jjism3

[zutaracoloringbook]

They drew with the moon… now you’ll color with the sun!

We’re excited to announce that @pineapple-frenzy is one of the artists featured in the upcoming Contrast: A Zutara Coloring Book!

This coloring book celebrates the gorgeous lineart of Zutara fanartists. Available for FREE download on June 2.

[7000f1]

Happy birthday Toffee!! I doodled a little something for you real quick :> I hope you have a great day!! :DD <333

JA OMG I AM???? CRYING???? ;;;;;;;;;; THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS IS SO WONDERFUL AND

EVERYONE GO LOOK AT THIS MY FRIEND IS AMAZING

[wonjns]

citrus — p.wb

⌗ pairing. . . park wonbin x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut,, pwp tbh

⌗ summary. . . your fwb coerces you to drink pineapple juice solely because he loves the way you taste when you do. he's simply a man of science.

⌗ includes. . . switch!wonbin, semi-public, blowjob (rec.), overstimulation, mdni!!

⌗ wc. 1.4k

°A/N. . . requested by 🐈‍⬛✓ "....can I request a dom Wonbin whose obsessed with giving you blowjobs 🫣 I know he's a certified babygirl but something about his aura onstage mixed with those perfect lips of his makes my stomach do PIROUETTES." // HI ANONNN so sorry that this took me FOREVER love,, and that its so short. but i hope u enjoy it & i have more riize content coming very soon!!

the last thing park wonbin was, is predictable.

its been nearly 6 months since you've started your whole friends-with-benefits-borderline-situationship ordeal, and every time you hook up he still manages to make the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely haywire.

you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about him that always got you so worked up. truthfully, it could be anything from his passion, versatility in bed, or more obviously his painstakingly good looks — but the one thing that you couldn't deny was your favorite is that he was the absolute king of giving head.

and it was his favorite, too, if the way he'd randomly start stroking you to full hardness throughout the day was anything to go by.

at first, you simply loved the way his soft lips would mold against yours whenever you'd make out. even more so when it was in a frenzied manner in the backseat of his car after a rough exam. that cloud 9 feeling would descend upon you whenever he would draw your tongue into his mouth, sucking on it rhythmically. yet, even that quickly proved to be only a warm up for what he was about to do when he’d begin to unbuckle your pants.

wonbin was a beautiful man, with beautiful eyes and a beautiful soul to match. there were books full of wholesome things you could list that contributed to your attraction towards him. but at the end of the day, you just had to admit that the motherfucker had those tantalizing, plush, pillowy lips that felt even better than they looked when he would wrap them around your needy cock.

he loved how subby it made you - how easily only he could reduce you into a pile of desperation for him with just his mouth alone. one touch from him and desire was radiating off you in waves of shameless pheromones.

he knew how much you loved it, causing the prideful boy to take even more joy in sucking you off.

one day, wonbin even went as far as to start convincing you to add pineapple to your diet, after he was scrolling through tiktok and found out it made you taste better down there. the blonde already thought you were naturally the best thing he’d ever tasted, so he practically had to stifle a moan at just the thought that he could make your orgasms even sweeter.

it felt a bit silly, the way he would start ordering pineapple juice for you at restaurants, but you went along with it regardless for the sake of testing the theory.

and oh boy, did it turn out to be true.

after the fruit had become part of your habitual snack routine, the orgasms wonbin would give you were nothing short of out of this world. you'd noticed his grip on your hips would be even tighter once your precum started seeping on to his tongue, and his throaty moans became even deeper.

you'd feel his eager, pink tongue begin to lap up and down the bottom of your shaft with more intensity, goosebumps rising from every inch of your skin as you were catapulted into your climax.

"oh my god, binnie...." you couldn't help but whimper, fingers curling into his silky golden locks when you saw his eyes roll back in ecstasy.

that first time, the way he licked up the entirety of the mess you made even after spilling down his welcoming throat showed you how serious it was to him.

"fuck," wonbin would groan, making sure to collect any remnants off of your lower stomach before grinning up at you. "we are definitely sticking with that method."

then before you knew it, he quickly became greed personified.

you'd think with how in command he always was, that you'd be the one usually on your knees for him - but he easily made it known that he wanted access to your sweet juices whenever he wanted.

and to wonbin... there was never an inappropriate time.

you'd have to use both hands to count the amount of times that you'd been out in public when he'd lay one of his ridiculously attractive, veiny hands on top of your core just to feel how your member would twitch at his touch.

it didn't matter if you were out shopping. it didn't matter if you were in the library. and it definitely didn't matter that you were now at dinner with the entire friend group.

wonbin didn't hesitate to give you that signature look, the one he knew you couldn't resist, while cupping your quickly growing erection after playing with under the table for the past ten minutes. for good measure, he also gave his plump bottom lip a singular tug between his teeth, just to seal the deal, to make sure he got you in the bathroom with your jeans pooled around your ankles.

you had to admit it was addicting, the way wonbin's smooth hands glided under your shirt to run along your torso while he teasingly licked your bulge through the thin layer of your underwear. your head fell back against the cool tile, unable to voice out your thoughts of how irrational this was.

nothing mattered when wonbin finally tugged your boxers down, removing that final blockade from him and your aching cock, already glistening with leaking arousal.

he shamelessly moaned when he pulled you into his mouth, wantonly sucking on your length as if it were his well earned dessert. in a way, it was — you have no idea what wonbin did in order to earn it while your friends were mindlessly chatting away back at the table, but you couldn't say no to him.

"god, y/n, i've got to be a fucking genius." the potty (albeit talented) mouth groaned. "you taste so good and haven't even cum yet."

you whined at his words, causing him to smirk as you meekly attempted to pull his head back to your cock, silently begging for more. he loved to tease you by randomly stopping just to utter nonsense, knowing the cool air exposed to your private parts after being wet from his mouth made you shiver.

you furrowed your hands in their familiar spot in wonbin's hair as he fiddled about leaving opened mouth kisses along your thighs. he took the time to gently suck the skin just below your belly button to drive you insane before he went back to the real work.

you often wondered how he never complained about his knees hurting, but just as you were about to ask him, he started bobbing his head up and down your length with vigor.

a loud moan managed to escape your lips when he hollowed his cheeks out around you, his warmness sending your body into overdrive.

"c-cumming—" was all you had to mutter before wonbin was pulling back, a smug look on his face as he held his thick tongue out.

"give it to me, pretty boy."

you nearly sobbed, overwhelmed with how sexy he looked - baffled with how dominant his aura could still be even while on his knees for you. he was commanding you while below you, and you’d never thought once about disobeying.

all it took was a quick jerk of your wrist after grabbing hold of your length, your love liquids shooting out and landing right on their target.

it was lewd, and a little embarrassing, watching wonbin swallow all you had to offer, but the way his adams apple bobbed while he lowly hummed to himself in satisfaction nearly sent you into another climax.

"so good, baby." wonbin drawled, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward to firmly grab your thighs, catching your relaxing cock back in his mouth.

you whined out feeling wonbin’s tongue properly clean all around your length, the overstimulation making your legs shake erratically.

weak attempts to push his head away were futile, wonbin absolutely having to lap up every inch of your skin he could to truly savor in the moment. it was a lot, but your body craved it. your head feebly swayed back and forth against the wall, and you swore your legs were seconds away from giving out when he finally pulled back.

wonbin pulled your underwear and jeans back up around your waist as he stood, softly kissing your lips to bring you back down to earth.

you swore during moments like this, that you loved him.

"lets go wrap up with the guys, then we can watch a movie at the house. how's that sound?" he questioned, raising a brow while gently pinching your flushed cheeks.

you nodded, before taking a deep breathe to compose yourself.

it was a cute offer, but in reality you were aware that the rest of your night fully entailed of you chugging a to-go pineapple juice on the car ride home, knowing that wonbin was gonna have you on your back drawing at least two more orgasms out of you before even turning the tv on.

© 𝐟𝐥𝐰𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐢 — all rights reserved

[str8rat]

ISAT / FEAR AND HUNGER AU

WARNING BLOOD/GORE (BLURRED)

WARNING!! This post contains topics such as really bad relations with food, gore, eating disroders, cannibalism, death by stomach rupturing due to eating too much after starving oneself, extreme (deadly) allergic reactions leading to death, etc

This post is mainly dedicated to explaining Siffrin's eating habits during the loops, below you may find three unrelated situations

~ ~ ~

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD I;

The party finds themselves running out of food during their journey across the country. Days away from the nearest town, and with no animals or plants to forage due to the harsh winter, tensions rise. Odile, with her usual dry humor, smugly suggests that one of them could sacrifice a limb to keep the rest alive. The joke falls flat, given Isabeau’s already missing arm, causing her to quickly backtrack and apologize. However, the grim reality remains—such desperate measures aren't beyond the realm of possibility if their situation worsens.

Fortunately, they manage to reach the next town, exhausted and starving, but intact—no limbs lost to cannibalism! Food scarcity becomes even more pressing once they reach Dormont and enter the House, with Siffrin beginning his time loop journey.

At some point, Siffrin quietly stops eating altogether, insisting his portion go to his companions to prevent them from making desperate choices. Especially since his body seems to reset each loop, aside from the scars from each death. But his hunger, paired with his deteriorating mental state, begins to wear on him.

Dark, cannibalistic urges begin to gnaw at his mind, warping his thoughts, with intrusive thoughts haunting him every time he thinks about his own hunger. Due to him burning more calories than the rest of the party, the Wish Craft eating off on him, he also gets hungry much more quickly, and yet still tries to refrain from eating and "wasting resources."

During one of the loops, those thoughts overcome him. He tackles a party member to the ground, sinking his teeth into their arm in a horrific frenzy. But before the reality of what he’s done fully sinks in, time bends—resetting to just before the incident. It leaves Siffrin shaken, aware of how low he's fallen, how disgusting he is, borderline unforgivable, unable to meet any of his party member's eyes, haunted by the thoughts that still linger.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD II;

Yet, not everything resets perfectly. Over time, Siffrin’s body begins to show signs of lasting damage from the loops, even aside from the obvious scars he recieves from each of his deaths. His stomach, weakened and shrunken from eating little to nothing, can no longer handle the amount of food his worried sick companions insist he eats during one loop.

His stomach, unable to bear the strain, ruptures, leading to a slow, agonizing death right in the middle of what was supposed to be their safe Snack Break Room.

After the loop resets again, Siffrin refuses to eat more than the bare minimum, terrified of re-living the same, agonizing experience again.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD III;

Siffrin's discovery of his allergy to pineapple happens in the worst possible way—through a deadly, firsthand experience. Despite Loop's warning, he either forgets or dismisses it in a moment of carelessness, a mistake that comes with a devastating price.

The moment the acidic sweetness of the pineapple touches his tongue, an invisible force seems to clamp down on his throat. He feels the sudden constriction, his body instinctively trying to expel the fruit, but it’s too late. Siffrin’s throat begins to close rapidly. Panic takes hold as he gags, desperately attempting to spit out the fruit.

His body jerks, muscles tense, but nothing happens. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves in a futile effort to pull in air, but all that follows is a hollow, suffocating silence. His vision blurs as he just barely makes out his party trying to somehow help him, but it's hopeless.

While Bonnie is frozen in horror, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, as they watch their friend slowly suffocate because of the pineapple THEY gave him, Isabeau tries to hold Siffrin up the best he can, Mirabelle pushing Healing Craft after Healing Craft into his body in desperate hopes of it working. It does not. Odile, always the snarky and knowledgable, is frozen now, shaky hands hovering over the younger's body, her mind racing as she tries to recall any spell, any remedy, but all she can do is watch as Siffrin’s face turns a sickly shade of blue.

But then, as if in some cruel twist of fate, the loop resets. Siffrin is alive again, gasping for breath as he finds himself back in time—just moments before he made the fatal mistake. His hand hovers shakily over the plate of pineapple, the memory of suffocating fresh and vivid in his mind.

As his party questions if he's okay, if something happens, he is quick to put on a dismissing smile, face pale as he brushes it off. He reaches for the madeleines this time, trying to ignore his stomach churning in protest, as he forces himself to swallow the pastry.

mmmm yummy yummy yummy

[demaparbat-hp]

Hi! I wanted to just drop in and say I love your work (both your art and your writing. The way you draw katara is my all time favorite, really!), and was wondering other than the AUs you currently have, are there any other ATLA ones you really enjoy? Lately I’ve been enjoying chaos!avatar/vaatu vessel zuko, and blue spirit/painted lady zutara. Though in less of a hidden identity way and more of a spirit touched, body-sharing fma:b style, way. But that’s enough about me, tell me about you!

Oh! I love this question!

As you know, AUs are my lifeblood, so it comes as no surprise that every now and then someone will post something about a new AU and I'll get obsessed over it for weeks.

@late-draft's The Last Air Key Holder AU has everything. Breathtaking worldbuilding, amazing character dynamics and designs, and a generally great use of futuristic elements (hah!) in the building of the world and the storyline. A Sci-fi ATLA AU that gets even better every time op expands on it.

Then there's @pineapple-frenzy's famous Soulmate AU, which I had to mention because...well, because I just had to. Flowers growing in the places of your body where your soulmate has been hurt is such a beautiful and bittersweet concept, especially when applied to ZK. This is such a sweet AU and I love it so much.

@bluespirlt's Blue Spider AU is such a fun choice for me because, despite my little brother's attempts at converting me, I don't really like Spiderman (Batman is better for me, tbh). But I cannot see this AU and not love it. The art is great, the concept is fun, the fic is amazing! The ZK dynamic is everything the Fandom loves about them packed into a vigilante AU and I am here for it.

Lastly, there's this beast.

A long time ago, @the-badger-mole made a series of drafts, AUs, I-don't-really-know-what-they-were AU Bot Plots. One of them, despite being terribly short, and most probably forgotten already, has made its way into my heart and decided to stay there for good. The infamous Library AU. There's nothing about that AU except for that single post, I believe. Do I care about the lack of content? No. Did it stop me from fanart-ing the hell out of it? Nope! Should I be less obsessed over the idea? Yeah, probably.

[narglesbetweenlilies]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ tui & la / push & pull / moon & sun ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ↳ zuko + katara in the spirit-binded queerplatonic relationship.

based upon @pineapple-frenzy scarred au! and some other lovely art out there! ༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

if you would like to read . . . ⤵ https://www.quotev.com/story/16759930/tui-la/1

[ghosttoastx]

Bituín Character Lore Stuff

gonna try my best to sum up as much as I can about them under the cut :3

∘₊✧The Hermit✧₊∘

Name: Bituín (Bits)

Pronouns: She/They

Age: 16

Birthday: April 21

Craft: Paper

Weapon: Pointy Umbrella

Armor: Moth Clip

Background:

A shut-in recluse from one of the Houses of Jouvente, on a journey across Vougarde, accompanying their best friend along the way.

Personality:

- Very socially awkward with terrible communication skills,

- Oftentimes stay quiet around people she is unfamiliar with

- Likes poking fun at and making lighthearted jabs towards the people she's comfortable around

- Can be a bit sarcastic at times

- Always two seconds away from a psychotic break/hj

More Lore important Facts:

- Due too bad anxiety, Bits has always had a difficult time interacting with people, leaving her to spend most of her time locked away in her dorm room at the House of change.

- Bits’ father has been missing since she was about 4 or 5. Bits was too young at the time to really understand when they had disappeared, but her mother was wracked with grief over a person she didn’t even know ever existed in the first place. 

- the disappearance of her Husband drove bits mom a little coo-coo-bananas, causing a strange relationship to form between her and Bits

- One night when bits is about 10 or 11, her mother tells her is a manic, possibly drunken frenzy that she was going to be leaving, in search of something. She wanted to bring bits with her originally, but inevitably decided it’d be safer to just up and leave bits alone in the House. 

- bits would often spend time either cooped up in their lonely dorm, or would be hanging out with her friend and/or his family (probably for like, holidays and diner and stuff)

- while out on this pilgrimage/journey or whatever through Vougarde, Bits is hoping that maybe, just maybe, she might find her mother again. For better or for worse

Miscellaneous Facts:

-Can’t cook for shit

- Has an interest in plants and flora

- The claw clip in their hair is based off of a Luna Moth

- Likes to study craft (because of this, she is also know how to deal weak scissor damage)

- Grew up in one of the Houses of Change in Jouvente due to their mother being a Housemaiden there

- Bits speaks animatedly with their hands

- Favorite foods are Chocolate lava cake, Pineapple bread pudding, and Plain rice

- Bits isn't quite sure of the origins of the necklace she likes to wear, but looking at it makes her head hurt and her heart ache...

- Height is 5’8 (172 cm I think??)

- likes books and reading (specifically stories with found family and and fantasy)

Miscellaneous Art/doodles:

(these next two are technically from the PartySwap au but they're still just a younger version of Bits so)

okokok I think I've compiled most of the important stuff :D!!

Please please please feel free to ask me about my OCs!! I want to talk more about themmmm!!!!!

[kwonhochi]

tagged by the lovely @honeycafes <3!!!

what human emotion am i?

i’ll tag @firingbeams @dumdum0515 @spaecgirl @pineapple-frenzy @mini-svt @irlvernon @aprilshowermp3 @ambivartence if you wanna!! + anyone who wants to join in :3

[o7k5a8m9i]

FREE HXH ART REQUESTS!💖 REBLOG?

FREE HXH ART REQUESTS!!♡💜💚💙💖💛🌸[READ!!⬇️⬇️🍭]

You can request me to draw you HxH art!💮🍓please read the rules ⬇️

• 1 : I'll only be doing Hunter x Hunter requests 🦋 I might take requests for the shows/movies in the FUTURE!✨ but for now just HxH

• 2 : To Request just comment on this post🧵 or request on my "Ask me anything" tab on my blog🍒

• 3 : you can request ship art but there's some ship's I WON'T do💖

• 4 : I'll draw ether Digital or Traditional💗 unless you want a specific type of art you can tell me. but if you don't care I'll just do what I want

• 5 : I WILL NOT DRAW SMUT!!⚠️😭🃏♠️

• 6 : Feel free to get creative with your request!💙 as long as you're not asking me to draw the Mona Lisa or something really difficult 😅

• 7 : This whole thing is completely FREE!✨ but I'd REALLY appreciate it if you'd reblog this💚 like this and maybe consider following me💖🥺🙏🌸 that would help a lot!! and help me continue my drawings and maybe do something else like this again in the future!💮🌹😭

_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★_-★

[NOTE] my arts NOT very good that's why this is FREE but hopefully this helps me become better at art💜 Anyway as long as you don't care how the art turns out I'll definitely get to you🎐🌸

A few tags cuz I need more people to see this 😭🙏🌸💖 @anotherworldash @amyythestarry2 @artisticdemon @bluezloffytaffy @cheadle-yorkshire @essiesheep26pg @hxh1999caps @haerakim15-blog @hisojuice @hxhevents @kireinaonnanoko @littlekennycantplaypoker @lavender1398 @machiwould @machi-komacineee @morzyin @pineapple-frenzy @rinhxh @satano-okawaii @suspiciouslookingplant1 @sp6cialist @serexvu @tangsakura @whatp @yinhidaka @nastier-twerp @itsmyara @thelovelyghostwriter @theskittycat @julscaesar

[jamiesfootball]

“The win meant they qualified for the FA Cup final.”

It also meant Roy was on the hook for a post-match pizza party, a rare victory that the Greyhound’s treated with the gravitas it warranted.

The Honorable Judge Isaac McAdoo had called forth his best to collect and collate orders since they had a ten pizza limit. Meal plans were consulted, and the great pineapple debate was thrown into a frenzy as those who despised fruit on pizza nevertheless admitted they needed the extra vitamins to meet their daily quotas.

Finally, they sent the Judge McAdoo’s Secretary-in-charge-of-taking-notes-but-that’s-it into the coaches’ office to deliver the final verdict, which Colin handed over gravely.

The verdict said, “I will give you $1000 if you order 10 pineapple ham pizzas and tell everyone else it was a mistake.”

Roy nodded.

[zutaracoloringbook]

Guess who's back?! Lost and Found: A Zutara Coloring Book is here!

🔥 Download your FREE copy here! 🌊

Cover design by @demaparbat-hp

Share your colored pieces with us @zutaracoloringbook on Instagram and Tumblr and use #zutara coloring book and #lostandfoundzk2024. And please: ALWAYS tag the original lineartist. All artist information is provided in the book.

**PLEASE NOTE:

Profiting off the art included in this book and created by others is prohibited. This includes reposting others’ uncolored lineart.

3D book mockup is for illustrative purposes only. Download links are free PDFs for personal printing.

Happy coloring, everybody! 🎨 Full list of contributing artists and editors below the cut! 🎨

Artists: @artsymephy | @artwsnji | @ash-catz | @azehearts | @aziantearz | @cirifiona | @dantelovesvirgil | @darkelf19 | @demaparbat-hp | @dumbassdeny | @fabdante | @glqz3r | @growingroses | @_jacqstoned | @JazuDrawz | @kmchro | @lizanthium | @llamalpaca | @neva-borne | @peony-pearl | @perfectlypanda | @persejin | @petrapunk | @pineapple-frenzy | @ryu-slayer | @termaitz Editors: @ash-catz | @susiesundrop | @termaitz | @tiny-katara

[vilonnie-arts]

this is so sad alexa play turn around by they might be giants

[ID: A lineless digital drawing of "Cassandra Brand" from Glass Onion. On the left side of the drawing, Andi is lying in water. She has her eyes closed and is wearing a peaceful expression. A pineapple floats above her head. On the right side, Andi is upside down and in shadow. There is fire in the background. Her eyes are wide open and looking at her self on the left in frenzy, and the rest of her face is obscured. The signature from the napkin is written on the bottom. Andi is wearing her white, red, and black dress. End ID]

[deada55]

When the River Meets the Sea - Chapter 12

crossposting: ao3

work summary: A nine-year old in Tomahawk, WI gets glaucoma surgery over Christmas break.

chapter summary: Pickles doesn't want anything. Molly, Calvert, and Seth go to a family function in Fond du Lac.

The freeway was stuffed with holiday travelers. Molly shifted into park in the middle of a two-mile standstill and turned off the engine. The cars in front of her smoked like soldiers in a bar. Exhaust from the next lane dragged across the hood and lingered along the embankment and the road was buried in leaded fog. Delicate snow wove through the standing crowd.

Without running the heat (to save gas), the cab slowly cooled. Without the radio, Molly could hear the other cars’ holiday music cassettes and wheel-clutching profanity to her right and left. The gray sky shone on every empty seat in her car while the station wagon in front of her was bouncing from kids waving their arms and licking windows. 

She started counting Seth’s presents in her head. A new bike, a chemistry set, a pair of green pajamas, a freckle-dipped boy with red hair, sleeping as still as an infant— no, but there was a miniature etch-a-sketch she found that would be fun for Seth’s stocking.

And there would be candy, and more room under the tree. What she bought for Pickles would wait in the bottom of her closet until he came back, sanitized and surly but largely unchanged. Pickles was stubborn, Pickles was insistent, and like any pest, he wouldn’t, can’t, break. He’d come back to more sameness than change, himself included.

_____________________

Now, Molly, being the oldest daughter, couldn’t step foot in her little sister Carol’s house without trying to jump in with the food or Carol’s little ones, who were only five and two. Her family was full of decent people and enough kids to make a football team. In the storm of whining and acrylic sweaters and scuffed patent leather shoes milling around the house, Pickles’ absence went largely unnoticed, so Molly committed herself to the ruse of being a mother of one for Christmas. After all, Seth was the only one she talked about; there’d never been much to say about Pickles.

Of course, Molly’s mother and her oldest little sister, Elaine, wouldn’t let her have it that easy. All four of the women (Molly, Elaine, Carol, and their mother) were at work in the kitchen, browning the tops of wet casseroles and arranging cookies on aluminum platters.

“Was Pickles not feeling well? You know, I’ve been trying to get Ben and Sue to catch chickenpox for the past year and—“ Poor Carol always sounded so frenzied, but she really didn’t have a care in the world between her ears. Her short hair bobbed around with her, and her glasses threatened to come off her nose as she constructed a cheese cube hedgehog with a lump of aluminum foil, toothpicks, and raisins.

“Yeah. He just couldn’t swing it.”

“What’s the matter?” Elaine stopped grating fresh cheese over the wet pineapple casserole Jack’s wife had brought. She pushed her feathered, mousy hair out of her face with her bicep and was careful not to smear any makeup onto her rough, red, wool sleeve.

“A fever he got from sleeping over with a little friend. They both came down with it at the same time, so his mother and I thought it’d be nice to let them weather it together since their family wouldn’t be going anywhere for Christmas.”

Elaine sighed. “He must be pretty sick… It’s a wonder Seth didn’t pick it up. Thank goodness, since Frances’ baby is here.” Three-month-old Holly was delicate but finally well. The front of her green velvet dress was black with drool. She looked just like her grandfather, Molly’s older brother, Thomas.

“Elaine.”

“She looks healthy, that’s all.”

Molly and Elaine looked up from their cutting boards. Elaine turned away and slung the glassy red onions into the salad bowl.

Carol’s son, Ben, made a game out of yanking his sister’s, Sue’s, braids on the living room floor. She left to investigate the screaming, and their mother followed just to stand behind her and get in the way, leaving Molly and Elaine to finish everything.

“Molly,” She began, “where’s Pickles?”

“Don’t test me.” Molly flung open the oven with a thermometer in hand and started poking casseroles.

“I know he’s not sick.”

“Glaucoma is sick.”

“And it’s not contagious.” Elaine halved cherry tomatoes one by one. “Gail and Sue love to see him. I don’t think it’s fair to ground a kid from a family function.”

“Then you’ll love to hear that he isn’t grounded.”

“Then what is it?”

The green beans were at a mean 160 F. Before Molly could dig around in the drawers, Elaine handed her two square potholders.

“He’s sick, I told you. He’s getting his eyes treated.”

“Over Christmas?”

“They had an opening.” Molly pulled an iron trivet off the wall and used it to hold the green beans off of the countertop. “What do you want me to say?”

“I can’t believe you!” 

“Drop it, damn it!”

“Molly!” Bewildered, Elaine jabbed her hip into an open drawer when she tried to lean back onto the counter. 

“Jesus Kelly Christ! I can do what I want with my kids. It worked out the best for our schedule, Pickles doesn’t have to miss school, and he’d hate getting the surgery anyhow. He’ll have more Christmases. It doesn’t mean anything to him.”

“How do you know?” Molly was a year or two older than Elaine, and though she’d always been a little reserved and a little cold, Molly had never been stupid. It wasn’t unlike her to be careless, but Elaine knew Molly could read someone, and Elaine knew Pickles had a hard time keeping secrets. All kids were sentimental, despite how badly they wanted to mimic the easy breath of knowing you had the time and transportation to replace a beloved artifact.

Elaine swallowed and poured herself a glass of water from the tap. “I’m not trying to be upset with you, but why can’t someone stay with him? He’s all by himself—“

“I did it, too, you know,” she snapped. “When I got my tonsils out? There wasn’t any fanfare.” Molly ducked down to check the other casseroles a second time like it’d help them bubble faster. “And I need to take care of Seth and Cal. We can’t afford a hotel. What would they do for Christmas?”

“Surely Calvert can—“ Molly’s forehead crumpled like paper. On cue, Calvert’s laugh burst through the living room, too boisterous and drawn-out for 2:00, louder than the din of the party.

Molly shut the oven and wiped the hot tip of the thermometer on a Santa-printed hand towel, leaving one jolly fellow with a beard full of Cream of Chicken soup. The coffeepot sputtered. The women worked on opposite sides of the kitchen, gathering trash and stacking lids between paper towels. Instead of coming to the center by the stove, Molly started to sort hot trays of breadcrumb-coated slop for a buffet processional, starting by the arch leading to the living room  and ending at the fridge. A layered crown jewel jello salad, standing at a towering twelve inches tall, guarded a public of meringues, Kahlua kisses, and shortbread.

Elaine came around Molly’s left and pecked her on the cheek while she rolled silverware in red paper napkins.

“Want a cigarette?” Molly took it out from Elaine’s fingers and the sisters lit them from the same match from the book in Carol’s spice drawer. Molly pulled the ashtray down from on top of the fridge, and Elaine went bobbing for a couple of beers in the cooler by the back door. 

When they were finally facing one another, flicking the ash off their Winstons the minute a millimeter showed up to protect their new sweaters, Elaine tossed her bangs out of her face and gave Molly a flat-lipped smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If anyone mentions Seth’s eye…” When they were all at the door taking their coats off, Molly explained that smacked into the mirror of a car in the parking lot of the grocery store a couple days ago.

“Is he OK?”

“That’s what he’s telling me. It just looks bad.”

“The concealer does help, really. It does.”

“It’s a lot of concealer.”

“Avon?”

“Avon.”

“I bet.” They exchanged a chuckle. “Should we call Pickles’ room to say hello tonight? Would he like that?”

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t have the number with me… and I doubt he’d want anyone to know. He’s private like that. Half of me thinks he’d be angry if we came to visit.”

“You know he wouldn’t be.”

_____________________

The recovery room got dark; the night sky siphoned away at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and left the ward in shadows. He still wasn’t thirsty and he still didn’t have to pee. He’d taken a frigid tour of the bleachy green bathroom three times already “just in case,” from a nurse guiding him by hand.

His toes had been cold since he woke up the second time around. When he broke out of his confusion, he was greeted by a lone, mousy nurse with downturned eyes with a cup of water, and she stayed for twenty minutes before he soaked his tongue with the tiniest tipple he could sip, but not swallow. 

“I can’t let you go until you use the bathroom.”

The nurse for the evening shift, with upturned eyes, was a broken record. Her pen tapped and her shoes clacked as she walked up and down the hall. She was nice enough, and she wore Pepto pink lipstick, which Pickles could recognize through the shields.

“Can you try one more time? I’d like to get you moved out before it’s time to go to bed.” She came over and pushed down the rail, and he swung his legs out. The first time he stood up, they held his hands, but now they let him step down alone and remember his way to the bathroom. Before he’d stepped off the toilet, he heard her chirp from the other side of the door:

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Very good. Come lay back down, and we’ll move you soon.” When he climbed back up, he scrambled under the sheet and the blanket to keep from losing what heat hadn’t evaporated from the mattress. The nurse with the pink lips left. Before too long, a couple more sets of steps came up the hall with a set of squeaky shopping cart wheels. They whispered, “Six hours? Was he holding it?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s done. Are you sure there’s no room in the children’s ward?”

“That’s what I was told, but he’s on a good wing—“

They yanked the curtains open and shoved it around the tracks, pausing only for a second to tell him they were moving him to his real bed for the night. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light before they lifted him up from behind his knees and around his back and wrapped him like a crescent on the gurney while he traveled through a long yellow hallway.

At the end of the hall was a fork to the left and the right. They ducked into the double doors to the left into a ward of curtained sections, some open, some closed. Men of all ages snored and slumbered, aluminum frames and green curtains brought a barnishness to the great display, the oxygen hissed and swore through tubing and masks, and the clicking pens of the medication cart made their rounds. He was put in the bed closest to that ward’s bathroom and the nurses’ station. The curtains were drawn while they tucked him into the bed. This mattress felt wider and softer but still stiff and rustly. The sheets felt looser.

The recovery room nurses left; the ward nurses said their names once and handed him pills to swallow. He could only manage a meager puff of his inhaler, after two other tries where he didn’t breathe in enough, according to a wiry woman whose white gown hung off of her like a starched men’s dress shirt. She laid him out flat, turned off the light over his bed, said goodnight, and left. 

He curled onto his side when his arms started to get numb and drew his feet in when they got numb and folded his hands in front of his chest when his fingers got numb and buried his ears in his shoulders. Pickles waited all night for sleep. 

It’s not that bad, it’s OK. I’m OK. It’s OK. You got it. It’ll be over before you know it.

His blankets wouldn’t cover him. He gathered them so they’d lay thicker over his folded body and his bare feet, but they slipped around like buttered noodles when he wanted them to stay put, and clung like burrs when he tried to move them. 

Whenever he accidentally opened his eyes, all there was to see was the glowing privacy curtain. Deep coughs and thick, growling snoring echoed and built off of itself like a fugue. As soon as he started to nod off, someone would choke and bark and strip the back of their throat in their sleep. It felt too disrespectful to ignore. His nose was freezing, so he stuck out his bottom lip and blew upwards.

His thin pillow whispered about his parents into his ear.  Their faces sat in his chest like a feeling that could be relieved, like a belch, from giving it voice. How satisfying it sounded to want your Mommy! Crying had never done the same thing for Pickles as it had for Seth, so he’d guarded it like a secret sickness. He mouthed it against the pillowcase.

They’re not coming. You can’t leave but it’s ok. You’re ok. We’re ok. Go to sleep.

As the night went on, he shivered on and off. 

He saw the morning lift the colors of the curtain from dusky blue to peach. A first-shift nurse with obnoxiously tinkly bracelets and more pills jingled towards his bed. He quivered when he sat up, so she reached around his arm to support his back. “Ooh, you’re cold!” she said, and she pulled a second blanket off of the bottom of a metal cart.

The person who came to him with a tan plastic bowl of high-fiber breakfast brushed his fingers when he handed him the silverware, then flat-lipped a goodbye and told someone in the hallway that he looked like he had a fever. While he hovered over his food, a couple different people laid hands on his forehead and the back of his neck and put thermometers under his tongue. They asked him if he felt alright and he nodded for lack of a better answer. A nurse stood back and rapped her pen on her clipboard a couple times.

A pair of socks and a third blanket later, they took away his untouched oatmeal and let him be. He gathered the corner of one of the blankets up and away from the fire-retardant pile growing on his legs and laid his face against it. As he laid down on his side, he closed his eyes and waited to feel better.

If he listened hard, Billy Joel sang over rolling wheels and coughs and grunts.

And when you wake up in the morning,

With your head on fire,

And your eyes too bloody to see;

Go on and cry in your coffee

But don't come bitchin' to me.

He heard one of the rails on his curtain click and broke out of his trance just in time to be sitting up all the way when his lunch tray was brought in. He picked at the army tan broccoli.

“Are you hungry?” This nurse was tall with short hair and dangly earrings that swayed with every word she said.

The most he managed was a shrug.

“Does your stomach hurt?” 

It started hurting in November. He shook his head.

“Have you tried any of it yet?”

He shook his head again and thought about cutting a piece off of the fried fish.

“You need to eat to get better. Everybody knows that! I’ll come back in a minute. Try and take a couple bites.” She wore a smile, even as she turned to check on someone else.

He put a cold piece of bloated broccoli on the end of his fork and into his mouth and the feeling and taste of it made his insides flip. The little bread roll was stale and tough between his teeth. The wet breading on the fried fish patty tasted like freezer, corn oil and salt. He laid himself back against the crushed pillow, pulled his covers higher up on his chest and rested his eyes.

“Did you take a couple bites?” The evidence he left behind was the bitten bread roll, a runaway broccoli bud outside of its pre-portioned section, and the exposed white fish flakes where he’d cut a fish stick in half with the side of a spork.

“You didn’t like it?”

He sat back up for her and shook his head, smoothing his covers back out on his lap before wrapping his arms around his stomach. 

“You didn’t want any water?”

The water cup was still waiting, but he couldn’t touch it. She pulled a clipboard off the end of his bed and flipped to the back until she found one of the intake forms, where “chatty, obnoxious, and contrary” were written to describe his disposition. He stayed sitting up for the nurse with his eye(shields) cast down.

“I tell you what, if you drink that cup of water, I’ll try and bring you something sweet, OK? You need it, I promise. It’s not a trick. Sipping water with medicine doesn’t count.”

She left again and he drank a couple swallows. His lips had been thoroughly bathed in his cup, and bringing himself to drink instead of only holding something in his mouth required focus. An older man down the hallway started talking about cosmic visions and government spies and the USSR.

They took his temperature again and let all the heat out of the bed to check him for a rash. When they were done, a cup of orange Jell-O and the same cup of water were put down on his tray.

“Go on and taste it, will you?”

He sighed and reached for the spoon, but once he’d scooped up a bite, all he wanted to do was put it back.

“Eat it, kid. I don’t have time for games.” 

Her earrings stopped moving. He straightened out his pinched lips and put a scoop in his mouth. She didn’t leave until he’d gulped down every millimeter of tepid gelatin.

“Great.” She took the cup, spoon, and tray and closed the curtain behind her. Pickles sank back and put his pillow over his face… The radio station kept repeating itself.

You had to open up your mouth.

You had to be a big shot, didn't you?

All your friends were so knocked out.

[alex51324]

Having a board games and fruit party this weekend--today I bought the fruit!

Look at all this fruit!

The classics: pineapple, oranges (pink ones!), cantaloupe, apples (3 kinds), avocado, grapes, cherries, kiwis, bananas, pears (2 kinds).

Here's the fancy, "don't see that every day" section: pomelo, guava, coconut, papaya, dragonfruit, pomegranate, plantain, passionfruit.

And finally, Berry Frenzy! Also with plums, because I forgot to put them in the "classics" photo.

That concludes the fresh-fruit portion of the program, but we still have....

The bonus "dried fruit and sorbet" category! There is a raspberry sorbet and a watermelon sorbet (the latter of which is a bonus item for Ice-cream Quest), and dried mango, apricots, and mixed berries.

Whew! It feels very decadent, having all this fruit in January. I usually stick to whatever Aldi has on special, plus abundant local fruit in summer, so it was kind of fun going to different stores to see how much I could find. Like a fruit scavenger hunt.

[nightcolorz]

Hello, could you elaborate on your thoughts about how sex was treated in the show? If you are comfortable with it, obviously! I love your blog and your answers btw

Of course! I love answering these asks. For me this is more of a nitpick then a criticism, bcus I don’t think there’s anything technically worse about how the show handles sex over the books, but it just doesn’t appeal as much to my preferences.

In the books sex is very interesting bcus of how encoded it is into the narrative. Sexual desire is thematically extremely important in tvc, it informs basically every character dynamic. Sex isn’t something the vampires literally can do, but they are very sexual in nature, or “sensual”as Anne Rice loves to say, and their actions and dynamics r very psycho-sexually motivated. I think this makes for a very unique dynamic that the narrative has with sex. Tvc vampires can’t have sex but almost every form of pleasure they experience from killing to looking at art is felt as strongly as sexual pleasure, they have intimate relationships with each other that transcend human romance, almost every two characters have sexual impulses over each other. It’s weird and fucked up and interesting and there’s a lot going on there. Sex is symbolically the same as blood drinking and killing and hunting r sexual, and I love that bcus it gives the vampires this element of other that’s really compelling. I love the concept that their ways of feeling and experiencing human pleasures and emotions and relationships we’re familiar with r fundamentally changed in a way that r almost beyond our understanding bcus of vampirism. They r very alien but also very human, bcus at their core they just experience things the way we do but heightened to a freakish extreme. I like to think that tvc vampires experience a reality were the type of frenzied daze we experience when horny is what they experience nearly all the time. It’s so weird! And yeah, cool. The way romance works bcus of this is so interesting too, bcus an element of romance and sex comes with pretty much every vampire dynamic, and it creates these crazy fucked up dynamics that u wouldn’t get in any other book series.

and then well, there’s the show. Not much to say there is the problem. I don’t really have an issue with the vampires being able to have literal sex, but it’s the way sex and sexual subtext in general r handled that bothers me. Bcus..I mean it’s boring. Like, Louis and Lestat have crazy hate sex, but it’s not anything we haven’t seen before in television, minus how they’re an interracial couple and two men I suppose. Sex has the same implications as it does for humans, like the whole Antoinette cheating story line is just ur average cheating storyline but with blood and violence, you’d never get something that mundane and clean cut in the books. And like, I love some weird gay vampire sex scenes as much as the next guy, but how does floating vampire sex compare to the weirdness I rambled about above? There’s not that layer of complexity and strangeness I find so interesting. Like, it’s fantastical and vampire specific, they drink each others blood and float and stuff, but not in the dense way it is in the books. I believe that this has the potential to change, I think the tense scenes with Rashid, like the honey and pineapple scene, felt weird and bizarre in a way that reminded me of the books. But, I’ve been disappointed before. So for now I’m dissatisfied.

thanks for sending me the ask and thank you sm!!! You r so sweet <3 I love that u love my blog. As always feel free to send me asks guys I love them !

[annabelvallie]

The Regime of Gluttony and Starvation

Word count: 1.9k

I wonder if they know. Do they sip the golden bubbled concoction and think of every throat that spit cannot even comfort? If they pull seared flesh from polished forks, do they imagine the gnashing, desperate teeth of children who claw desperately at what they call “dog food”?

They call this city Eden. In school, we’re taught that we are safe from disease, agony, and sadness. Something everyone at this grotesquely overdecorated table knows nothing of. How can the pleasured know they are joyous when they have never been pained? How can the glutted know themselves satisfied if they have never been hungry? Eden was built on gluttony. We are told the outside world is sick. A type of illness that doesn't forgive but punishes. I wouldn’t call it sick—morbid maybe. I had learned that word from one of the novels we read in Lyceum education; the book ‘A Dark Hour’ was written some 500 years ago. The author called the country “hell on earth,” a place where filth and evil are magnified. Our city’s teachers reference beyond the walls as desolate nothingness, birthed from a war that was far worse than in the story. 

Rusted oranges and browns made the outside world. Kicked-up dirt filtered the air with a thick haze; irritating eyes that would never know tears; water was too precious to be wasted on emotion. The heavy sound of moans and comfortless cries carried with no destination, as did the smell of waste, constantly assaulting the hairs in your nose. Hot air thickened my throat, making it hard to breathe. Bodies discarded like statues haunted the breathing, similar to those on paper that piled into sunken earth. Every movement was strained as if they had to fight for the ability to take a step. Through the swarm of people, there was no end.

Barbed wire snatched a handful of skin from my thigh, making me wince. Before the sultry air could oxidise the gash, flies were frenzying on the crimson. 

I had never known suffocation until the day of Matia.

“Joseph, pass the grapes please.” A short man whose jaw seemed to rest slack held out his hand, motioning to the silver bowl that harboured bulbs of green and purple. Passing it to him, I watched as he pierced the skin of a grape with pearly teeth. All I could think of was the people beyond the wall who would fight one another for a cluster of what he would consume in a short moment, not out of hunger but boredom, before the main course arrived.

Praefectus Cain, the man sitting at the head of the table with a Navy Blue suit, held up his glass, motioning for silence. “Welcome, Abigail Dupont, Elijah Fournier, and Joseph Martin.” He hovered his glass in the direction of the girl on my left and the boy on my right. “We thank you for taking your position in the Imperium. We trust that after Matia today your eyes have been opened and you will continue Eden’s legacy and keep our people safe and at peace.” 

The values of Eden surround love, whether that means the effort and care of a pastry or the simple act of clearing a guest’s plate. Gratitude is more important than the act itself. The way your fork and knife lie after a meal is communication and appreciation on its own. The meal was delicious if the handles were south with their blade and prongs pointed east. Lust, the overwhelming desire of another, is praised almost as highly as a perfectly smooth-shelled macaroon. Devotion is embroidered into liquor that makes your brain twist as if it were inside a dough mixer. 

Here, to love is to feed, eat, indulge, and blur gluttony and greed into the same idea. Seared beef, vanilla sponge cake, caramel, strawberries that dribble at the corners of your mouth, thick shakes with colour dye, the peel of a mandarin, wishbones, salted butter, sherbert, pineapple that burns your tongue, appetisers, and hors d’oeuvres. The table shrank as plates piled from the kitchen-what used to be a pristine cotton tablecloth now plates of every meal imaginable. It is a special day, of course. As people began to feast, I felt as though my body had conformed to a jelly-like substance, unable to move on its own, only able to react to the drunken movement surrounding it. 

The next day I found myself focused on every passing person on my way to work. Specifically, I stared at how their mouths curled into smiles and eyes creased with joy. Stupidity and negligence are bliss. If they knew what was outside, they too would be burdened and distraught. 

A woman with blonde hair that moved like ripples around her head caught my attention. Her cheeks and lips looked to be stained with cherry juice, and she took her time letting her heels click on and drag with every step she took. At that moment I thought of how she laughed—if it was quiet and withdrawn or louder. How did she prefer her eggs—scrambled, poached, fried, or boiled? I thought about a lifetime in a minute, and during that time, I forgot about what was beyond the walls. Possibly, I could remain this way. If I mocked what everyone around me did, I might find the joy that they experienced. If I married and partied and ate, would that sickening feeling I have held with me since Matia dissipate? 

The Imperium was stationed north of Eden, just past a row of oak trees that signified the end of the orchid plantation. I would park in the furthest spot from the entrance, press through a swing door that moves awfully slowly to accommodate those who wobble more than walk, and make my way through the hallway that runs through the city wall. Even though I pass through five days out of seven, I cannot help but stare out the wall’s windows every chance I have. The small slits in the hallway that allowed tainted auburn light to flow through and the large painting-like glass in the central office reminded everyone of what we shield from our citizens. At lunch for an hour, we sat at a stretched table overlooking Eden’s farmland and feasted on whatever specials the chef had plotted, yesterday was a honeyed duck. “I don’t know what is wrong with you, Joseph; this is one of the best ducks I’ve had this year and you refuse to eat more than an appetiser,” Abigaile exclaimed after finishing off the meat. 

I replied softly, knowing more than one ear was listening. “My appetite isn’t as strong as it used to be. Thank you for your consideration” It was an uncommon phenomenon, a refusal of food. Not eating is the equivalent of vetoing oxygen. “I’m just going to use the bathroom, excuse me.” I stand, placing the folded unstained napkin on the cushioned chair. Taking a last glance at the quantity of people and the view of my city I continue down one of the hallways. Even though my stomach growled, the idea of eating repulsed me. During the day my mouth would salivate in the hope of relief, by night when all I wanted was to binge I would finally make myself something.  Tonight I may have the oysters my father brought round this morning. He works at a lease and every time I crack salt over my plate I think of him, how his skin smelt like the unfiltered water and his hands that were callus and coarse from cutting open their shells. 

Taking each step I find myself mimicking the women I see most days on my way here. Click, drag. Click, drag… and just as I do with every window, discarding the bathroom where I was headed, my eyes wander to the clear surface overlooking the apocalyptic world a mere twenty metres away from our utopia. Instead of continuing further, my body lurches to a frozen halt. Apparently, on the other side, they can’t see through the glass. To them, it looks like the stone pattern remains unbroken. I don’t believe that. Staring through the glass, I am met with another man mirroring myself. His eyes are tired but focused and unwavering from mine. His nose has a crease at the bridge as if it were broken, and his teeth are jagged with gums receding so highly that they could have been finger bones. What scared me the most was how hollow his cheeks were. As if scooped with a soup spoon. His face resembles somewhat of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’. 

Instead of taking a step forward in concern or back in retreat, I simply stared. When I felt someone lock their knees next to me, my gaze remained on the window in a competition-like fashion.

Praefectus Cain’s firm voice began, “Joseph, is something upsetting you? Are you hungry?” 

Pulling my head back, feeling the muscles tense around every vertebra in a rehearsed sequence like piano keys in a glissando. I looked at him—at his round stomach, at his creased forehead, at his thin blond hair, at his tie bar with the words ‘Ab ovo usque ad mala’ engraved into the silver—before staring back at the window like a child and a cartoon film. I felt nauseated like I had just drunk vomitorium, a tiny ounce glass filled with yellow liquid that made you sick so you could go on eating. They usually have them at balls and galas. “I’m fine, thank you… Do…” My voice crackled as if a teaspoon of honey sat on my windpipe. “Do you ever think of helping them, the people out there?”

He thought, not about the answer but how to word it. “Yes, when I was your age.”

“I can’t think of how to describe it. I feel bad, sorry.

“Guilt.” The word was spoken as if he had been waiting to use it. 

The word was alien: “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what that means.”

We remain facing forward, “It means you have morals, something only a few here hold. Knowledge is the heaviest of all burdens, even if it carries no weight.  

“We have food to spare.” By then the man on the other side of the wall had walked off, his feet kicking up more loose orange powder-like dirt.

“How could you choose who receives a bounty? Every living thing is bound by fate. The people of Eden are safe from hunger because they are lucky. If we were to open our resources, what would happen? They are animals, Joseph. Unlike us, their world does not have a drop of civilisation.” Through the window, two boys ran towards a bird that had fallen to the ground. With desperate efforts, the taller one had proved victorious in the feathered corpse, and the shorter one crouched over the ground, echoing the fallen animal. “Tell me, Joseph, would they eat, or would they devour? The flesh of our loved ones would be torn from their bones and they would drink like we do red wine. These animals do not know amity, love, or kindness; we are survivors, that is what separates us.”

With a sigh, I could feel the pads of my fingers tingle with anticipation of cold sweat and unease. “Then, if being inhumane constitutes our difference, are we not the same?”