating my multichap works to upload a oneshot. it's actually another RP, but a para one this time- so yeah, perspective p much switches every paragraph if you have a problem w that :P

anywayssss the lovely spot to my jack @spotsies wrote for spot and i wrote for jack! love u!

Jack couldn't help but feel incredibly tense as he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, headed towards the docks. Tension, he'd found, was an emotion strongly associated with Spot Conlon. To the other guys, he made tension through his intimidation. The rumours that he'd beaten people up on a ride at Coney had flown around for years, and they were founded in Conlon's very real soaking ability. But as Jack reached the docks and spotted (hah) him, he knew it wasn't that tension that he got when he was with Spot, particularly not when they were alone. Oh, no. It was a very different kind, and one that Jack had been keeping to himself for years because of the risk associated with it. "Conlon," he called out with a wave and a grin as he walked towards him, spitting on his hand and holding it out.

Spot was sitting crosslegged on a crate, idly watching some of his boys attempting to fish the waters with a fishing line fashioned out of old bootlaces. What a waste. When he heard approaching boots on wood, he didn't bother turning to look until Jack was right near him. He knew his footsteps anywhere. Finally, he turned his head with a lazy smile to face his friend. Enemy. Ally. Whatever he was. "Kelly," he greeted cordially with a spit and shake of his own, firmly ignoring the fact that he'd almost felt a bolt of electricity go through him the moment they touched. That wasn't unusual with Jack. Not these days. "You're late, y'know. It's past noon."

Jack grinned, shrugging. He let himself regard Spot for a second longer than he'd let himself with anyone else- he knew that if Spot noticed (and there was no doubt he did), he never commented. "Had a fight to break up on my way over here. Only been a few minutes." Everything in him wanted to take a step closer to Conlon, to close the distance between them. That was the usual now, though, and something that couldn't be said out loud. He'd never gotten verbal confirmation that Spot was feeling this too (or that he was even like that )- but the tension between them all but confirmed it. Instead, he moved on to business. "So, Staten's been givin' you trouble?"

Spot all but rolled his eyes at Jack. "Not here." He pushed himself off the crate, glancing around before leading the way along the docks, dodging workers hauling cargo until they reached a more secluded section. It was all but hidden from the main docks by a few twists and turns and that was how he liked it. He didn't usually bother conducting business in private, but more recently he preferred to be alone with Jack. And it wasn't because he was uncomfortable with people seeing how they interacted now. And it wasn't because he liked having Jack to himself for a little while. He settled himself on the wooden planks, gesturing for Jack to join him. "He keeps sendin' his boys over."

Jack was used to the routine. They'd meet, and whoevers turf they were on (usually Spot's, since he insisted) would lead the other to a secluded place. And that's when Jack swore he could feel the distance between them, and the thickness in the air when they spoke, and every single pause or glance held a kind of strength he hadn't even known they could hold before. It was a feeling that he'd only been getting with Spot, and it'd been increasingly rapidly, much to Jack's stress. The leader of Brooklyn, he reminded himself. What a controversy that would be. Jack had long mastered not getting caught with guys, but that was besides the point. This put so much more risk on the table. He settled beside Spot, frowning. "Sendin' em over? What, to sell? The fuck's he thinkin'?"

Spot didn't need to glance between them to know exactly how many inches away Jack was sitting (three). He wanted to, though. He wanted to close the gap. He wasn't the type to seek any kind of affectionate contact with people. But when Jack was around, he felt magnetised. Forcing himself to relax, he reached up and dragged his hat off, pushing his hair back. "He's trying to start shit. He's been doin' it all week, and they keep comin' over, sellin' and then they start fights. And he claims he don't know shit about it." Spot scowled. "But he's sending his biggest guys."

Jack looked, watching Spot's hands running through his hair, the way it fell and the look on his face as he started to scowl. "He's tryina start shit with Brooklyn? What reasons he got?" Brooklyn and Manhattan had been easy allies for a while. 'Accidentally' crossing a bridge was hard to pass off- though apparently, that concept was foreign to Staten Island newsies. And plus, there was the unspoken fact between the two of them that Brooklyn and Manhattan being allies made it easier for the both of them to have their times like these. Because even though he couldn't actually do anything, the ridiculous amount of tension and feelings he got around Spot was dizzying enough to be completely worth it. "What's he tryina pull? He knows Manhattan n' Queens'll side with you, n' the Bronxs too far away to even matter. He just tryina get his kids soaked?"

Spot glanced over at Jack, his fierce expression softening a bit as he did. "I don't know. Maybe he's tryna piss me off bad enough I'll do somethin' that'll make the other boroughs feel sorry for 'em. Or hate us. Same difference." For a long moment he was silent, turning his cap over in his hands. The tweed was worn and grubby, but he didn't mind any. "I'm plenty tempted by it. The Bronx can't do shit and Queens don't care all much about Staten except when he's trying to piss them off." And you'll side with me whatever I do. He didn't bother adding that. Spot dropped his hands by his sides; just enough so one lightly brushed Jack's leg. That's all you'll ever get. It was infuriating to sit here side by side with the guy he'd loved so long and not be able to hold his hand proper or kiss him, and for a moment the unfairness of it all took his breath away so it was all he could do to glare miserably at the wooden planks.

Jack watched Spot's hands, turning the hat over and over in his hands. He frowned. "Don't take their bait. Like you said, that's just what he wants." Jack didn't mention the shudder that ran down his back when Spot's arm brushed his leg, and continued speaking. "I'd just finish the fights he starts, n' finish 'em real good. Put Red an' your muscle sellin near the bridge for a few days, show 'em what's what if they start the fights. He's a coward, the moment his boys start bein' properly beat he'll back off. But you can't be blamed for finishin' fights when he started em." Jack shifted, and their hands were only about an inch away now. Jack was itching to move it that final inch, to take Spot's hand, or to grab him and fiercely kiss him and show him how much he felt for him- but instead he just left his hand an inch away.

Spot swallowed hard. He was struggling to just focus on what Jack was saying. It was good advice, after all. But he kept getting distracted by the fact that there was only an inch between them now. Sometimes he really hated how hyperaware he always was of Jack in his space, especially the fact he didn't really want him to leave it. "Yeah," he mumbled eventually, fighting to drag his attention back to the actual conversation. Get a fucking hold of yourself. "He's such a shit leader. Imagine gettin your boys hurt just so you can have a bit of pity." He was tired by the politics, sometimes. And he had an awful suspicion he'd feel a lot better if he could rest his head on Jack's shoulder for a little while, sit quietly with him like that with their sides pressed close and their fingers laced. But that wasn't going to happen.

Jack nodded in agreement, rolling his eyes. "Never seen him make a smart move in his life." And it was true.  Staten was a fucking idiot. Jack sat quietly for a few seconds. The issue had been sorted fairly quickly- and no surprise. Jack knew Spot didn't need him to make a decision on an issue between Brooklyn and Staten Island. But that didn't mean that Jack wasn't thankful Spot'd called for a meeting, because now he was only an inch away and Jack could pretend that they coud be even closer. Or we could actually be closer. The coast was clear, they were alone, and the tension between them was almost unbearable. Jack turned to Spot. "Why do we do this to ourselves?" he asked, shaking his head with a small laugh. He wasn't sure what came over him- he knew why they did, it was illegal, they were leaders of boroughs, all of the shit that could go down if they were caught - but what could happen if they didn't was intoxicating, and Jack had been wondering about it for years .

Spot felt every muscle in his body go taut when Jack spoke, and he kept his eyes focused straight down. Don't move. Don't look at him. Don't give him any sign. It was as though the tension between them had both broken and amped up to the max. "Do what?" he replied in a clipped, strained voice. He could feel Jack's eyes on him. He wanted to meet his eyes, see the truth there and not be scared of it any more. But he didn't trust himself with it. So instead he sat perfectly still, barely daring to even breathe.

Jack looked at Spot, raising an eyebrow that he couldn't see anyways because Spot's eyes were fixed on the ground. The way he'd tensed up, looked away, the strain in his voice. He knew what Jack meant- there was no way he didn't, the tension had always been two sided. Jack took a deep breath, and he reached, taking Spot's hand in his own. "Not this," he said quietly as he interlaced their fingers, looking intensely at Spot and praying that this didn't go completely wrong.

Flinching involuntarily when Jack's hand took his, Spot had to physically force himself not to jerk away. Every part of him was screaming DANGER and he wasn't one to ignore his instincts. But at the same time- he felt like he was on fire. This was all he'd ever wanted. Slowly he looked up, gaze going from his feet to their hands to Jack's face. He had the most beautiful eyes. And Spot could see that same terror and longing and hope he felt reflected in them, and that was enough to make him gently lace their fingers together, taking in a shaky breath. "You know why," he muttered. His mouth was dry.

When Spot laced their fingers together, Jack felt like he could explode. Something as simple as this was what he'd stayed up many a late night wondering about, and he'd done it, he'd actually done it and it felt amazing. "I know why," he repeated, "but I hate it. It's the worst. I can't stop thinking about you ," he half whispered, giving Spot possibly the most intense look he'd ever given anyone.

Spot let out his breath between his teeth, relaxing for what felt like the first time in years. So it was all out on the table now. He wasn't being choked by this secret any more. He squeezed Jack's hand. "I can't... me either," he admitted eventually. "I can't fuckin' concentrate when you're around. And every time you go home it hurts." The last part was spoken quietly, since it was still embarrassing to say, but there was a vulnerable edge to Spot's tone and he didn't know if he resented it or not. He was inclined towards the or not .

Spot had said it back. Finally, the heavy feeling on his chest dissipated, leaving Jack feeling light. "I hate goin' home," he admitted back. "Well, not the home bit. I hate leavin' you." And it was the truth- he adored his boys and all of that, it wasn't where he was that was the problem (unless you were talking New York, but that was a whole different story.) It was the lack of Spot that was the problem. The vulnerability in Spot's voice made Jack edge closer to him, putting a hand on the side of his face. It felt right there. They were alone, and they were holding hands and talking and a rush of adrenaline ran through Jack, probably both from how wrong what they were doing was, but also how damn fucking right it was.

Spot closed his eyes for a brief moment, finding himself leaning into Jack's touch without even meaning to. It was like all the tension and stress had just drained away. Like there was nothing else. Then he looked up again, at the guy he trusted more than anyone, and tried a small smile. "I can never decide if you're brave or an idiot or both," he said quietly. "And I can't decide if I'm about to be stupid. But I don't really care." With that, he carefully curled his fingers around the back of Jack's neck, pulling him down gently into a kiss. It was stupid, maybe, but he could have sworn he felt a bolt of electricity run through him as their lips touched. And it felt perfect.

Jack laughed, grinning as if he was about to say something back- when Spot continued talking about being stupid, and then he was softly pulling Jack down and then their lips met, and holy shit, there were fireworks. Explosions and bolts of electricity and all of that. It felt perfect and right and like he was meantto kiss Spot. God, that was sappy and dumb, but so was Jack. Especially after so long wondering and imagining what it would be like to kiss Spot, to be able to actually show him that he loved him. And fuck, Spot might be right and this might be stupid- but that was put out of his mind right now in favour for pulling himself closer to Spot, his thumb running over his cheek as they kissed.

Spot leaned into it hard. He let the joy and relief and fear and shock wash over him, and when it faded he was still kissing Jack, his Jack. They belonged to their boroughs, but they'd always belonged a little bit to each other as well. The hand on his cheek, warm and reassuring and the brush of lashes against his cheek; it was intoxicating, and if he wasn't as disciplined as he was, he mightn't have drawn away when he did. But it was too dangerous. If they were caught kissing here, anywhere, not only would they both lose their leadership but they could go to jail if they weren't beaten to death first. So he leaned back reluctantly, dropping his hand to Jack's chest to stop him from following. He looked just as windblown as Spot felt. Fuck, he was beautiful, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than kiss those lips again. But at least the tension had broken, replaced by this understanding they shared.

Jack kept his eyes closed for just a few seconds, the feeling of Spot's hand on his chest still sending that same exciting current through him. He opened his eyes, looking at Spot and taking every detail of his expression that he could remember. He wanted to be kissing Spot again, but he knew exactly why Spot pulled away. He sighed quietly, taking his hand from Spot's cheek and letting it rest on Spot's knee, unable to let go of finally being able to touch him, even if just for now. It had been building for so long, and now Jack just looked at Spot, shaking his head with a small smile. "Bein' brave means you gotta be an idiot sometimes- but you're doin' it 'cause it's whats right." And sure, maybe this was idiotic, but it was right , and that's what mattered.

Spot snorted. "Look at you, givin' advice. Like you're so wise." His attempt at sounding gruff completely failed, the affection shining through in a way he'd never let it, and he couldn't even bring himself to care. Not when Jack was looking at him with that smile. God. It felt like they could just sit in this moment forever- he wished they could just sit in this moment forever. But they were always on borrowed time, him and Jack, and today was no different. This was big, and they had important things to sort out. "Hey," he said more quietly, trailing his hand down his arm to take his hand again. "You know we can't never be open 'bout this." He knew Jack knew. But when he said it out loud, it felt more like something they were facing together. "Whatever this is."

"Had a lotta time to think about this," he laughed, Spot's affectionate tone making his heart swell a bit. His teasing, the way he was looking at him, the feeling of Spot's lips still lingering on his, it was the small details that he hadn't expected that made everything feel like he was floating. Jack squeezed Spot's hand when their fingers were laced together again, nodding. "Yeah, I know. It's just between us" Whatever this is. What even was it? Was there even words for this? Jack shrugged, frowning. "It's whatever we want it to be. N' I want ya to know I'm sweet on you," he finally said the words out loud, after them being true for years. He was sweet on Spot Conlon, and if the world couldn't know then at least he could.

A slow smile spread across Spot's lips. "Sweet on me," he repeated, almost rolling his eyes. "Course you'd find the sappiest way to say it." Nobody in Brooklyn was sweet on anyone- they had girls, but you didn't go about telling people how you felt about them. He wondered if the Manhattan newsies did things differently. Clearly they did, if Jack was saying stuff like that. But hell, if it didn't make his heartbeat pick up. "I'm sweet on you too. And Christ, I wanna see you more than this. In places more private than this. I been holdin' out on you years, Kelly." He'd dreamed so long of being able to lie quietly for hours with Jack, tangled up in each other and talking quietly between kisses.

"You're sayin' that like you didn't grin the moment I said it," he teased, greatly enjoying Spot's smile and revelling in the fact that Spot said it back. And he'd been holding out on him for years, god, if that didn't make the years of wondering and what ifs so worth it. Jack nodded. "Me too," he agreed quietly, pulling Spot in a little closer. "Come have a meetin' with me at the theatre sometime. Medda's. She's right in the Bowery, she don't care 'bout this shit. We'll tell em all it's over somethin' serious," he half suggested and half asked. The amount he saw Spot now wasn't enough, it wasn't before and it wasn't going to be nearly close now.

Spot (after slugging him in the shoulder for the teasing) hesitated, weighing the options in his head. He didn't like spending time away from Brooklyn at the best of times. But Jack was offering proper privacy, somewhere safe. And there were so many things he wanted to learn about Jack- his favourite food, what he talked like when he was tired, the pitch of his moans- that he just couldn't here. "Okay," he agreed after another moment, and ran his thumb over Jack's knuckles with a little smile. And then, after glancing around and pausing for a moment to listen out for anyone nearby, he shifted closer and leaned his head on his shoulder. Like he wasn't going to take this excuse.

Jack smiled, clearly calmed by Spot saying okay and then resting his head on his shoulder. He leaned his head on Spot's, glad beyond words that they could finally sit like this, that he could finally hold Spot's hand and let Spot know how he feels. How he feels about Spot. Maybe it was a bit quick considering that everything had just properly happened, but he'd been feeling this for years, so if anything it felt like making up for lost time. "I love you," he said quietly, letting himself close his eyes and just be alone with Spot for a minute.

Spot was just about the happiest he'd ever been when he heard Jack's next words and promptly froze. I love you . That was what wives and husbands said to each other in private. It was what you said when you were writing a love letter or proposing. And never in a hundred years could he ever have imagined that anybody, let alone Jack Kelly, would say it to him. But when the shock melted away, he found it replaced by a glow of happiness that spread to the tip of his toes. And really, they'd been something for years now. Just something unspoken. And now he could change that, and he wanted to, so he murmured, "I love you too," and didn't care how foolish it made him sound. "I don't want you to go home."

Jack really didn't want to go home either. He wanted to stay like this with Spot forever- or he wanted to go somewhere private, and be alone with Spot. Being away  from him, however, was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Not only that, but he had to leave soon- he had a few more things to sort out in Manhattan today, and he was sure Spot had other things to do. But that didn't make it any easier. "I don't want to either," he sighed. "But you're gonna see me again soon, aight?" With that, he slowly sat up more. Speaking of him having to leave, the time was coming soon. "An' now we both have somethin' to look forward to."

"Wait," Spot said sharply, following Jack up. Instead of saying anything else, he took his face in both hands and pulled him in to kiss him again; he found himself trying to commit the feeling to memory. He didn't want to let go, not when he'd just gotten all he'd ever wanted. And Jack's lips were soft, and his face was warm, and kissing him brought everything into alignment in a hundred different ways and Spot had never felt safer with anyone. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to run away from their responsibilities,  just look out for each other. Sleep under real stars. Hold each other properly. But like I said, the moment was fleeting. So eventually he did pull away, stroking a thumb across Jack's cheek and looking at him steadily. "I love you."

Jack turned around, being pulled into another kiss. He hadn't realised he'd missed it already until he was doing it again. Kissing him felt natural. Meant to be. All that sappy shit. It was so, so difficult to not pull Spot onto his lap and kiss him over and over, cover him in kisses and quietly tell him about all the nights he'd spent dreaming of him. If Spot had spent even half of those thinking about Jack, he'd consider himself lucky. When Spot pulled away, Jack looked at Spot again, smiling at him soft and gentle. "I love you too," he said, promises of more and the future laced in the words. Seperating himself from Spot then was probably the hardest thing he'd done in months, and he already felt the urge to wrap his arms around Spot's waist and cling. "Tell me when you wanna meet next," he said, daring taking a step closer than a friend probably should be. "Make it soon, yeah?"

Spot nodded curtly, not shifting his gaze from Jack's face. He knew his stare put people off, and he usually liked it, but right now he just wanted to remember this moment without weirding him out. "Soon," he repeated, then sighed. "Yeah. Aight." He went to kiss him one last time and promptly became aware of just how tall Jack was. Fucker. He had to get up onto his toes to reach, and pull him down for a quick kiss. It hurt to let go. "This week, though."

Jack leaned down when Spot stood on his toes, giving him another sweet kiss. He couldn't help but press a kiss onto Spot's forehead with a smile. A week. He could do a week. "I'm gonna miss you," he admitted quietly. Now it felt like there was an entire flood of things he could finally tell Spot. He glanced back to where they'd come from earlier. "I gotta go now." Pause, and then quietly, "Love you, Spot." It was difficult actually getting up and heading in the direction when all he wanted to do was kiss Spot over and over again, but somehow Jack found the self control to.

"Love you too." Spot watched him go, heart twisting sharply. On one hand, he'd never missed Jack more. But this felt like hope, and he had a tangible promise that they'd see each other soon and that he felt the same. And he was light as air. Pulling his cap low over his eyes to hide the happiness he suspected was there, he waited until the other leader had disappeared before turning and slamming a fist hard into a wooden crate by him. God, he was excited for whatever was coming next.

[guarita]

alguns poemas da lola ridge

Dedicatória (P/ minha Mãe)

Deixe qu’eu me embale de volta Na escuridão Das meias formas... Dos placentários começos... Deixe-me atiçar o attar do ar esperdiçado. Elusivo... ironicamente fragrante Como o lenço de uma rainha morta... Deixe-me soprar o pó de ti... Ressuscitar tua respiração Pousada flácida como um leque Na mão de uma rainha morta.

dedication (To my Mother)

Let me cradle myself back Into the darkness Of the half shapes... Of the cauled beginnings... Let me stir the attar of unused air, Elusive... ironically fragrant As a dead queen's kerchief... Let me blow the dust from off you... Resurrect your breath Lying limp as a fan In a dead queen's hand.

* * * * *  O BECO

Por você ter quatro anos a vela está toda trajada com um novo frufru. E estrelas acenam para ti através do furo na cortina, (exceto os grandes planetas rijos muito gordos para se moverem tanto,) você reverencia as estrelas de volta quando ninguém está olhando. Você sente pena da pobre cadeira de madeira que sabe que não é bom se sentar nela, e ninguém está triste, a não ser mamãe. Você não gosta da mamãe triste quando tem quatro anos, então você finge finge gostar do chá dourado e amargo — você finge que se você não bebê-lo muito rápido um peixinho dourado irá pensar que é uma lagoa e virá a nascer nela.

: :

É quente a nossa rua e a brisa é uma vassourinha suja que varre o pó no nosso quarto e os pedacinhos de papel do beco. Você não pode brincar com as crianças no beco Mas você deve ser muito educada — então você passa por elas e diz bom dia e quando elas atiram cascas de banana você atira elas de volta.

: :

Não há com quem brincar e as moscas na janela zunindo e zunindo... ...você pode puxar as pernas delas e colocar alfinetes nos seus corpos mas elas ainda ficam zunindo... e mamãe diz: Quando Nero era um garotinho ele pegava moscas na janela da mãe e puxava as pernas delas e prendia alfinetes nos seus corpos e ninguém amava ele. Zunindo, moscas de pança azul — zunindo, roda preta e nojenta da máquina da mamãe — você é a maior mosca de todas — você tem o zunido mais alto. Te ouço na aurora antes dos grilos. Mas eu gosto do retrato do Dilúvio e os bebezinhos se afogando... Se você estivesse lá eu os teria salvo, mas como não posso salvá-los gosto de vê-los se afogando.

: :

Quando mamãe compra do Ling Ho, ele sorri e pega pra ela as maiores nespereiras. Os homens-verdes dão a ela um repolho E ela o segura contra seu corpete preto e diz mas que belo verde ele tem e o põem sobre a mesa como se fosse uma flor. Mas no outro dia, cozinhamos e o comemos com sal. Era o nosso jantar.

: :

Dia do Natal Encontrei Janie no meu travesseiro. Janie é feita de borracha, Sua jaqueta azul e vermelha não sai. O jantar de Natal foi verde e branco frango e alface e ervilhas e doses de óleo na salada sorridente e cheia de luz como ouro nos dentes da senhorita.

Mas mamãe diz gentilmente Obrigada, mas vamos jantar fora. Ela não deixava você pega uma ervilha para colocar no buraco onde estava o apito na nuca da Janie para que Janie pudesse jantar algo Então você foi ao parque com biscoitos e chá preto em uma garrafa.

: :

Você se sente muito triste quando sobe na cerca para ver mamãe ao longe. As mulheres no beco prostram as cabeças pela porta e a veem também. Eu reconheço ela pelo seu jeito de sustentar os ombros até que seja somente um borrão em uma correnteza de borrões— até que ela seja engolida. Mas suponha que dia após dia você está atenta ao rosto dela e ela não volta? Suponha que era para ela cair do cordão de rostos brancos como a pérola da minha corrente que eu nunca achei de novo?

: :

Mabel cuida de você enquanto mamãe está fora, ela lava enquanto canta Três ratos cegos! todos fugiram da mulher do fazendeiro que cortou suas caudas com uma faca de trinchar— O vento sopra os lençóis de Mabel, do jeito que você sopra num saco antes de estourá-lo. O vento tem um cheiro ensaboado. É o sol mais pesado que deita sobre você sem peso nenhum e te faz se sentir feliz e engelhada como água borbulhante. Não há sol na casa vazia — casa de aspecto arteiro — você não enxerga por suas janelas que te observam pelos cantos. Talvez uma grande aranha esteja lá fiando linhas cinzas sobre as janelas até que elas pareçam com o rosto de gente morta... Jimmie diz: O cabelo de Jimmie é branco como um ratinho branco Seus cílios são dourados como a aliança da mamãe e sua boca parece calma e macia como uma flor molhada de chuva. Você não acreditaria que Jimmie é diferente... até que ele lhe mostrou...

: : 

Cegos lençóis molhados brandindo nas linhas... sol nos teus olhos, sol dourado-escuro pleno de pontinhos pretos, você tem que piscar e piscar... olhos redondos de Jimmie... macacão azul de Jimmie... sombra azul na parede... todo o mundo imóvel como quando o relógio para... ruas imóveis... gente imóvel... nenhuma rua... nenhuma gente apenas o céu e a parede... sol brilhando forte como Deus sob você e Jimmie... sombra como um tecido violeta arrastando da parede...

Selvagens lençóis molhados brandindo no vento... grandes chinelos nos pés brandindo também... grande rosto de balão correndo para o beco... casas fechando de novo... janelas parecendo redondas... ... Mabel te puxa pro portão e te sacode e diz para você não dizer pra mamãe... e você pensa se Deus estragou Jimmie.

THE ALLEY

Because you are four years old the candle is all dressed up in a new frill. And stars nod to you through the hole in the curtain, (except the big stiff planets too fat to move about much,) and you curtsey back to the stars when no one is looking. You feel sorry for the poor wooden chair that knows it isn’t nice to sit on, and no one is sad but mama. You don’t like mama to be sad when you are four years old, so you pretend you like the bitter gold-pale tea— you pretend if you don’t drink it up pretty quick a little gold-fish will think it is a pond and come and get born in it.

: :

It’s hot in our street and the breeze is a dirty little broom that sweeps dust into our room and bits of paper out of the alley. You are not let to play with the children in the alley But you must be very polite— so you pass them and say good day and when they fling banana skins you fling them back again.

: :

There is no one to play with and the flies on the window buzz and buzz… …you can pull out their legs and stick pins in their bodies but still they buzz… and mama says: When Nero was a little boy he caught flies on his mama’s window and pulled out their legs and stuck pins in their bodies and nobody loved him. Buzz, blue-bellied flies— buzz, nasty black wheel of mama’s machine— you are the biggest fly of all— you have the loudest buzz. I hear you at dawn before the locusts. But I like the picture of the Flood and the little babies getting drowned…. If I were there I would save them, but as I can’t save them I like to watch them getting drowned.

: :

When mama buys of Ling Ho, he smiles very wide and picks her the largest loquots. The greens-man gave her a cabbage and she held it against her black bodice and said what a beautiful green it was and put it on the table as though it had been a flower. But next day we boiled and ate it with salt. It was our dinner.

: :

Christmas day I found Janie on my pillow. Janie is made of rubber. Her red and blue jacket won’t come off. Christmas dinner was green and white chicken and lettuce and peas and drops of oil on the salad smiley and full of light like the gold on the lady’s teeth.

But mama said politely Thank you, we are dining out. She wouldn’t let you take one pea to put in the hole where the whistle was at the back of Janie’s head, so Janie should have some dinner So you went to the park with biscuits and black tea in a bottle.

: :

You feel very sad when you climb on the fence to watch mama out of sight. The women in the alley poke their heads out of doorways and watch her too. You know her by the way she holds her shoulders till she is only a speck in a chain of specks— till she is swallowed up. But suppose that day after day you were to watch for her face and it didn’t come back? Suppose it were to drop out of the string of white faces like the pearl out of my chain I never found again?

: : Mabel minds you while mama is out, she washes while she sings Three blind mice! they all run away from the farmer’s wife who cut off their tails with a carving knife— Wind blows out Mabel’s sheets, way you blow in a bag before you burst it. Wind has a soapy smell. It’s heavier’n sun that lies all over you without any weight and makes you feel happy and crinkly like bubbling water. There’s no sun on the empty house— sly-looking house— you can’t see in its windows that watch you out of their corners. Perhaps there’s a big spider there spinning gray threads over the windows till they look like dead people’s faces…. Jimmie says: Jimmie’s hair is white as a white mouse. His lashes are gold as mama’s wedding ring and his mouth feels cool and smooth like a flower wet with rain. You wouldn’t believe Jimmie was different… till he showed you….

: :

Blind wet sheets flapping on the lines… sun in your eyes, dark gold sun full of little black spots, you have to blink and blink… round eyes of Jimmie…. Jimmie’s blue jumper… blue shadow of wall… all the world holding still as when a clock stops… streets still… people still… no streets… no people… only sky and wall… sun glaring bright as God down at you and Jimmie… shadow like a purple cloth trailing off the wall…

Wild wet sheets flapping in the wind… big slippered feet flapping too… big-balloon-face rushing up the alley… houses closing up again… windows looking round… … Mabel pulls you in the gate and shakes you and tells you not to tell your mama… And you wonder if God has spoiled Jimmie.

* * * * *