oqueequesentes-borboletas replied to your post “os preços dos hoteis em lisboa.. hoteis de 4* com preços a 40% abaixo...”
Qual a real probabilidade de apanhar covid num hotel? As aulas vão começar em 2 semanas e vai ser o fim da picada. É aproveitar agora. Live and be happy
eh. diria que depende do hotel e das suas praticas (bem como os cuidados que tu tens). acho que agora é mesmo questão de sorte/azar (e bom senso) para ser honesta. conheço muita gente a tirar proveito destes preços baixos ao longo dos últimos meses e não apanharam nada. também nenhum hotel que se preze vai correr o risco de ter um escândalo desses nas mãos, afundavam em 2 segundos.
não recomendo hostels though lol. e NUNCA recomendo lugares que tenham roupa de cama sem ser branca. covid ou sem covid, vejam sempre as fotos e quando cheguem ao quarto vejam se a casa de banho está limpa e se os cantos da cama estão arranjadinhos e os lençóis/almofadas brancos.
Hi. For the first sentence meme: "took you long enough". Thanks
“Took you long enough.”
He tries to go for sarcasm, he really does–but despite his best efforts Gendry can’t help the smile that crosses his face when he sees Arya standing there, right in front of him, like a vision from a dream.
Arya looks older, somehow, than she was the last time he saw her. There are lines at the corners of her eyes and her lips that were not there before. It’s only been a few months since Winterfell, since she told him no and goodbye, but the idea that they’ve lost even that much time causes a hard lump to rise up in his throat all the same.
She ignores his quip. She takes a step towards him, and then another.
“Had things to do,” she says, shrugging.
She cups his face in both hands and, gods, he hopes she never leaves again.
send me the first line of a fic and I will write five(ish) more
Olá! Não sei se me podes ajudar. Tenho uma varanda com boa exposição solar e gostava de montar um "pequeno pulmão". Será que me consegues aconselhar qual as plantas/árvores/flores mais apropriadas? Obrigada
Olá!
Admito que não tenho grandes conhecimentos de botânica. As minhas áreas são mais viradas para genética e mamíferos. No entanto, posso dizer-te aquilo que eu faria.
Primeiro, iria procurar só e apenas para plantas autóctones (excepto, vá, um manjericão e uns coentros que dão sempre jeito de ter para a comida). Dentro das autóctones, daria prioridade às que existissem na minha zona de residência. No caso de viver em cidade, pensaria nas plantas que há nas redondezas.
Depois, procuraria saber se as plantas têm raízes muito grandes ou se ficam felizes em vaso - o sobreiro, por exemplo, não ficaria; apesar de demorarem imenso tempo a crescer em altura, a raiz em vez de crescer “para os lados”, cresce “para baixo”. Quando plantei uns em garrafas de 1.5L para depois transplantar, tinha a ponta da raiz dos sobreiros a sair pelo buraco no fim de uns 6 meses se não menos. A única excepção para esta recomendação é se depois as quiseres plantar definitivamente em terra, como eu fiz com os sobreiros.
I think I’ve always been that kind of person who keeps a story with me even after finishing the book or movie. Creating headcanons, alternate scenes/endings, thinking about stories for side characters… But only in my head.
I think I started reading fanfics of Loki written in Portuguese. Vikings fandom (Rolisla fandom to be more specific) was my awakening I suppose, for it was here that I’ve made so many talented and sweet friends and after reading some fanfics and having their support, I decided I wanted to try it myself.
My knowledge of English was very limited and, at the time, I’ve never taken language classes besides the ones from school and they only covered the basic, so all I knew back then was self-taught and I thought writing would be a good way to exercise my skills, improve vocabulary, etc. I started studying English in 2016 and stopped in 2017 because of my tight schedule, but those classes definitely helped to enhance my grammar.
oqueequesentes-borboletas replied to your post “Hi. Do you know about the documentary "Caring for Tor"? The premise...”
I am the anon, wasn't going to expose myself but your text brought me to tears. I am a physical therapist and deal with cases like yours in a daily base. And allow me to tell you that you are a beautiful soul. As awkward it may sound from a stranger. Have a nice week and I wish you all the best that there is the world
*hugs* Thank you so much for pointing me in the direction of that docu. Like there have been so many times in my life when I felt like no one understands, have legit felt so alone and isolated and honestly lost friendships and relationships over my family commitments and just--it’s nice to see you’re not alone. And like, logically I know that, I’ve always known there are other families like mine, but since cerebral palsy is one of those conditions that can vary, I’ve rarely met/seen someone else with a case as severe as Carrie’s--even less so since we’ve been adults.
And all my praise to people like you! We’ve been lucky to have so many great teachers and physical therapists and speech therapists and case workers and nursers for Carrie over the years. All those occupations take such dedication and when dealing with someone like Carrie, an extra level of care and patience and it’s always so appreciated when someone has actual, good ‘bedside manner.’
These ones aren’t so bad. I continue inspecting the marks mom’s nails left on my shoulder, coming to the conclusion that a t-shirt should be enough to cover it. Maybe a scarf too, just in case. I take out the bottle of klorhexidin from my emergency backpack and soak a cotton wad then brace myself for what comes next. Somehow I still haven’t gotten used to the sting of klorhexidin and I bite my lip until it bleeds. The bloodied cotton ends up in the trash can and I let the wounds dry before covering it with a smaller compress.
10. What were the character’s parents like? What was the affect the parents had on the character?
I wait at the top of the staircase until both of them are snoring. I tiptoe downstairs, carefully avoiding the piles of laundry and the empty plastic bags that cover several of the steps, then peek into the living room to make sure that they are in fact passed out on the couch. There’s not as much glass on the kitchen floor as I expected, shouldn’t take too long to clean it up. About an hour later all of the shards have been swept up and moved to one of the containers across the street. The cut above my hip bone is patched up and I’ve put the first aid kit back in its place, noting to myself that we’re almost out of bandaids. Mom and dad are still snoring when I sneak back upstairs, feeling content that none of them will get a foot full of glass in the morning.
*****
The stranger coos in my ear, telling me that everything will be fine. When I try to protest, the words come out in a jumbled mess. That’s not what I’m supposed to sound like.
“Let me go.” I repeat, trying to speak more clearly this time. My vision is rapidly deteriorating but I still have enough of my wits about me to understand that he’s dragging me to one of the bathrooms at the back of the room. I lift one heavy arm to push him away but the grip around my shoulders still refuses to budge. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, I just wanted to celebrate not living with my parents anymore. Maybe get to know some of my new classmates. My limbs feel so heavy, like I’m moving through streaming water. The white door closes in on me and it looks big enough to swallow me whole. Then someone screams and he stumbles sideways, losing his grip on me. The wall rushes closer and I throw my hands out to brace myself against it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” The screamer demands. My eyes are closed but I hear a crunching sound, like something breaking, and a groan of pain. I’m using all my energy to stay on my feet and so I twitch in surprise when I open my eyes to discover a girl right next to me. Her face is familiar but I can’t concentrate long enough to figure out from where.
“What’s your name?” She asks, one hand on either side of my face. She’s the one who screamed earlier, she has to be. It takes me several attempts to answer but when I finally do the blonde smiles and she pushes my hair back from my sweaty forehead.
“Okay, Fredrika. I’m Adina. I’m going to help you.”
*****
I’m not going to be like them. I’ve told myself that countless times over the years, especially since the incident back when I was 18 and even more so since Ivar told me he wants to have kids. I will be a better parent. But Björn’s backhanded comment at tonight’s office party about how, according to research, alcoholism apparently has a lot do with genes made me want to hide. Ivar is furious, snapping at the driver to hurry up and turn the car around. His fingers wrap around mine and squeezes.
“Are you okay?” I sniffle, trying to wipe my eyes as discreetly as possible.
“I’ve been better.” Ivar turns and lets me bury my face at his shoulder, one palm smoothing down my spine while we wait for the car.
