#is what pesca thought

[hopelesslovebug]

little pesca and fugo interaction as a treat

[peaches2217]

Traduzione, Per Favore?

EDIT: AO3 link!

~~~

“What would my name be in Italian?”

Mario studied the princess’ face briefly. Her sapphire eyes sparkled in the afternoon sun, full of sincerity and curiosity; he almost wanted to make something up, something exotic-sounding yet convincing enough that those crystal eyes would shine even brighter.

But she was far too clever for that. She’d see right through him. Or worse — she would be so giddy that she’d believe him, then eagerly relay what she had learned to Luigi, and then his brother would never let him live it down. Mario, impulsive as he could be, knew how to calculate risk and reward, and that was one risk not worth taking.

“...Peach.” Uttering her name sent a chill through him that he only barely repressed— no, that felt so wrong, far more intimate than he was permitted to be with her. “Principessa Peach,” he corrected, and he pulled his cap from his head, absently fanning himself with it. It was a warm day. He could easily pass the color he felt pooling in his cheeks as a consequence of the weather.

The princess’ face fell. “Oh,” she said, soft, but curt. Her brows furrowed, and her lips gathered into a gentle pucker. Suddenly, Mario was happy he hadn’t given into his earlier temptation, because how many people had ever seen the beautiful and regal Mushroom Princess pout?

It caught him off-guard enough that he chuckled, and that in turn softened her downtrodden expression. For a moment, she graced him with a gaze full of the fondness and warmth he’d become so familiar with… and then the pout returned with an indignant force. And, of course, that only made hiding his amusement that much harder.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she chastised, though the dimples that formed in her cheeks betrayed her lack of sincere ire.

Mario, already luckier than most, supposed his day couldn’t get much better than this. 

Oh, he was so glad she had expressed interest in learning his native tongue. It was an interest she’d held for some time now, she had confessed — “It never felt right to ask,” she admitted one day, looking down as she tapped the tips of her fingers together, “since it’s one of the few things you and Luigi were able to bring from your birth world. I… felt that asking to partake in it would be overstepping.”

Mario had never seen it that way. To him, it was one more thing he could share with her. One more wall between them that didn’t seem quite so insurmountable anymore. 

Granted, he didn’t fancy himself much of a teacher, so he mostly just taught her assorted words and phrases over their bi-weekly tea and pastries (merenda, as she had learned last week; today he was greeted with an uncertain yet cheerful “Facciamo merenda!”, and were he any bolder, he would have asked her to repeat it over and over again, just for him). And as endearing as it was, the thought of the princess privately straining to overhear one of the brothers’ personal conversations just so she could enjoy the foreign melody of their otherworldly tongue, he certainly enjoyed this approach much more, and could say with certainty that she did too.

Still, as she sipped at a fresh cup of peony tea, something a hint sour lingered in her expression. 

“You’re disappointed, Princess?” he guessed. She hesitated for a moment, clearly prepared to deny the accusation, but she sighed instead and leaned back into her chair.

“It’s so silly, I know.” She shook her head with a small grin, as if in disapproval of her own behavior. “I just thought… well, I’m named after a fruit. Surely you have a word for ‘peach’.”

“Yes,” Mario agreed, pulling his hat back onto his head now that he was properly cooled, “in which case you would be Principessa Pesca. But you’re not a peach, are you? You aren’t small and round and fuzzy.”

“No,” Peach agreed in turn, “that would be you.”

The force with which she clapped her hands over her mouth sounded downright painful. 

In the ensuing silence, they gaped at one another, him in astonishment, and her in pure, stupefied horror; the white silk of her gloves only served to make her flustering features look redder still. And that did him in.

The shock of her response melted into pure mirth, and Mario buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking and his breath coming in gasps. “Hey, there’s a new phrase for you to practice!” he offered where he could find air. “You can tell people, ‘Il mio amico Mario è tondo e peloso, come una pesca!’” Somehow, he found himself hoping she actually would. Never had he been so delighted to be 5’1, over two-hundred pounds, and scruffier than his own father. 

And that was before the most wonderful, most heavenly sound he’d ever heard even hit his ears. Once it did—

It was like windchimes on a cold winter morning, singing out into bright and beautiful emptiness. Like laying out on the rooftop of the high-rise he and Luigi once inhabited and watching the stars, forgetting about bills and budgets and feeling for one fleeting instant like he was alone in the universe. She was laughing, really and truly laughing, bent ever so slightly forward under the weight of her amusement, eyes screwed shut and brimming with unshed tears.

Mario forgot his own amusement, even as Peach sputtered apologies and wiped at her eyes. He’d never heard her laugh. Giggle, yes, but nothing like this.

She looked up at him, eyes still brimming and squinting, face still pink with shame and humor. Her light lipstick was smudged at the corners of her mouth, and he noticed now that it stained the palm of her right hand as well. This was, to some extent, the most human she had ever looked.

A dull but urgent pain coursed through Mario’s body, and only then did he realize he’d stopped breathing.

He could die, he thought as he sucked in a breath as quietly as he could manage, he could honestly die here and now, and that thought didn’t worry him nearly as much as it should have.

“...Princess.” Mario scrambled his head for ideas. He needed to hear that laugh again. “What… what would my name be in English?”

Peach looked confused for a moment — right, it wasn’t called English here, though what it was called had escaped his memory — but she connected the dots quickly enough, and her lips began to quiver.

“...Mark?”

"Oddio!" Mario called, almost choking, because a well-meaning but sheltered Brooklynite had once suggested the brothers advertise themselves as Mark and Louis to attract more business and fewer bigots. Had Luigi told her that story?

The laughter began anew, with renewed vigor, and Mario stifled as much of it as he could into his glove just to hear hers better. It was even more wonderful the second time.

“No,” she said as the last of her giggles died down, “I can’t see you as anything but Mario. Your name is perfect as it is.”

“And yours is too!” Glancing down, Mario caught sight of a miniature tart on the tiered tray between them, lemon-flavored, from the looks of it. “You have a lovely name, Princess,” he assured her, plucking the delicacy from its resting spot. All that revelry had made him hungry again. “It needs no translation.”

“I’ve learned today that I especially like hearing you say it.” 

Mario blinked, the tart in his hand suddenly forgotten.

Peach’s eyes locked onto his and commanded his full attention. She dabbed a cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth, correcting her makeup, and smiled softly. A feeling not dissimilar to his earlier air-deprived pain returned, as though his entire abdomen were being tied into knots like a big balloon animal, though he knew for a fact he was still breathing.

“You needn’t be so formal all the time, you know,” she said. When she set her napkin back onto the table, she looked once more as she always did: perfect, as though she were carved of marble. “You are my friend.”

Was that… an invitation? Mario gulped at the thought. He knew full-well how Peach cherished him, and she in turn knew he loved her just as much (and then some, but that she would never learn about, he’d decided long ago). But she was still… and he was just…

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” he finally said, nervously glancing back to his tart, “Princess.”

The silence that fell between them as he chewed wasn’t uncomfortable, per say, but it felt oddly heavy. Something in Peach’s smile changed, and she glanced down as well. But before he had time to analyze what that change was or why it made his chest feel tight all of a sudden, she reached for the teapot sitting beside the tray.

“Now,” she said, leaning forward to fill Mario’s half-empty cup, “walk me through that last one again, please?”

Mario raised an eyebrow, because speaking through a mouthful of lemon curd would be unbecoming. He wondered for a moment if a bout of such poor manners might make Peach laugh again. 

Peach struggled through a few syllables as she refilled her own cup: “Eel-mee-oh, um, ah-mee…”

Mario made a noise of understanding, swallowing the last bite of tart and wiping the crumbs from his mustache. If he couldn’t hear her laugh again yet, he could at least hear her still-untrained accent, and that was almost as good. “Il mio amico Mario,” he started, initiating a call-and-response sort of game. And when she learned what she was saying, she laughed once more, a sound Mario knew he would be addicted to by day’s end.

Maybe one day he could return the boldness she’d shown in teasing him today. Maybe one day he could accept that invitation, could call her la mia amica Peach instead of la principessa, could really and truly feel he deserved her presence, her companionship, her friendship. 

One day, maybe.

[11queensupreme11]

Adoro como Percy é comparado às pérolas, sua beleza e delicadeza são sempre exaltadas lembrando dessa joia preciosa, Apolo a descreveu literalmente como tendo uma aparência moldada diretamente de uma

é ironicamente adorável que sua cama tenha o formato de uma ostra, fazendo alusão a Percy ela mesma sendo uma pérola, pois pérolas só são encontradas dentro de ostras.

Pensando bem, as pérolas devem ser as joias mais raras e preciosas para o ser humano já que é proibido ir ao mar para coletá-las, outras joias como diamantes e esmeraldas podem ser encontradas e até fabricadas artificialmente mas as pérolas não podem pois duvido que Poseidon deixaria pescar uma única ostra, encontrar uma pérola deve ser mais do que raro e o preço de uma deve custar mais do que uma porção de diamantes, rubis e esmeraldas juntos

Na verdade, pensando bem, a falta de acesso ao mar deve ter prejudicado muito a humanidade, a medicina deve ter retrocedido vários anos em relação ao universo PJ porque dezenas de medicamentos e estudos são baseados no mar e nos seus animais

algo que também seria muito afetado seria o setor agrícola já que sem possibilidade de pesca , países, especialmente países como o Japão que devem depender fortemente da pesca para alimentação, teriam que se concentrar na criação de animais e nas plantações, uma grande parte do território do país teria que ser reservada exclusivamente para alimentar sua população e isso poderia fazer com que o país o desenvolvimento fosse prejudicado, uma vez que grande parte dele teria que permanecer intocado sem se deixar evoluir, as terras destinadas à agricultura deveriam estar esgotadas e pobres em nutrientes devido à procura constante.

Seria especialmente pior para um país mais pequeno, uma vez que uma parte considerável dele seria reservado apenas para culturas e pecuária, afetando assim o tamanho da população que não conseguia se reproduzir muito, este seria um bom motivo (além dos óbvios massacres anuais devido ao humor inconstante dos deuses) para o mundo ROR população seja tão pequena em comparação com a população mundial da PJ

google translate froze for a bit when i tried to translate this LMAOO 💀💀💀

here's the translation for anyone curious

OH I LOVE THIS ANALYSIS

did you know that most of the pearl-related jewelry sold at stores are cultured pearls?? as in, pearls grown in pearl farms through human intervention? natural pearls grow in the wild (as in, actually in the seas/oceans) and are EXTREMELY rare and becoming rarer every year. because of this, they are usually 10x more expensive than cultured pearls we see in stores.

^ and that's in OUR universe (or pjo universe), so imagine how much more expensive pearls are in ror verse 💀💀💀💀

which makes apollo's compliment towards percy's beauty 100000x more flattering, not that she's even aware of it cuz she's so used to seeing a bunch of rich ppl walk around new york dripping in pearls. hell, even maria di angelo had one in that flashback scene in tlo 😂😂😂

imagine poseidon finding out that people in her og universe are walking around with PEARL jewelry, he'd be so pissed like "that does NOT belong to you, filthy mortals 😠🔱"

i thought about the agriculture thing (specifically most asian countries that rely on seafood), BUT I HADN'T EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT THE REPERCUSSIONS ON MEDICINE????

but YES you are so right, now that i'm thinking about it, ror universe population (in midgard at least) is probably sooo small compared to the pjo verse 😭😭😭😭

(but hey, at least there's no overpopulation issue like what we're having)

[meanwhilewvba]

Joy's First Day pt. 2

by @anotherwvba

Monday, 9:56am

“Miss Swan?” A middle-aged man in a suit stepped out of a small conference room, Joy close behind, “Joy’s wrapped up all her new hire paperwork and is ready to go.”

“Excellent, Zach,” an easy smile crossed Melodie’s features as she stood. “Ow… we really need to get new chairs for the waiting rooms around here. These are stiff as a board.”

“You’ll have to take that up with Gabby,” Zach chuckled. “Something about proper posture and other stuff he said in French. I don’t know.” Zach then looked to Joy, “Now, Miss Pesca, be sure to log onto the company training server and complete your orientation videos before the end of the week. I.T. will issue you a laptop for you to use here and at home, just be sure to clock in online if you watch any of the videos away outside of your regular hours.”

“Sure thing, Mister Allan,” Joy answered crisply. Thank goodness this was normal, she thought, allowing herself to relax a little, Just like any other job I’ve had. Maybe that altercation I saw getting broken up was just a one-off.

“Miss Pesca? Did you hear me?” Zach asked.

Joy shook her head quickly, clearing cobwebs, then sheepishly smiled, “I’m sorry, Mister Allen. I was just thinking. You were saying?”

“Firstly, no more ‘Mister Allen’, please. Makes me feel old,” he smiled as he continued. “I was just saying that my business card is tucked in the front cover of your employee handbook. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out. Alright?” Joy nodded as Zach extended his hand, “Welcome to the WVBA.”

Joy nodded her thanks with a smile as Melodie gestured toward the door leading to the hallway, “If you’re ready, Joy, we can head to I.T. and get your laptop and credentials squared away.”

“Sounds great, Melodie,” Joy said, opening the door to the hall. Then just as quickly…

“EEEEEK!!!”

Scared out of her wits, Joy jumped back so far and so hard, she nearly bowled Melodie over. Melodie quickly stepped in front of her and opened the door, looking around quickly. When she looked down, her shoulders slumped in seeming resignation.

Melodie turned back to Joy who was now catching her breath. “Joy, are you alright? I’m so sorry. I promise this doesn’t happen that often.”

“Wh-what d-did I just s-see?” Joy asked, clearly still rattled.

“Those,” Melodie opened the door, pointing to the small, furry creatures running down the hallway, “are squirrels.”

Joy slowly moved to Melodie’s side, cocking her head, “Squirrels? We have a squirrel infestation?”

“Oh… no, it’s not an infestation,” Melodie’s voice was calm and steady, trying to calm Joy. “Those squirrels… and that beaver… are Bear Hugger’s pets.”

“Umm,” Joy squinted her eyes in puzzlement, “is the beaver dragging something?”

Glancing down the hallway, Melodie’s eyes widened as her head followed a bouncing box down the hall. “Crap! Come on, Joy. I might need a hand.”

Melodie takes off and Joy quickly follows, “Is that a… boombox?”

“Not just any boombox,” Melodie answered. “It’s Disco Kid’s boombox. Now, hurry! Catch that beaver!”

To Be Continued

[firstandlastdraft]

Best Purchases of 2023

Hereu Pesca sandals in cream: I've seen these on the internet and didn't really think about them. But then, by happenstance, I saw them in person at Covet + Lou and was enamored. The craftsmanship is incredible, the silhouette was streamlined but the sole substantial, and they were soft and wearable straight out of the box. These shoes ruined me with the revelation that sometimes you do get what you pay for. I bought them from Matches and got a rubber sole attached for protection, and then wore them happily spring, summer, and fall. I loved them so much I thought about buying them in other colors.

Lauren Manoogian alpaca pants: I've only had these for two weeks but I'm a new convert to the cult of Lauren Manoogian. The cut is somehow elegant despite having (the slightest) drop-crotch and (the most subtle) harem style opening, and the brownish beige looks chic, not sad or boring. They were a real gamble (final sale on TRR), but now they are my celebrity loungewear.

LL Bean wicked good shearling slippers: Plush shearling, thick and supportive sole, a perfect fit, and so damn cute to look at. These are the platonic ideal of slippers - I don't want moccasins, I don't want wool or faux shearling that's going to get pill-y and dirty looking. They will get better with age.

Lindquist red cardholder (gift): The perfect size, wonderfully supple leather and the most cheerful shade of red. I asked Eugene for this for my birthday, and even though it is now showing some wear and tear, I'm still pleased when I look at it. The subtle branding for the IYKYK indie brand makes it feel less basic.

There were a lot of other workhorse purchases (the Hanes boys' white t-shirts, the M.Gemi block heeled ankle boots, the Reformation pleated trouser, the Building Block cylinder bag, the navy wool sweater purchased in Scotland, the black Re/done jeans that got hemmed weirdly but still looks good from behind, the heirloom-worthy Jamie Haller loafers...). However, I think the four above stand out because they feel irreplaceable to me. They are either category-defying, or the rare "best-of" version that I really don't think I can top. In an ideal world, I wouldn't buy anything that I didn't feel that way about, but it's hard to go without a pair of black jeans (or white t-shirts, or casual sneakers, or black ankle boots, etc.) just because you haven't found "the holy grail". But in 2024, I want to keep these "feels irreplaceable" standards in mind because I really would like to settle for nothing less.

[fursasaida]

the thing about learning a language formally is the vocabulary you learn is extremely classed, not just within that language’s context (however big or small) but geopolitically across languages. (I mean, even if you learn it informally/by immersion, what version of it you learn will still be classed, raced, and otherwise shaped by the context in which you learn it, but that will be more idiosyncratic and is inevitable in a different kind of way.)

for example, when you take Arabic in a US university, you learn a lot of political vocabulary very early. some of this seems relatively innocuous, like “United Nations” and “president.” but you also learn “army,” “explosion,” “clashes,” “demonstration,” ��terrorist,” “refugee,” etc. not all in your first semester or anything, and you learn lots of normal, everyday words too. but i think it’s really telling that some of the words i’ve known longest in Arabic and never forget or confuse are these kinds of words, whereas I can never keep straight which is which between “fried” and “grilled.” and this is not only down to US universities--for example, part of why I’ll never forget “vote,” “coup,” and “clash” is due to living in Cairo in 2012-2013; those were everyday words you used to talk to people because of what was going on. but in general, your formal US Arabic education will assume that you are learning this language for political reasons and you want to be able to read that kind of news and talk about violence and formal politics. I think the one and only time I’ve ever been assigned an article to read in Arabic that was about the US was in the class I took this past summer, because that teacher is a very smart, critical guy and I find it very likely he did it on purpose. (it was awesome!)

Spanish education here, on the other hand (in my experience), assumes your interest is cultural and you will probably be a tourist at some point. I learned a lot of words about, e.g., art, literature, history, and food. like, have I ever needed the word for “Visigoth”? no! but I sure did learn it and I will remember it till I die!  you do not get the same sort of political vocabulary at all. the closest I ever came to that was when I was taking not a Spanish class, but a linguistics class about Spanish, taught in Spanish, so we were discussing the politics of different dialects etc. but obviously the assumptions and interests built into that class were very different from “Spanish education.”

this is all by way of saying: I’m reading a Spanish article right now about shipwrecks from Senegal, and it only now dawned on me, having studied or spoken Spanish for 26 years, why “pescado” is a past participle. I learned that word (”fish”) in isolation, as a food word, with no connection to labor or production or anything else. and I learned it early enough that I’ve never really thought about it. but this article is talking about the death of the fishing industry that pushes people to migrate, and so of course it used the verb pescar and the noun for the action of fishing (pesca). and I was like, oh my god. the literal word for “fish” is just “that which is fished.” it’s derived from the verb, not the other way around. that is 1) ontologically a different concept of “fish” from English (and Arabic), which is diverting in itself, and 2) BLAZINGLY OBVIOUS through the basic morphology of pescado, but something that the classed assumptions through which I was taught Spanish made all but un-noticeable.

anyway commodity fetishism extends to formal language instruction, is what I’m saying. the assumption in this case is that a student might want to say “fish” to refer to an animal or to order a meal, and that she has no reason to think about fishing.

here’s the article by the way, if anyone wants. it’s really good. Viaje a Mbour, la costa senegalesa de los naufragios olvidados: “Este lugar está muerto”

[fire-the-headcanons]

Qrow surrendered first, his arm darting out from under the blanket to snag a cookie before retreating out of sight. Raven held out only four minutes longer.

It took repeated promises that they were far better with glasses of milk, but eventually both of them were sitting up and almost back to normal.

“Have you… ever… had cookies before…?” Tai asked, regretting every word as he said them.

Raven didn’t look up. “Of course we have, we’re not savages.“ 

Ah! Fully back to normal, then!

Follow the Beacon Summer—Die

[Link to Masterpost]

[In honor of no episode this week for First members, have the extra chapter I promised! Come to think of it, I might have only mentioned I was gonna do this on AO3. Whoops]

Forty minutes later, Summer returned with a steaming tray piled high with a double batch of chocolate chip cookies. She might have gone a little bit overboard, but what kind of leader wouldn’t brown butter for her team? Somehow it had been an entire month, and she hadn’t baked anything yet.

‘Somehow’. Homework. Homework was why.

Tai stared at the massive pile with a greedy gleam in his eye, looking for a moment like his namesake.  "Those smell amazing.“ Xiao Longs were famous for hoarding two things: family members and good recipes.

"Game set up?” Summer asked, tipping a slightly irresponsible number of treats onto a paper plate before setting the rest to cool on her desk.

“Uh… not really…” he grabbed some food with one hand and pointed at the twin-shaped lumps with the other. Neither of them had moved. 

“I told you, that’s what the cookies are for.” The plate went on the nightstand between the Taupes’ beds, within easy reach. Summer settled down at Qrow’s desk, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

It didn’t take long for the smell to infiltrate their fortresses, that was the magic of brown butter. Qrow surrendered first, his arm darting out from under the blanket to snag a cookie before retreating out of sight. Raven held out only four minutes longer.

It took repeated promises that they were far better with glasses of milk, but eventually both of them were sitting up and almost back to normal.

“Have you… ever… had cookies before…?” Tai asked, regretting every word as he said them.

Raven didn’t look up. “Of course we have, we’re not savages." 

Ah! Fully back to normal, then!

"But we’ve never had real Valian chocolate chip cookies before and these are amazing,” Qrow added.

“All right, time for step two of my evil plan!” Summer dropped a controller into each of their laps.

Raven set down her glass of milk to inspect it properly. “How do we play?”

“Well, it’s like a normal board game—uh… roll dice, move around a board—” Tai began.

“Dice?” Qrow stared at his controller.

“It’s a virtual dice.”

“Die,” Summer chirped. 

The other three froze, staring, various stages of shock and confusion on their faces. She threw her hands up in exasperation. “The singular form of dice is die!”

Understanding dawned, and they relaxed. Though, the Taupes scowled at each other for some reason*. That pseudo-telepathy thing, where twins can have an entire conversation just by looking at each other? Very real. Summer and Tai were slowly learning to tune it out.

“Right. Okay. What was I saying? Move around a board, and earn coins. And then sometimes you play minigames to earn more coins. The first person to buy every color of Dust shard wins, at least on most maps. I’ll pick an easy one.”

“I—uh—I have to—” Qrow stammered, starting to set down the controller.

Raven glared at him, for just a moment, but suddenly all the air was gone from the room.

“Uh…” Tai stumbled for a way to smooth things over. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to…?" 

"Thanks.” Qrow spoke as tonelessly as Raven had when they’d first walked in, and hugged his knees to his chest, leaving the controller on the bed next to him.

The Taupes had gotten less weird as they settled in, but then occasionally something like this would still happen. Each time, it was Tai who made things at least slightly better. And each time, Summer was at a complete loss.

“Okay, Raven, you can pick your character.” She chose Fantasma, so Summer and Tai picked their usual Pesca and Pomodoro.

“All right, now we roll to see who goes first,” Tai said. “Just press the blue button.” Raven pressed it a little harder than necessary, and her die stopped at three. “Okay, so if someone rolls lower than a you, they’ll go ahead during the game—”

Summer rolled a 5, and Tai rolled a 4.

“Hey, beginner’s luck.”

“Don’t get too competitive,” she warned. The neighbors might have knocked on her mom’s door during a few heated games in the past… 

“You’re the competitive one.” He stuck his tongue out before turning back to Raven. “So now we’re actually playing. Go ahead and roll again to see how far you move.”

Raven pressed the button again, a little more gently this time, and rolled a 7.

“Hey, pretty nice! The max is 14, so…” her character came to a stop on a red space and dropped three coins. “…oh. Forgot about that.”

She almost smiled. “What were you saying about beginner’s luck?”

“It happens to everybody,” Tai said, taking his turn and getting a 5. “Oh, see, this is a minigame space. There’s a bunch of different ones, and they all have different rules—here, in this one, there’s seven crystals. One is a Dust shard that’ll explode and make you lose coins, five are rock candy that give you one coin, and one’s a gemstone that gives you a bunch of coins.”

Raven frowned as Pomodoro vanished in a poof of rainbow smoke, setting Tai at zero. “I thought the point of the game was to collect Dust shards.”

“Not with your face!” Summer cackled, rolling. “HA! Fourteen! Gotcha, Tai!”

“Dangit.”

“What’s that space do?”

“This is a mystery square,” she explained, and then cried out in dismay as a little cartoon Beowolf jumped out and attacked Pesca. “DANGIT! Lost a turn.”

Tai leaned over to fake-whisper to Raven. “I told you she was the competitive one.”

Next Chapter: Raven—Qrow Wins

[*Twinspeak translation: Raven: Especially when you’re around Qrow: Shut your stupid face up]

[glitterslag]

Congrats on nearing 1k!! Maybe a little soft beekeeper! Walter on how he started having a passion for bees? ❤️

Walter was born and lived all his life in the capital, and he fancied himself quite the urbanite. London, for a long time, was his whole universe, and he never thought much about the rural customs of his rustic, country-dwelling counterparts. 

That was, until he accepted a job in a boy’s boarding school in Wiltshire, where he stayed for two terms. He was paid quite handsomely, for a young art master, and the town was nice, but he had to admit he found the people to be rather quaint. It was there that Walter became familiar with the rural custom of “Telling The Bees”.

It was imperative, Walter was told, that the town’s bees must be kept well informed of any births and deaths that occurred in the community, as well as marriages, and various other gossip-worthy events. It was believed that the penalty for not doing so would be something disastrous - like the bees leaving their hive, or ceasing the production of honey. 

Nothing like this went on in London, Walter remembered thinking at the time. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if London had bees. They would surely be killed in the thick cloud of smog that saturated the entire city. He became rather fascinated with this little rustic ritual, and made a promise with himself to find out if there were bees at home as soon as he got back. 

Of course, it was a promise he didn’t keep. At least, not right away. On arriving  back after the school year was finished, Walter found himself consumed by the hubbub of London again, and quickly forgot all notions of anthropomorphic bees and idle village gossip. 

Walter was in the highlight of his career. He was moving quickly upward in the world of art - and in the social rankings to boot - and there was a time, for a year or so, where it seemed that there was an opera, a show or a gallery opening to attend nearly every single night. He wouldn’t have given it up for anything. London had, again, become his entire universe, and he could never have dreamt of residing anywhere else. 

Then he lost Pesca and his mother in the same year. 

His mother, by then being quite old, did not come as so much of a shock, but Pesca? It was by sheer accident. The man, having had a couple too many glasses of wine (as he often would) was standing out with him on the balcony, recounting some tall story and talking so very animatedly with his hands (as he often did) and, as he was coming to the crux of his fantastical tale, had taken one small step backwards, and, (with a great flourish) fallen straight off the fourth story balcony. 

Walter stayed with his sister and her husband a little while, just down the river in Dartford, but the woman had six children, and soon his presence became a burden. And he could sense the village’s pity. 

“Almost thirty and no wife?” They would whisper in the streets after he passed. Poor thing. He is all alone in the world. And what a shame - with a face as handsome as that. And all that money…” 

A few weeks were all he could stand. 

When he returned, however, things were no better. If Dartford had been too small, it was as if, all of a sudden, overnight even, London had become far too big. 

Too big to recognise anybody in the street. 

Too big for him to feel this isolated.

Walter took to wandering Kensal Green in his afternoons, whether it be to visit his mother or the dead Pesca, to sketch and make etchings of the gravestones, or to simply pass the time. Many an onlooker must have thought him a ghost himself, he often mused, so aimless was his wandering from grave to grave. He wasn’t eating much in those weeks.

One  afternoon, when he had come to check on the garden he had been cultivating atop his mother and father’s plot, he noticed that the pansies he had planted the winter before were beginning to come into bloom, and that all around them, there were droves of bees buzzing and bumbling about the place. It gave him a fleeting flicker of joy to watch them going about their business, and a sense of hope to realise that it would soon be spring. 

As the weeks drew on, he found himself visiting the cemetery more for the sake of seeing the bees than to see his dead. They were calming to watch, and to listen to. Something about being surrounded by that deep, rhythmic hum had a very soothing effect - an almost holistic quality. 

He began to develop an interest in the little creatures, spending a fair bit of time in the library researching them. He was no scholar, but he had always enjoyed learning, and if a particular topic caught his interest, he could lose himself in book for hours on end. 

At first it was only something to keep him occupied - or rather, preoccupied from the thought of his recent bereavements. However, as he felt the fire of passion slowly start to consume him, stopped his excessive drinking and began to cultivate his hobby instead… It was like coming back to life. Like being frozen for such a very long time, only to find yourself slowly thawing, piece by piece. 

He became a member of the Royal Horticultural Society. He spent his days reading almanacs and botanical encyclopaedias. He researched as much as he could about the practise of beekeeping, and starting attending talks at the British Beekeepers Association in town. 

Finally, when he felt ready, he made a final trip back to Kensal Green, asked for his mother’s blessing, (which he believed she silently gave) cleared her banked account, and left the city. 

London no longer served him. He knew he had to move on from his tragedy, and start a new life. Somewhere where nobody could stare and whisper about him. Somebody where nobody would know his name. Somewhere he could be quite alone with his grief, and only have to speak to people if he so chose. 

That’s how he came to find himself here. 

[hopelesslovebug]

it's not detailed but this is how mista met pesca

pesca backstory is under the cut (you don't have to read it but i would appreciate it)

(i copy-pasted it from my insta stories btw)

ok so like

his mother had peripartum depression but she refused to see a therapist because she isn't "crazy" thought that maybe starting a new page would be better for her.asked for a divorce and she had won custody over pesca and moved from pompeii to naples (mind you pesca was only two at that time and if his dad was given the chance he would have been a great father).of course all of this isn't going to stop her mental instability and she didn't get better,she couldn't take care of pesca or herself anymore.one day she went for work and pesca came before her and he had to live the next few years alone now,he wishes that she will come back (she will never)

shortly after he was hit with the stand arrow (i'm going to remain silent about this because i want to make it into a comic) he was kicked out of school because let's face it school isn't nice to children who can't pay it any money

fast forward to pesca being 13 and he accidentally got involved into mafia matters and people started calling him "the freak with no name" and so like mista went to see what's up with all that talk and when he found out that the "freak" was a kid he felt pity (also also this is something that i hc but i feel like giorno would make it clear that no kid would would get involved in the mafia in any way possible after him because... it's complicated i'm not going to explain it -not now anyway-) they normally would sent any child they find into a specific orphanage but you know.... narancia....and

..ehe...aha...you get what i mean

also it was intended that pesca backstory to be similar to the extra backstory that i gave to mista (you don't have to read it but if you want to understand what i mean you have to read it)

i wanted these two to be similar

also also an another reason mista wanted to raise pesca is because i believe that he really looked up to bucciarati and he really wishes he could bring comfort to another person the same way bucciarati brought comfort to him

[berniesrevolution]

One of the most surprising things about the Democratic Socialists of America is that there are democratic socialists in America. That was perhaps under the radar until Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez started making headlines. On a recent episode of The Gist, Mike Pesca spoke with Maria Svart, the national director of the Democratic Socialists of America. This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Let’s go to 2011 and 2012. Paint a picture of what a DSA national meeting looks like, how many people show up, what’s the demo, who’s involved.

So let’s just say that in 2015, when we had our national convention and we had 125 people, we were thrilled. DSA meetings were much smaller than they are now. The New York City DSA now has over 4,000 members, and they have hundreds of people coming to general membership meetings. In 2011, we might get 20 people to come to a meeting. … It was mostly baby boomers.

Do you find that you’re converting mostly Democrats?

Probably a handful of Republicans, and certainly many Democrats are enraged about the Democratic Party and its leadership—the Wall Street Democrats—and their frankly complete inability to stand up to Trump and unwillingness to do what it will take to win. But frankly, we’re reaching out to people who aren’t Democrats or Republicans.

When we organize, and we go out there to canvas for our candidates, when we talk about tenants’ rights and landlords, we’re actually deliberately trying to reach poor and working people, and many of them have stepped out of the political system because they don’t feel that the Democrats are actually helping them. So it’s not so much trying to go after the elusive middle or bring over the Republicans so much as [reaching] the about 46 percent of people who didn’t vote in the last presidential election and are frustrated.

Where does DSA differ with the Greens?

DSA has one foot in the Democratic Party and one foot outside of the Democratic Party. We don’t see ballot lines as a question of political purity; we see them as a question of strategy and tactics, and we know that the political system is rigged against anybody other than the Democrats and the Republicans. So rather than spinning our wheels, we’re sort of experimenting.

We have candidates running on the Green Party line and people are running as Democrats, and they’re all members of DSA. We are organizing people, and we are giving people the tools to analyze their local community and decide what’s strategic, about which ballot line to run on, and how to build an organized base of politically aware people to just be smart about it rather than dogmatic.

I would say the primary difference between us and the Greens is that … they’re a political party, and we are not a political party, and we’re trying to build power both in the political system across different parties and also outside the political system. So we have our Abolish ICE campaign. We have tenants organizing. We have the Medicare-for-all campaign. We have all this other work that we’re doing, which will last well beyond the election cycle.

Define what democratic socialism is.

We believe that people should have the ability to live a dignified life and that it’s possible in the wealthiest country in the history of the world. Democratic socialism is the idea that we make the economy run, and so we should control it. We should own and control our workplaces. We should actually have real democratic control over public investment decisions. Other aspects of our society should be run democratically. …

The employees should own workplaces. Why shouldn’t we have a voice in how we manage things? So if we had a union, we might say, “You pay us about 10 percent of what we produce. We want 20 percent.” With socialism, we would say, “Actually, we should run the bike shop. We should own the bike shop. We do the work. We know how it works. We should be actually invested in it and control it.”

When I talk about public investment, there are certain things that shouldn’t be left to the market and do need to be democratically controlled.

Nationalized.

Right.

If you own the bake shop, if I own the bike shop—Mike’s Bikes, Maria’s Muffins—we are individuals, and we say we have this great idea, and we start it, and it goes pretty well, and we’re the only employees. Then we hire someone else, and the profits rise, and we’re good to our employees. At what point are we allowed to stop? Or are we mandated that we stop owning our business?

People often don’t know how to take democratic socialism, because we don’t actually believe we have a full blueprint. We believe that we need to make the road by walking, so we could talk about: What does it look like today? What would we like to have it tomorrow or in five years? The long-term vision is that we actually have true democratic control, but we can’t exactly articulate what that looks like, because people have to decide.

There are many economists who have thought about this. There are plenty of people who have written whole books on it who are members of DSA, but it all comes back down to this principle that we should control our labor, and we should control the fruits of our labor, because people do the work. People should own their workplaces. …

The thing about DSA is we’re what is called a big-tent organization. So we have some people who would be satisfied with Scandinavian social democracy.

Are those the moderates within your organization?

Yes. That’s the idea that nobody should be starving in the streets, but we could have a mixed economy, and that’s a way to tame capitalism.

A lot of other folks in DSA would say that if you look at the social-democratic countries of the world, and other countries that have experimented, the market continually undermines public provision and social-democratic reforms. That’s because the nature of the capitalist system is that the drive for profit is not about individual people being greedy; it’s about the fact that if you are a good employer and you are competing against an employer who is not, who doesn’t really care about his workers, you inherently must start exploiting your workers to squeeze as much out of them so that you can reinvest, because you’re competing against somebody who doesn’t have scruples. It’s the nature of the system, that there needs to be constant profit that can be then reinvested and used to push into new markets.

(Continue Reading)

[mirkodalmontemartelli]

These are quartz beads about 8mm each .... I thought of creating an imitation of salmon eggs, naturally weighted ... I would like to try to use them in the lake .. .. in particular on the occasion of the next catch at Lake Nembia .. what do you think?!?! Will it work ?! Queste sono perle di quarzo di circa 8 mm ciascuna .... Ho pensato di creare un'imitazione delle uova di salmone, appesantite naturalmente... mi piacerebbe provare ad usarle nel lago.. .. in particolare in occasione della prossima pescata al Lago di Nembia.. che ne dite?! ?! Funzionerà ?! Mirko Dalmonte Martelli WildFly Fly Fishing Adventures #flyfishing #troutsflyfishing #endorsedbymothernature #savetheplanet #tuscany #trentinoaltoadige #photography #photo #mirkodalmontemartelli #bologna #flytying #peche #angler #pesca #wildfly #flyfishing #appennino #trout #savethenatives #fishing #italian #italianstyle #dryfly #dryflies #pescaamosca #english #flytyingporn #flytyingaddict #troutflies #fluefiske https://www.instagram.com/p/CWi0IBQKLct/?utm_medium=tumblr

[realwobbler]

1. ENGLISH/ 2. DEUTSCH (s.u.)/ 3. ESPAÑOL (ver más adelante)/ 4. БЪЛГАРСКИ (вж. по-долу) 1. Georgi Atanasov from Kazanlak, Bulgaria, sent us pictures of a nice asp with weight 3 kg/ 6.6 lbs and size 67 cm/ 26" that he caught in the Danube River on the Retro Silver crankbait: http://www.realwobbler.com/en/retro-lures-/211-crankbait-retro-ultra-light-silver-xs-8.html. Here is his story about what happened: "I was fishing with my cousin on the Danube River. We went to our less well-known place but we still had results there! At dusk I caught just a pike of 0'400 g/ 14 Oz. on the Retro Silver wobbler. At 7:00 the following morning while I was drinking coffee and smoking my cigarette I noticed active predator that were chasing persistently small fish. I thought they were pikes. They were striking in a large radius along the bank. I took the rod and started casting from about 50 m up and was going slowly down to our place. There was no bite although it was striking a lot at my feet but it was very deep and I could not see what fish it was. I have already reached our spot between the dropshots. I talked to Yanko and we decided to pack and leave. The fish kept chasing. We agreed that he packs while I keep casting. On the second cast between the dropshots themselves there was a powerful strike and a pause for 2-3 seconds. Then the fish sharply swam up the stream and pulled the drag about 5 m/ 16'. It stopped pulling and I began to reel again and it pushed the rod down twice but could not pull the drag again. After about 30 seconds of pulling in my direction it showed up like a shark! First one big fin and then the whole asp! Right upstream! It pressed down again for a few more seconds and went out the same way without jumping or spinning around. I started pulling it again and it came without even realizing what was going on and Yanko took it with the net. The attack was right in front of me to the other shore, about 30 m/ 100' away and somewhere at the 25th m/ 80th feet it bit. It was very cool!" 2. Georgi Atanassov aus Kazanlak, Bulgarien, schickte uns Bilder von Rapfen mit Gewicht 3 kg und Länge 67 cm, den er in der Donau auf einen silbernen Wobbler Retro: http://www.realwobbler.com/de/-retro-wobbler/211-wobbler-retro-ultra-light-silver-xs-8.html gefangen hat. Hier ist was Georgi darüber erzählt: "Ich war angeln mit meinem Cousin an der Donau. Wir gingen zu unserem weniger bekannten Ort, aber wir hatten immerhin Resultate dort gehabt! In der Abenddämmerung biss lediglich ein Hecht 0'400 auf den silbernen Retro Wobbler. Am nächsten Morgen um 7:00 Uhr als ich Kaffee trank und meine Zigarette rauchte bemerkte ich aktive Räuber die beharrlich kleine Fische jagten. Ich dachte sie wären Hechte. Sie haben in einem großen Umkreis dem Ufer entlang attackiert. Ich nahm die Rute und fing an zu werfen von ungefähr 50 Metern auf und ich näherte mich langsam an unseren Platz. Es gab keinen Biss obwohl es zu meinen Füßen sehr auffällig jagte, aber es war sehr tief und ich konnte nicht sehen welcher Fisch es war. Ich habe unseren Angelplatz zwischen den Dropshots bereits erreicht. Ich habe mit Yanko gesprochen und wir beschlossen zu packen und zu gehen. Der Fisch jagte weiter. Wir einigten uns, dass er packt, während ich weiterhin werfe. Beim zweiten Wurf zwischen den Dropshots gab es einen kraftvollen Schlag und eine Pause für 2-3 Sekunden. Dann schwamm der Rapfen scharf entgegen der Strömung hinauf und zog etwa 5 m. Er hörte auf zu ziehen und ich fing einzuholen und er schob die Rute zweimal nach unten konnte aber nicht weiter schwimmen. Nach ungefähr 30 Sekunden in welchen ich den Fisch in meine Richtung zog hat er sich gezeigt und sah wie ein Hai aus! Zuerst eine große Flosse und dann der ganze Rapfen! Direkt stromaufwärts! Er drückte noch ein paar Sekunden weiter und ging auf die gleiche Weise an die Oberfläche ohne zu springen oder sich herumzudrehen. Ich fing an ihn wieder zu ziehen und er kam ohne zu merken was vor sich ging und Yanko nahm ihn mit dem Netz. Der Angriff war direkt vor mir zum anderen Ufer etwa 30 m entfernt und irgendwo auf dem 25 m biss er. Es war toll!"

3. Georgi Atanasov de Kazanlak, Bulgaria, nos envió fotos de aspio con peso de 3 kg y 67 cm de tamaño, lo que capturó en el Danubio al crankbait Retro Silver: http://www.realwobbler.com/es/senuelos-retro/211-crankbait-retro-ultra-light-silver-xs-8.html. Aquí está su historia sobre lo que sucedió: "Con mi primo fuimos a pescar en el río Danubio. Fuimos a nuestro lugar menos conocido, pero teníamos resultados allí en el pasado. Al atardecer picó un pequeño lucio de 0'400 al señuelo Retro plata. A las 7:00 de la mañana siguiente, mientras tomaba café y fumaba mi cigarrillo, noté depredadores activos que perseguían constantamente peces pequeños. Pensé que eran lucios. Estaban atacando en gran radio a lo largo del banco. Cogí la caña y comencé a lanzar desde aproximadamente 50 metros más arriba y lentamente bajaba hacia nuestro lugar. No hubo ninguna picada pero fue atacando mucho a mis pies pero la profundidad era grande y no pude ver qué pez era. Ya he llegado a nuestro lugar entre ambas cañas de pesca a fondo. Hablamos con Yanko y decidimos irnos ya. Los depredadores seguían persiguiendo. Acordamos que el va a recoger todo mientras yo sigo lanzando. En el segundo lanzamiento entre las cañas de fondo, hubo un poderoso golpe y una pausa durante 2-3 segundos. Luego se movió bruscamente por la corriente y avanzó unos cinco metros. Se detuvo y yo comencé a recuperar de nuevo y el empujó la caña hacia abajo dos veces pero no pudo tirar más. Después de aproximadamente 30 segundos tirando hacia mi dirección apareció como un tiburón! Una gran aleta, y luego él también! Contra el corriente. Empujó de nuevo hacia abajo pero solo por unos segundos y salió de la misma manera sin saltar sin girarse. Empecé a recuperar otra vez, y él vino sin siquiera saber lo que estaba pasando y Yanko lo sacó con la sacadera. El ataque fue justo delante de mí en la otra orilla, a unos 30 metros de distancia, y picó a unos 25 metros de distancia. Fue genial! 4. Георги Атанасов от Казанлък ни изпрати снимки на хубав распер с тегло 3 кг и размер 67 см, който е уловил на река Дунав на сребрист воблер Ретро: http://www.realwobbler.com/en/retro-lures-/211-crankbait-retro-ultra-light-silver-xs-8.html. Ето и неговият разказ за случилото се: "С братовчед ми бяхме за риба на река Дунав. Отидохме на наше не толкова добре познато място но все пак сме имали резултати там! Привечер само едно щукле 0'400 горе долу хванах на сребристия воблер. В 07:00 на следващата сутрин докато пия кафе и си пуша цигарата забелязах активен хищник който упорито гонеше малките рибки. Помислих че са щуки. Гонеше в голям радиус до където ми виждат очите по брега. Хванах аз въдицата и започнах от около 50 метра нагоре и леко по леко слизам към нашето местенце. Нямаше удар а гонеше зверски буквално пред краката ми но дълбочината е голяма и не мога да преценя рибата. Вече стигнах на мястото ни между въдиците на дъно. Поговорихме със Янко и решихме да сгъваме и да си ходим. Продължаваше да гони. Разбрахме се да събира той багажа въдици и едно друго а аз да похвърлям още. На второто хвърляне между самите дънарки имаше мощно закачане и застой 2-3 сек. След това рязко тръгна по течението и разви около пет метра аванс. Спря да развива и аз го почнах да го навивам а той пак натисна на два три пъти надолу пръчката но не можа да изсвири аванса. След около 30 ск дърпане към моя посока се показа отгоре като акула! Една голяма перка а после и той. Право срещу течението. Натисна пак надолу но пак няколко секунди и излезе по същия начин без да пляска отгоре без да скача без да се върти. Почнах пак да го дърпам и той си дойде без дори да разбере какво става и Янко го кепна. Ударът беше право напред срещу мен към другия бряг на около 30 метра и именно някъде на 25 тия удари. Беше много яко!" #asp #fishing #aspfishing #aspius #angling #realwobbler #lures #retrolures #lurefishing #customlures #handmadelures #woodenlures #crankbait #swimbaits #angeln #spinnfischen #rapfen #kunstköder #wobbler #pesca #señuelos #aspio #pescadeportiva #риболов #воблер #распер #спининг #рибалка #спиннинг #жерех

[redbeanboi]

Scacchi

Rating: M (nothing particularly crazy, but it’s still related to BBP)

Characters: OC’s: Giuseppe Giovanna, Vittorio Pesca, plus a few extras. Mentioned: Don Giorno Giovanna/Reader, Fugo, Narancia, Mista.

Summary: Giuseppe learns how to play the game.

Alternatively: Pesca doesn’t approve of sheltering who he considers to be the “heir” to Giorno’s empire and takes matters into his own hands.

Word count: 1.8k 

A/N: One of several Giuseppe-related OCtober writings that I’ll be sharing in the next few weeks. This takes place about 15-16 years after BBP, so Giuseppe is a teenager and it would basically be taking place around his “part” (as some of you have come to call it :-D ). For context: Giorno and the Signora have discovered that against their wishes, their son has managed to secretly join Passione (more on that in another snippet, and know that Giuseppe’s “uncle’s” aren’t any more pleased). Unfortunately they all have to deal with some other mess happening in the city, and the only relative around to spend time with Giuseppe is Pesca, who I have yet to fully introduce in BBP. I hope you’ll enjoy this interaction between them! 

some translation notes;

trisoru (’tesoro’ in Siciliano), Matri/Patri and Matre/Patre (mother and father, in Siciliano and Napulitano, respectively), Se (yes, Siciliano), La Famigghia (the family, Siciliano), prozio (great-uncle in Italiano: referring to Don Arnaldo from BBP).

One of the soldati entered the room, Giuseppe in tow. “I hope your trip was pleasant, Signore Pesca. Things are a bit… disorderly here at the moment,” he added, casting a wary, sideways glance at his charge.

Giuseppe’s greeting was less effusive. Passione’s princeling was in a sullen mood, furious that he had been ordered to stay home while his father and trusted men sought out the current threat. “You need to stay home, where it’s safe, trisoru,” you had insisted. “These are unsettling times.”

None of this satisfied Giuseppe, Pesca noted. Perfect on many accounts, but still a child for all that, still inexperienced in the ways of this world. “Giuseppe,” he called. His nephew looked over sure enough. “Seeing that we’re stuck here together, perhaps you’ll be a dear nephew and entertain me to a thrilling game of scacchi? For old time’s sake.”

Giuseppe fixed him with a wary stare. “Chess? My homework sounds much more interesting.”

“Not interesting to you? I suppose it’s only natural when you’ve never beat me. Do continue with your studies.” Pesca raised his book, smirking in safety behind the pages. 

His comments pricked Giuseppe’s pride, just as he expected. “Very well then, Uncle. Fetch the board and pieces—this time I mean to actually beat you.”

They set the chessboard on a wooden table in the center of the room, a handsome piece of furniture that was undoubtedly carved and toiled over by some craftsman in the city. Pesca knew his cousin-in-law liked to patron the local artisans. Giuseppe had already moved his first piece on the board—’Grob’s Attack,’ Pesca thought with amusement. Most would consider it a mark of daring youth, a move that was as bold as it was foolish. Willing to risk it all for the quick kill. Giuseppe’s bodyguard Affogato sat in a chair beside his charge, watching as they played.

Pesca responded in kind, setting his Queen’s pawn two spaces forward. Later, when all the pieces had cleared the way and Giuseppe reached for the Queen’s Bishop, Pesca hummed and shook his head. His nephew paused and quirked a brow at him. “This is an interesting opening, dear nephew, but I wouldn’t do it in the future.” He offered Giuseppe his most disarming smile. “You’re just as bold as your Matri and Patri.”

“So I’ve been told,” Giuseppe returned warily. “...My mother says that you let her drive your car when she was twelve.”

“She’s a very good driver. She’s good at plenty of things, actually. A clever woman. Do you heed her advice?”

The boy pushed a tuft of dark blue hair away from his eyes. Pesca noticed that the dye had yet to fully wash out. “Of course I do. She’s my mother.”

“And yet we find you here, already a fully initiated member of your Patri’s gang.” Pesca blinked at the board before moving his knight. “If I remember correctly, your beloved parents had every intention of shutting you out from either organization. Were they heartbroken when they found out?”

Giuseppe flushed. “I’ve told you already, it was the right thing to do. I can help them.”

“Se,” Pesca returned in his rough Siciliano. “And in doing the right thing, you’ve also uncovered a new plot to dispose of them. It’ll make for an interesting family story in the future, and I’m sure your children will love to hear of how you managed to save us all… assuming your Matri and Patri ever let you set foot outside of this house any time soon.”

“They will. They have to.”

“Must they?” Pesca asked with a tsk and a scandalous tone. “I would be careful with that. Don’s and Signora’s do not like receiving orders, least of all from children. Your Matri is a Signora, a principessa of one of the oldest criminal organizations in this world; she knows a great deal more about these sorts of things than you do. Your Patri, on the other hand? Why, he’s the Boss of all Bosses, made himself a conqueror at the age of fifteen. They love you dearly and clearly gave the world to you, but I don’t think you’ll find them very willing.”

“They will be willing,” Giuseppe insisted, clearly shocked by this information. It was clear to Pesca that Giuseppe had never considered the possibility that his parents might lock him away for his safety and refuse him. “You don’t know them as I do.” Giuseppe took his knight and leapt over the pawns, letting the piece land on the board with a harsh thud.

Pesca shrugged at that. “Perhaps I’m still a stranger to the sacred love between parent and child, but I know what they are like. I know your Matri most of all. I know that she stole cars and sold them, that she impressed Don Vittorio Andolini with her thievery. She’s known danger from a young age, knows what it is like to run, to be hunted, to never be safe. I know that she is fierce. How else would Cosa Nostra bend so easily to her? The ‘Ndrangheta are half hers, considering her family ties to Don Arnaldo. She grieved for her father and schemed to protect you and your ridiculous Patri years ago—all when she was matched with a troublesome opponent. She’s not officially initiated in any gang, yet your Patri relies on her to no end. How do you suppose a woman like this will react when you come to her with a pleading child’s eyes and say, ‘Buongiorno Mamma, I have grown up now and would like to be recognized as a member of La Famigghia.’”

Giuseppe gave him a cold and hard stare. He looks so much like his father. “I am not going to plead to my Matre like a child. I am a young adult, with reasonable requests. I actually accomplished a decent amount of work before you discovered me and alerted them.”

“To be frank? You have too many requests, and as well as you did your job you can easily be replaced,” Pesca corrected. Good, that’s made him angry. It almost reminded Pesca of the times he teased you for having similar ambitions. This boy looks like Giorno but he acts more like his mother. “Don Giorno has plenty of soldati, and last I checked none of them add this much stress on those slender shoulders of his.”

“Think whatever you like, Zietto Vito,” said Giuseppe. “I can still prove myself to them. Signore Fugo said that if I wait, they will see that I’m not a child anymore and can listen like a respectful adult.”

“And you believe that? Goodness. Trust no one, dear boy. Not your strange padrino who wears that ridiculous suit, nor your false uncles or cousins or brothers. Above all, don’t hold to every word your parents say to you—they’re liars like the rest of us. And perhaps this wariness will dampen your gatherings or keep you awake for much longer than you’d like to be at night, but I’m sure it’s better than the never ending sleep that awaits us all.” He sighed and moved his Queen. “I am only your uncle though, only your mother’s lawyer. What could I possibly know that your padrino doesn’t? Still I’ll insist. If you really aren’t a child, you should know that one must make their own way in the world. I wouldn’t do as Signore Fugo says.” 

“... What would you do then?” his nephew asked, leaning forward with interest.

“If I were in your position, I would simply sneak away from this city. Go south. These threats come from the Sacra Corona Unita in Puglia, and neither of your father’s forces from Campagna have enough men to deal with an organization from the east. I’d go to Sicilia first, rally the other factions of Cosa Nostra, and meet with your prozio in Calabria. You can start making moves once you’ve got the forces—”

“I have none.”

“You have a famous name and enough resources to tempt the men associated with Cosa Nostra... And even if you don’t, you’re a smart boy, you’ll figure out some way to procure funding.” Pesca flew a Bishop two spaces over. “You’ll need plenty of them, if you want enough men to overwhelm and absorb this new organization.”

“I still would need Patre’s help,” Giuseppe said. “I can’t make any actual moves without his approval. He’s—”

“You don’t need to make any moves, not right away. All you need to do is gather enough support for your Patri. He’ll join you at once.”

Giuseppe frowned. “You said Patri doesn’t intend to let me work with him. I’m still a child to him. He doesn’t entirely respect me the way he does any of his trusted men...”

Pesca shook his head. “A poor choice of words on my part. Ask Don Giorno, your father, for permission, and he’ll treat you like a child. Do you want to act on your father’s whims for the rest of your life? Now… if you left and bolstered his cause down south, in Sicilia? The men of Cosa Nostra only follow the strong, and that is what you’ll be if you can soothe out the wrinkles that stayed after your first birthday. That would prove you are your own man. Bold, reckless, a perfect followup to the infamous Don Giorno. Another conqueror.

“Your Patri has suffered many losses in his youth. You might have noticed he’s grown an attachment to your Matri. If he finds that you’ve taken up his cause and put yourself in a vulnerable position, ordering around the men of Cosa Nostra—no doubt directing attention to yourself—and gone on the offensive, he’ll come and join you. When he meets with you, he will find a fierce and bold youth waiting for him. Not his son, but an equal. How can he help but name you his Underboss and heir then?” Smiling, Pesca took his Queen and ate Giuseppe’s King. “I hope you’ll still harbor some affection for me. And know that you impressed me by managing to last this long, even with an underdeveloped Bishop and godawful castling.”

Giuseppe stared at the board in disbelief. “My Queen–”

“You put her in a tight spot several moves ago. Do you not remember? My Knight took her.”

“What you said earlier... about my first move—”

“Ah! Remember what I said? Trust no one. Though I definitely recommend using a different opening next time. If you’re going to listen to anything I say, at least remember never to start with “g4” ever again.”

Giuseppe jerked back, gaping at the table and then at his uncle. Not ten seconds had passed before he frowned and shoved the board away, hard enough that a white knight and pawn flew across the room. One of the butlers grumbled as he shuffled around the carpet to return them.

“Giving up so soon?” Pesca asked, taking the pieces and setting them up once again.

He half expected the boy to saunter off, especially with the way he’d lectured and poked at him, but to Pesca’s surprise, Giuseppe leaned forward and shook his head.

“No.”

“I won’t be going easy on you,” he warned, “but I promise you’ll have much to learn if you decide to continue.”

Giuseppe nodded. “Teach me then.”

A/N: 

Ah ! That’s teenaged Giuseppe for you. Very different from his parents, I think, but I love him all the same. He has much to learn. This is generally untouched from when I first wrote it, so I hope you enjoyed it in all its rough, out-of-context, first-draft-ish glory!

Honestly surprised myself with how much I ended up writing, but I was mostly just following these two; the way they bounce off each other made it easy to let the words go onto the page.

If you wanted to see what the board looked like towards the end of the game, here’s a bit of a visual:

Lots of ways that this could go wrong for Giuseppe’s pieces... I stand by Pesca’s advice though. If you start on white, avoid opening with the infamous “g4.”

[whieldonflyfishing]

My Journey - Discovering Alpine Fishing

After getting back from, Scotland I decided that i wanted to do more trips and explore more places through fishing. I started googling local fishing guides in my area, only one bloke came out on my research, he didn't want to be paid, as at the time a fishing guide was not a registered job. So he said just give me a tip for the transport and food.

  I booked in a trip with him not knowing what i was getting myself into, something that would change my life completely. I was not very fit at the time, all he said was meet me in Chiavenna at 5am on a summers morning. Chiavenna is a alpine town in the heart of the mountains in northern Italy.

So here I was 5am, a car pulls up, and he introduces himself, and says its a wonderful day to go fishing. he loads up my Landrover Discovery with all the fishing gear and we start making are way up the mountain. On the way up we quickly stop to buy a few sandwiches from a local bakery, a few bottles of water and some chocolates.

Shortly after that we go offroad, up a mountain gravel road, pass donkeys, then cows, and eventually peak out of the tree line. Up up up we go until we reach the end of the gravel path, barely a gravel road at this point.

We park right at the end of the road. I mean literally the end! There was a 50ft dropping slope in front of the Discovery. We get out the gear, for some reason when I set out i thought it would be similar to what i did in Scotland. Oh how wrong was I!

For the next hour we hiked up the mountain, up small paths, zig-zagging our way to what i thought was the summit. The views and crisp air maid their way into my lasting memories, even now i can smell the rich dry air, the summer breeze carrying perfumes of wild flowers, snow and freshness.

Eventually we reached a plateau, we followed it over and slowly the level started dropping and a lake came into view. We where now at about 2000m above sea level. I buzz with excitement thinking that i'm going to catch a fish right away the size of a pike take a picture, release it and be happy. That didn't happen either.

As we approached the lake, I say a large rock and a cave overlooking the lake, the guide told me in the seventies there was a hermit who lived under the rock in the summer, he even brought up his own door. I don't know how true this story was but my imagination ran wild. The idea of surviving up here alone in the wild tickled my thoughts.

We eventually reached the lake, he set up my gear, a dry fly rod! great, not a clue of what to do with it, I only nymphed in scotland. He then prepared his and he started to show me how to stalk alpine trout, He tld me to stay still and away from the shore line. I did not move...... Well lets just say there was no standing in the water waiting for a fish as i had for somereason thought.... this was real stalking. He approached the water with te stealth of a wildcat in the bushes all you could see from far away was a rod and fly zipping back and forth a few times. Not five casts in he is on a fish a lovely fish.

He then calls me over and showed me how to respectfully dispatch the fish, clean it, get rid of the guts safely and how to tactfully keep the fish cool under the hot summer sun.

His school of thought was a one i really grew attached to over time. Catch one fish to eat, a tasty meal and satisfying reward at the end of the day. The rest release on home.

Great! it was my turn now to catch a fish....... I ended up getting a spinning rod out and scarpering all the fish from the shore, total mess but I did catch a fish in the end a lovely brown. Then i dispatched it as he showed me. That was the only fish i caught but he went on, and I kept learning.

He then lit a small wood fire, picked some herbs (i know now that was wild thyme) and cooked the trout over the wood fire for us. The flavour of that fresh trout was nothing like I had ever tasted.

  At this point can I just say what an amazing experience I just had. How fortunate I was to be here with this guy showing me the ins and outs of Alpine fishing. I was very blessed and to this day remain thankful to all he tought me.

    His name is Stefano, and to this day remains a very good friend of mine. He was in many ways my teacher, as time went on he instructed me on how to enjoy the mountains, what plants can help and what ones are dangerous, how to protect myself against snow, rain, wind and all sorts of mountain weathers, how to fly fish with a dry fly, but most of all how to stalk wild alpine trout.

.

.

@INSTAGRAM @WHIELDONFLYFISHING @INSTAGOOD @2INSTAGOOD @JUSTGOSHOOT @THEPEOPLESCREATIVES @THEVISUALSCOLLECTIVE @PASSIONPASSPORT @DISCOVEREARTH @THEOUTBOUND @FOLKMAGAZINE @LIVEFOLK @BESTVACATIONS @WORLDTRAVELBOOK @MONOART @defenderworld @defender_nature @defenderjam @landroverphotoalbum @flylords @landroverheaven

        #defender #landrover #landroverdefender #offroad #onelifeliveit #fishing #fish #catchandrelease #nature #outdoors #pesca #fishingislife #flyfishing #fisherman #fishingtrip #kayakfishing #fishinglifestyle #fishingaddict #saltwaterfishing #shimano #whieldonflyfishing #angeln #troutfishing #adventure #hiking #travel #naturephotography #explore #landscape #photooftheday

from Whieldon Fly Fishing - The Fly Fishing Diaries https://ift.tt/3qAkEro via IFTTT

[leopardbreads]

Doppio, Mammon, Ryo, and your lil' crush Madara for the f/o meme thingy~ :3c

     Doppio:

-What made me like them      - I literally did not process it when i watched the anime, then like a week after i finished it it fuckin hit me like a truck. I just suddenly found myself really loving him to the point where it like made my chest achehfkshfjsdf

-My favorite thing about them       - I love everything about him aaa,,, off the top of my head though,, his freckles are really cute ;A; and his voice is so sweet too

-Nicknames we have for each other       - My self insert usually calls him “Dop”, “Doppy”, or even sometimes “Vinny” as well as other random cutesy pet names      - Doppio is also fond of cutesy pet names and uses a lot like that mostly, but once in a while he’ll refer to my s/i as “Principesca” (a mix of princess and her name) and she just fucking melts

-A headcanon of our relationship/friendship       - I like to think about him doing the haha funny phone thing and Pesca just immediately accepting it like. “Haha yeah, he’s just a little quirky :)” 

-My favorite image of them       - idk what it is about this panel but hes so cute here aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

     Ryo:

-What made me like them     - I was f/o assigned him by my friend who got me into the series and so i was inclined to like him and then i saw him and saw what hes like and their prediction was so spot on fhksjdhfkjsdhfj

-My favorite thing about them     - I like how weird he is honestly- i love how he looks mildly threatening and creepy but hes actually like,, really sweet and kinda silly

-Nicknames we have for each other       - I don’t really have any nicknames for him- yet     - He likes to give people cutesy nicknames- i think he’d probably call my s/i “Mocchi”

-A headcanon of our relationship/friendship     - They met in highschool and became friends > lovers and were like highschool sweethearts for a while, but drifted apart after graduation because he had to deal with “family stuff” and so my s/i focused on her career for a while. They met again by chance several years later and realized they still have feelings for each other and are rekindling their relationship. 

-My favorite image of them     - hes... so cute? hes so cute... so cute.... he’s trying on mr. urita’s glasses and its so cute ,,,

     Madara:

-What made me like them     - I was getting back into ensemble stars and looking at the different units and i saw him by himself and thought haha lone cowboy and was kinda roasting him a little to my friends hfkshfdjsfh but then i looked at his profile and i was like you know what actually he’s valid. And every time it thought about it i liked him a little more, and then i watched the anime and he was funny AND THEN I HEARD HIS OUTRO SONG FROM THE ANIME AND HOLY SHIT man it zipped him up to my absolute favorite it slapp’d so hard

-My favorite thing about them     - He’s absolutely off the shits!! he’s so wild! what the hell is he doing!!! 

-Nicknames we have for each other       - He asks me to call him “Mama” so I do hfksjhfjksd     - I think he would find some way to make my self insert’s name really cutesy

-A headcanon of our relationship/friendship     - aaaa i didnt think this far ahead i just like him fhskjhfksdjfh >>”

-My favorite image of them     - I worked too hard to aquire this card not to post it hfjkshfkjsdfh hes so handsome and cool here

Also

I love this song i love it so much

Aaaand Mammon I already answered (here)!

[edsenger]

What It Means To Be A Sports Fan During The COVID-19 Outbreak

Most sports are coming to a halt as the world responds to coronavirus. Mike Pesca, host of Slate magazine's daily podcast The Gist, shares his thoughts on rethinking sports during this time.

What It Means To Be A Sports Fan During The COVID-19 Outbreak published first on https://brightendentalhouston.weebly.com/