#thanks cambridge dictionary

[crispyliza]

Guys I think bemused means slightly confused

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 183

Adjective: Charred

Noun: Woman

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Charred: burned and blackened

Woman: an adult female human being; an adult who lives and identifies as female, though they may have been said to have a different sex at birth; a female servant; a wife or a female sexual and/or romantic partner; women in general

[stilljuststardust]

Hii, so, I have a friend who wishes to learn about the law of assumption but I dunno how to explain it beyond "what you assume is reality". I really don't wanna risk trying to explain it and end up fucking it up, y'know? Could you help me with an explanation? Thank you 🖤

˚✦What you need to know about LOA✦˚

What is the law?

"An assumption, though false, if persisted in, will harden into fact."

(-Neville Goddard)

The law applies to ANYTHING. There is nothing that cannot be changed through assumption. You are limitless. Anything you imagine can be assumed, persisted in, and hardened into fact.

What you assume will materialize into reality.

What is an assumption?

(I cover this more after I explain 4D and 3D)

Assumption, noun

Something that you accept as true without question or proof.

(-Cambridge Dictionary)

Nothing outside of you can tell you what is and isn't true. Your word is fact. You are the proof, the validation, the evidence.

What you assume to be true IS true.

Do not under any circumstances accept something that you do not want in your reality as true.

What is 3D and 4D?

Third dimension

Physical reality, experienced with the physical senses. Sometimes called the "mirror"

Fourth dimension

Internal reality, experienced through thoughts, mental images, assumptions and the subconscious mind. Sometimes called "true reality"

What do they have to do with manifestation?

The physical reality is a reflection of the internal reality. You create the 4D and it is reflected back to you in the 3D. This is why people sometimes call the physical reality a "dead mirror" because it is a physical reflection of your internal perception of reality.

When people say the 4D is the true reality they mean nothing is true unless it's true in the 4D.

The 3D is not the ultimate truth, assumption is.

Many people get caught up in the 3D because they're unable to accept that the physical reality isn't THE truth.

The second you assume something you automatically have it in the 4D.

NOTHING is true until you accept it as true. YOU have the final say, always. The 3D does not dictate fact, YOU do.

How do we change the 4D?

Assumption, repetition, visualization, but heavy emphasis on assumption.

Assumption

Assume you have what you want already. Do not look for proof or justification, an assumption is belief without evidence.

Know that no matter what happens in the 3D, no matter what you see hear or feel, you have what you want.

Do not bend to the 3D. Your assumption is true.

You want to manifest healthy hair?

Your hair is already healthy. "But I'm looking at it it's no-" nope it's already healthy. You know it's healthy because you assumed it was.

You decide that it is true and it has worked, ignore anything outside of yourself that tells you otherwise, know that it is true because you fucking said it was.

That's it, you decide, know it to be true and ignore anything but that decision.

You decide you have your manifestation and ignore ANYTHING but that decision.

Repetition

Repeating/reminding yourself of your assumption. It can be hard for people to persist in assumptions because sometimes it's just easy to forget. So repetition comes in to remind you of your assumption and to hammer into your brain that it's true.

For example, you want to have healthy hair?

Repeat to yourself throughout the day that you have healthy hair.

Robotic affirmations are great for this.

Robotic affirmations are affirmations that are repeated again and again. They do not require feeling or belief while you say them. You can feel like shit and still affirm affirm affirm.

The best times to affirm are when you wake up, before you go to sleep, and in place of letting your mind roam free during boring tasks.

Visualization

This is helpful for those who struggle with desiring proof. Visualization helps ground people in their assumptions by not only reminding them it's real but giving them the feeling of having it

For example you want healthy hair?

Anytime you feel the urge to check your hair to see where it's at or you're thinking about your desire imagine it as healthy and remind yourself that what you've imagined is real.

Use your visualization as proof or validation that your assumption is true instead of checking the 3D.

How to persist

Literally just keep going. Realize the the 3D is not the authority on what is and isn't true and keep going.

You're allowed to feel like shit. You're allowed to be scared or angry or frustrated, but keep going.

It's not about how you feel it's about what you know and you KNOW it's true.

What is old story new story?

Old story

Old beliefs and internal perception of reality that you previously accepted as fact. AKA the negative story you've told yourself about your life.

New story

New assumptions you would like to persist in. AKA the positive story you are going to start telling.

The idea is that you have to let go of your old perception of reality and your life if you want to experience something different.

Stop telling yourself stories about who you are and what you're experiencing if you don't want to keep experiencing them.

[sgiandubh]

Hyde Park, London. Planet Earth

This is fresh out of the oven: S&C's interview for Marie-Claire, released a couple of hours ago on Youtube.

I listened carefully and almost choked on my Diet Coke.

Minute mark 6:08, please and thank you:

Here is what I heard:

" S: Um, how did we bond? I mean, I'd call this probably involved... but we did have weird dinners and things, we had a nice walk in London, didn't we, when we (unintelligible, haha).

C (dutifully chiming in): Yeah, we bonded over getting our hair destroyed. You know, I had two perms in one week, Sam was on his like seven...

S: seven times....

C:.... seventh hair-dye...

S:... in three weeks, yeah...

C:...and we went for a walk in Hyde Park and we sort of had a chat and we were like (unintelligible: "Lord" would be my best guess) this could be....

S: ....this could be a long one, so buckle up...

C:.... and let's have each other's backs...

S: ...yeah....

C:... and we did...

S: .... and we did."

I immediately checked a trustworthy source of information: the Cambridge Dictionary, since these two are British English native speakers. Unlike me:

To be involved in/with something (does not apply, the first question was "how did we bond?"):

To be/get involved with somebody (since he "would call this probably involved", most plausible interpretation):

We knew something happened there and then. It was, after all, " a special day for us", wasn't it?

And they did.

I rest my case, your honor.

[nerdyenby]

Third Life playlist

This is an explanation for my song choices for the Third Life segment of my Traffic Series playlist

Bang by AJR: this whole song is very much giving the same ‘Something’s going to happen but I don’t know what, thanks for coming along to find out’ energy as I get from the start of Third Life. Something’s going on, it’s not gonna end well, but we’re not particularly bothered, not yet at least. I also like to go for a double meaning and interpret the “bang” as Scar’s first death.

High Up by half•alive: “Behind your back a cold surprise, in favor of the third degree. I took a breath and took the knife, no I won’t defend the killer in me.” After accidentally killing Scar, Grian offers his own life to the man, vowing to do whatever Scar wants. When all Scar wants is company, the two establish Monopoly Mountain together and Grian comes to enjoy living with Scar. “Sitting on the mountain now I’m high up, never wanna come down. When you look at me, I’m lifted.”

Say It, Just Say It by The Mowgli’s: This song goes out to all the Third Life duos. “I will take your side, you make me feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life. And I could die to find that simple kind of love you can’t deny.”

Kamikaze by WALK THE MOON: I was familiar with the term “kamikaze” but wanted to clarify what exactly it meant in this context. According to Cambridge dictionary, a kamikaze attack is a sudden and violent onslaught, usually by an attacker who knows they will not make it out alive. I find this very fitting to 3L!Grian as he went mad causing death and destruction early on with no regard for his own life. “Going down with my wings on fire, guess I’ll see you in another life. Stepping out of body, you can tell everybody I’m a kamikaze.”

Sweet Nothing by Taylor Swift: Even after Grian dies and the terms of their deal are satisfied, he still goes back to Scar. It was barely a choice. “They said the end is coming, everyone’s up to something, I find myself running home to your sweet nothings.”

Fight for it by Joy Oladokun: “You’re sticking with me tonight for life, I’m sticking with you.” People dying left and right, Grian and Scar stick together, fighting for their lives.

The Great War by Taylor Swift: “All that bloodshed, crimson clover, the bombs were closer. My hand was the one you reached for all throughout the Great War. I’ll always remember the burning embers. I vowed not to fight anymore if we survived the Great War.” Final deaths raining around them, they leaned on each other heavily, relying on each other until it got to the final three. Scar was the one to bring Grian to red. “Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I’d been betrayed,” only for Scar to offer him his final life and the crown. Grian watched awestruck as Scar later down his life, giving the other complete permission to kill him.

Graveyard by Halsey: “It’s crazy when the thing you love the most is the detriment.” This song can be from either Grian or Scar’s point of view of how Grian keeps being the one to hurt Scar the most. They keep running back to each other, hoping it will change, but it never does. Whether it’s Scar’s first death or his last, it’s Grian. It’s always Grian. “When the hand you wanna hold is a weapon, and you’re nothing but skin.”

Gladiator by Waterparks: This is about the final fight in the cactus ring and all the forces pushing them into it: the ghosts, the Watchers, and us the viewers. “And what it comes back to is gladiators. Make them fight to the death. And they would cheer on a gladiator, but the whole time the gladiator wasn’t fighting because he liked fighting[…] he was fighting completely for survival. And his whole survival completely relied upon a stadium full of people.”

Getaway Car by Taylor Swift: After killing Scar, Grian reflects on how they met. “I struck a match and blew your mind, but I didn’t mean it, and you didn’t see it.” Their bond was formed from destruction and guilt. They were never going to end any other way. “Don’t pretend it’s such a mystery, think about the place where you first met me.”

? by Tate McRae: “It’s crazy to me because you grow up, you lose friends, you’re suddenly scared of things that you were literally never scared of before. And when I was younger, I used to think I could fly.” Grian’s final death: the fall.

Finale by AJR: Grian winning the Third Life and having to make Last Life. “Congratulations on your bit of success, we can’t wait to see what you do next.” The speaker can be interpreted the Watchers or us the audience (if you interpret them as distinct). “They wanted heaven from me, I gave ‘em hell. Now they want something bigger, I’m overwhelmed.”

[intheorangebedroom]

Pleased to meet you, chapter 10

Summary: it's Will's birthday, and everyone gathers at his place for a nice Sunday barbecue. You choose a particular -sensible- outfit, and some decisions are made in the heat of the moment.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

A/N: it occurred to me recently (thank you Fanna) that some of you had subscribed to the taglist without my knowledge... I'm an unworthy idiot and thought I'd get a notif of some sort, so I never thought to check the form out. I'm very sorry. I'm insanely grateful to anyone who interacts with this story. I will never tire of thanking you.

Word Count: 7.1k (I'm very sorry, I don't know what happened, I'm blaming the Millers on this one)

[prev] * [series masterlist] * [next]

Chapter 10: The Deal

(👆🏻 as per usual, from @nicolethered 's treasure trove)

-

Catfish, noun [C] (FISH) : a fish with a flat head and long hairs around its mouth that lives in rivers or lakes.

Catfish, noun [C] (FAKE), informal: someone who pretends on social media to be someone different, in order to trick or attract other people.

Padding out of the steamy bathroom into the adjacent bedroom, you press the home screen button to close the Cambridge Dictionary app and tap open your Larousse translator.

Catfish [‘kætfiʃ] (pl catfish or catfishes), noun : poisson-chat.

None of it makes any sense to you, not in any language you know. Perhaps you should try Spanish? Putain de merde.

Benny’s resounding voice echoes from the living-room, the velvety tones brushing against your naked skin. He’s strumming his guitar to a song you recognise as Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son. The hand holding your phone lowers slowly, your tense shoulders dropping in slow motion as you listen.

Ben’s voice is what you like best about him. It’s the very first thing you noticed, in the hardware store aisle, and also the first that charmed you after your first couple of dates. It trickles down your spine like honey, keeps your inside warm and your mind snug, and when he sings… well, when he sings, on a normal day, it’s plenty enough to turn you on like an electrical wire, and he never gets to play very long when you’re staying at his place.

Only nothing’s normal anymore.

You stood up Rosie at the last minute on Tuesday, unable to face her in the wake of this new reality, instead showing up at work on your day off without an explanation and unilaterally deciding to undertake a thorough inventory of the bookstore. Your boss, Suzanne, was pleasantly surprised, and if something seemed off to her, she didn’t say.

When Benny told you he would see the guys again on Friday night, you attempted to talk him out of it, as subtly as you could despite your nervousness, feeling as though he could see right through you. Which he didn’t.

After closing up that evening, you walked straight to your usual deli, just around the block corner from the bookstore, where the cashier is a Moroccan grandpa with whom you chat in French, much to your delight, and who calls you “cousine”, and bought your first pack of smokes since college.

Back at your apartment, you smoked all 20 cigarettes sitting by the windowsill of your living-room, waiting for a text or a phone call from Benny that never came. He’s not in the habit of texting nor calling you, on Friday nights. He has taught himself to respect your chosen moments of aloneness, with a childlike willingness, eager to please you.

What were you so nervous about, anyway? How likely is it that Frankie would walk up to his friend to tell him, “Hey, I fucked your girlfriend fifteen years ago, and she let me do things to her that she has denied you repeatedly. Want another beer?”

Your manic brain won’t let go about it, however, no matter how sternly you reason with yourself, no matter what logic you employ. Would that eventuality be so far-fetched? You don’t know what these men share. You know nothing of the strength and nature of their bond. Only that they’re like brothers. You’re foreign to that. You’re an outsider. How can you be sure that Benny wouldn’t cut you loose without a second look if his friend told him about what happened between you? Besides, if Catfish looked at you with such unabated anger, he might very well consider it his brotherly duty to warn his friend. “She’s a liar. She’ll never call you.”

The worst being that you can’t make up your mind about what would hurt most. Benny’s abandon. Or Frankie’s betrayal.

If only you knew what the fuck “Catfish” means. If you had this one clue, you might get an understanding of the man he has become. Or so you think.

You put down your phone and retrieve a cotton t-shirt from your travel bag, laying it flat on the bed next to your jeans, smoothing over the fabric with a frown. You brought another choice of outfit, more suitable to attend a birthday party, a cute little white cotton short-sleeves button-up with a red lining around the collar, a yellow one along the button placket and a dark green one on the breast pocket.

Picking up your phone again, you briefly consider running a Google image search, for the hundredth time or so, but instead angrily toss it on the bed, where it bounces off and ends up on the wooden floor with an ominous noise.

“Et merde!”

“Ooooh she’s naked!” Benny appears on the bedroom threshold, dirty blue jeans and shabby Kiss T-shirt, his massive silhouette dwarfing the doorway.

“Sorry, I’m dressing up, I’ll be ready in a minute,” you quickly shuffle back to the bag and crouch down, rummaging through it in search of your underwear. Benny offered weeks, no, months ago, to clear a drawer for you. And a shelf in his wardrobe. You’ve really mastered the art of deflecting, if anything else.

“That’s not what I meant,” he croons, joining you in two long strides, tugging at your arm until you stand up and face him.

“Stop it, we’re bringing the drinks, we can’t be late,” you tilt your head up with a raised eyebrow, your frustration visible.

“I do not care… Come on, I’ll be quick,” he promises with a cocky smile, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Oh, you’ll be quick? What about me?” you exclaim in mock offence.

It systematically takes you by surprise, every single time, the ease with which this man manages to lift up your mood. No matter how reluctant you are, he just drags the joy out of you.

“I can get you off fast. Three minutes—”

“Three minutes?!” you cry indignantly.

“I like a challenge, come on,” he chuckles, splaying his large hands across your cheeks, drifting toward the cleft of your ass as you try to wiggle out of his embrace.

“Benjamin, it’s late, stop it,” you giggle, but the drag of his lips along the line of your neck is making you weak in the knees already, a small heat flaring up in your belly.

His voice drops another octave and your entire body shudders against his rumbling chest, “Three minutes. Bend over the bed, baby.”

—

Three minutes turned out to be twenty, after what you had to take another shower, and now you’re definitely running late. You’re not cross, however, if anything you feel more relaxed than you have since the beginning of the week. More than quick, he’s been rough, pounding you ruthlessly into the mattress from behind while you frantically rubbed your clit, and perhaps it was just what you needed to straighten your head. To remind yourself that you’re precisely where -and with whom- you’re supposed to be. Because you are. Right?

As you apply mascara in the bathroom, Benny calls in from the living-room, announcing he’s going to start the car. You acknowledge the information for what it means: that gives you five extra minutes, it being the amount of time he likes to run the engine for, before pulling the Mustang out of the garage.

You briskly walk into the bedroom and slip into your sensible underwear and your jeans. The t-shirt you pulled out of your bag earlier slipped on the floor while Benny was fucking you, and you pick it up without looking at it, shoving it back unceremoniously inside the bag. You make a face at the rumpled cotton as you pull out your blouse and lay it on the mattress. As you vainly repeat your earlier motion, trying to smooth the shirt under your palm, you decide that you’re going to ask Benny again about the shelf and drawer, after all, nodding to yourself.

You put on the blouse and start buttoning it up, circling the bed to retrieve your phone from the corner of the room where it fell earlier, and as you pick up the device, the screen unlocks and lights up.

Catfish [‘kætfiʃ] (pl catfish or catfishes), noun : poisson-chat.

You pause for the briefest moment, clenching your jaw and about to rub your eyelids before remembering you’ve got makeup on. Sliding the phone in the back pocket of your jeans, you hurry back to your bag and choose the yellow t-shirt for the second time today.

—

Will is getting a grill for his birthday. An insanely expensive beast of a machine with more knobs than a sci-fi villain’s aircraft. Something he has no use for, since he’s had the same simple, basic charcoal grill since he moved in alone after splitting from Jean. Something Frankie’s dead sure he won’t even like. Pope and Redfly’s idea.

He tried objecting, but he’s no match for the two of them together, and Benny, typically, sided with the two men. So everyone chipped in, Yovanna and you included, he was informed, and Frankie was handed the money in cash and asked to take care of everything, from buying the damn thing, to storing it in his garage and bringing it over to Will’s house on Sunday morning. Everyone else too busy with their respective jobs, kids, girlfriends. He’s the one with the suspension and the big truck parked outside all year round. He’s the one with the empty garage and the empty bed.

When Will opens his front door, bare-chest and his hair still wet, Frankie gives him an eloquent glance from under the brim of his cap, as he moves to the side of the doorway to let his friend see what is hauled up at the back of the red truck.

“Fuck, man, you kidding me?” Will exclaims in his slow drawl. “Why did you let them do that?”

“I tried, brother, I tried. Happy birthday, anyway,” Frankie pats him on the shoulder before walking back to his truck to unload the monster with the help of a trolley.

It takes the two of them to carry it across the soft soil of the backyard, on which the trolley refuses to budge, and position it against the fence at the rear of the garden.

Yovanna and Pope come in soon after with the meats and side dishes, Pope’s winning argument to convince Will to throw a party being that he wouldn’t have to do a thing. While they help set everything on the large picnic table, Frankie starts the grill.

He had flipped through the thick manual the night before, shaking his head and occasionally chuckling at the convoluted instructions. He’d be damned if Will was going to use this thing once, and when he asked his friend whether he wanted him to take away the old grill, Will shot him a “don’t you dare” glance that got him wheezing.

Redfly arrives next with his two daughters, Tess, the eldest, looking like she’d rather stick a fork in her leg than be here with a bunch of old men, her headphones riveted to her head. Frankie notices for the first time, with a pang of sadness, how much she resembles her father, her defeated look reflected on his friend’s face.

The doorbell keeps ringing for a while, more guests pouring into the small backyard, arms full of drinks and food, and gathering around the table. First, the couple from across the street and their two toddlers, and Frankie inquires if they want the kids to eat first, the exhausted father gratefully agreeing to the suggestion. Then the next door neighbour, a cute redhead of indiscernible age named Clare who, Frankie observes, melts on her chair every time Will addresses her, and finally two of Will’s coworkers from the VA.

The table is quickly buried under heaps of food, egg salad, bowls of chips, biscuits and corn on the cob, three different salads, bags of buns and a large plate of homemade arepas brought by Yovanna… So Will neighbour’s suggests to lend him two plastic folding tables to accommodate everyone, that they install after retrieving them from his garage.

Pope plays some music through his Bluetooth speaker and everyone starts loosening up, happily chatting against the sizzling noises of grilling meat.

At which point, Frankie gets fidgety, his carefully crafted composure eroding slowly.

It’s not out of character for Benny to be late, quite the contrary. Even though he’s been tasked with providing the refreshments.

Only, he knows you too will be here. And he came prepared, deciding early on that this day would be a run test for future interactions. Specifically, is he capable of entertaining a polite and distant relationship with you, without feeling like his blood had been turned into lava. Without the need to take the anger out on himself afterward. Without wanting more than just that.

Judging from his increasingly shaky hand clasped around the fancy grill’s spatula, he might have to skip the next couple of happy family gatherings.

—

Will’s house is smaller than his brother’s, although it counts one more room. But being considerably tidier, you’ve always thought it to be much larger.

The front door opens directly into a wide but shallow room, arbitrarily divided into a living-room on the right and a dining area on the left. Beyond this first room, a corridor serves a bathroom and a kitchen to the left, and two small bedrooms to the right, and leads to the well-kept backyard, closed off by a neatly lined white fence.

You’ve been here once or twice before, but when you hang out with the Miller brothers, it’s usually at Ben’s place, or in a downtown bar. It’s not that Will’s house is uncomfortable, the couch is brand new, the fridge well stocked, the TV set modern. But everything about it is spartan, bordering impersonal.

Today, as Will greets you with one of his heartfelt, marked embrace, you can’t help but ponder one more time the contrast between the austere interior and what you know to be the man’s rich, limitless inner world.

“You’re late,” he shoots gruffly at his baby brother.

Ben shrugs carelessly and retorts, “It’s her fault,” tilting his head toward you, before making a beeline to the backyard, carrying a giant beer keg and a cooler filled with beverages with the same ease as if they were fluffy pillows.

Will throws you a skeptical glance and you answer silently with a shake of your head.

“Happy birthday, Will,” you say with a soft smile, and as he moves to follow Ben into the garden, you hold him back, tugging at his plaid shirt. “I’ve got something for you.”

“You mean you weren’t in on the present?” he asks as if it makes more sense, returning your smile.

“Oh no, I am, I wasn’t given a choice, but I got you something else.”

For some reason, you don’t feel comfortable handing him the rectangular, carefully wrapped package you extract from your tote bag in front of everyone, and he senses your hesitancy. He gives you a short nod and you follow him in silence towards the corridor. Somehow, his massive frame looks even more impressive as you walk sheepishly behind him, tall figure, wide shoulders, strong arms. You know him to be slightly smaller in height than his younger brother, but he’s all quiet strength and raw power. You wonder for a brief moment what it must feel like to be facing a man like him in battle, to find yourself on the wrong side of William Ironhead Miller.

He opens the door to the spare bedroom, where you’ve never been before, and before you have the time to withhold it, a faint gasp escapes you.

It’s an office, of sorts, and a cluttered one, with a desk positioned under the single window, covered in notebooks and scattered notes written on loose sheets, an old sofa bed, foam coming out of the thread-bare armrests, and so many bookshelves it looks as though they’re holding the ceilings, the walls barely visible. Rows of non-fiction, philosophical essays, geography textbooks and some exhibition catalogs, several framed military decorations, and framed photos. Dozens of photos.

You’re standing inside William’s brain.

You gape at him in bewilderment, your eyes asking a silent question, to which he replies, “It’s ok, you can take a look,” a knowing smile on his face, and you dart toward the nearest shelf without hesitation.

The picture of the two of them next to the golden retriever is the first one that holds your attention, but there are many more family portraits, some of them with a couple you easily identify as their parents, the boys bearing a striking resemblance to them, and one with a toddler, a girl, holding a very young William’s hand. Everything’s there, a colourful and assorted retrospective of their entire childhood: picnics, mountain hikes, birthdays, first bikes, fishing trips to the lake, graduations… Ben and Will at a variety of stages of their military carriers, lined up in chronological order, as far as you can tell, and because your mind so often works in the same ways as your friend’s.

A growing lump invades your throat, and you begin to blink wildly. You stand here, motionless, numb, unable to pull away from the images, fully aware of the privilege he’s granting you, admitting you into this sanctuary, tucked away from everyone else’s prying gaze.

And then you see it. A group picture of the five of them, siting around a camp fire in front of a large camouflage tent, in what looks like a Middle Eastern scenery. Pope, Redfly, Ironhead, Benny, and Catfish. All of them looking considerably younger. All of them grinning widely. Your heart sinks at the sight of his dimple. How old can he be? Thirty, thirty-five, you assume, his hair short, a soft caramel brown, his face clean-shaven, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes shallow, still, but the crease between his brows deep, already.

You missed out on so much of him. You missed everything.

It takes all of your willpower to turn away and hand Will the package, without a word, not trusting your voice to be steady enough to speak.

He doesn’t tear the wrapping, instead tugging the adhesive open, until the busy book cover is revealed. It’s an exhibition catalog, Bauhaus 1919-1933: Workshops in Modernity, held at the MoMa in 2010, long before you met each other. The first time the two of you visited the museum together, you swung by the bookstore, and you observed him discreetly as he flipped through the catalog’s pages with covetous eyes, eventually replacing it on its pile, with evident regret. It took you a while, several weeks of getting to know him better, before you could understand why. Priced at $75, the book was an unaffordable luxury to him.

You see the surprise play across his handsome features, and you can tell the exact moment when he registers, the memory resurfacing, that milestone in your friendship, the fact that you remembered. You see this solid, pragmatic man, rarely surprised, always prepared, clearly shaken; and as you finally stir to leave the room, wanting to allow him the space you know he needs, he pulls you into his arms, hugging you so tightly it hurts, and he whispers, “Thanks, sister.”

—

“Alright, who wants some alcohol?” Ben shouts into the backyard, his question greeted by a collective and cheerful holler.

Frankie’s knuckles crack in his grip of the cooking utensil, and he has to make a conscious effort to stop gritting his teeth. Ok, he got this, he reminds himself. If he made it through Monday night, he can make it through Sunday afternoon. He turns around to face the house, and his front collides with Ben’s chest, who pats his back with a resounding grunt. You’re nowhere in sight.

“Hey man, wanna beer?” Ben asks brightly.

One of them had a good morning, at least.

“Yea, is it fresh?” Frankie’s voice comes out a bit tense, but he can work on it, he knows he can.

“It sure is,” Ben answers, cracking a can open and handing it to his friend.

Frankie takes a swig of the cool beverage and feels it flowing down his burning throat, scanning the door to the house. You’re still nowhere to be seen.

“You’re alone?” he asks, and immediately winces.

Off to a great start.

“Nah, she’s in there with Will, scheming.”

Ben tries to pick up a wiener from the grill and burns his fingers, swearing under his breath and mumbling something about the size of the machine. Something that Frankie doesn’t hear. His ears are filled with the frenetic thumping of his blood, even though his heart has stopped beating.

Will’s bulky silhouette appeared in the doorway, and as he stepped into the garden, you materialised behind him, pausing there for a moment to let your eyes adjust to the midday light. You’re wearing these jeans again, the ones that are way too tight on your hips, they’re Benny’s favourite, but Frankie doesn’t know that, and it’s not what he sees. What he sees is your t-shirt. A pale shade of yellow, and the print of a book cover. A black cat in a white bow tie, holding a gun in its clawed paw, winking straight at him, and the title in red, bold letters, etched over your breasts, that spell:

The Master and Margarita.

—

You find yourself behind Will again, walking down the narrow hallway to the backyard, but you have to stop on the threshold, blinded by the sudden daylight. It’s early in April, and you recall a Gainsbourg song about April inspiring love. There’s a stereo playing Jefferson Airplane and the smell of grilled meat fills the air. When your eyes adjust to the luminosity, you’re slightly taken aback. You didn’t expect that big of a crowd, and anxiety immediately kicks in at the thought of having to meet new people and make small talk. Something catches your eyes on your right, Yovanna is waving at you, standing next to Pope.

You smile back, relieved, about to step in and join her, when you see him.

A blue and brown plaid shirt pulled taut over his broad frame, the top two, no, three buttons undone, the dip of his collarbones exposed, rolled up sleeves revealing his forearms, locks of hair curling around his ears and on his nape.

When your eyes lock, a faint, wistful smile tugs at the corner of his lips and oh god, you want to crawl under his skin and forever live there.

—

The guests are all seated, now, divided into groups around the three tables in the cramped backyard, except for the neighbours’ kids, who are running around under the playful supervision of Tom’s youngest, Sue.

You’re sitting between Will and Benny, across from Yovanna and Pope, but more often than not, Will’s up and around, refilling people’s glasses, making sure everyone has everything they need. You know him to be more comfortable in quiet settings, but he makes for a very charming host, nonetheless.

Grilling food and preparing the burgers take up most of Frankie’s time, who has yet to sit down and enjoy his own plate. You’ve never seen so much meat, and you don’t think you’ll be able to swallow any for the next two weeks at least.

When Frankie comes over to your table to ask what your party would like to eat, you notice for the first time that he addresses Yovanna almost exclusively in Spanish, whereas Pope and him mostly use English. He’d told you he was born in Argentina, but you’d never heard him use his mother tongue, and it’s invading all your senses. His voice sounds different, softer, rounder, less gruff around the edges.

You won’t let it carry you back to the orange bedroom, not here, not like that, not with your boyfriend’s hand resting on your lap, his thumb rubbing your inner thigh. If you could just effectively control your goddamn breathing every time he lifts that cap and combs through his hair…

“What about you?” his husky voice jolts you out of your reverie. He’s looking straight at you, hands propped on his hips, “What do you want?”

You stare at him blankly, dumbstruck, an instantaneous acceleration in the rhythm of your heartbeat as you feel crimson creeping up your neck and cheeks. Will’s steely gaze is on you as you shift nervously on your hard plastic seat.

Meat. He’s asking about the meat.

“Burger. Rare. Please,” you answer without thinking, before adding hastily, “Wait! Can I have some extra cheese? Please?”

Pope bursts out laughing and Yovanna shoves her elbow in his ribs. A slow, devastating smile appears on Frankie’s face, so broad, so spontaneous, so sincere, all dimple and teeth, and for the first time in this life you’re facing your Frankie, despite the deep creases at the corner of his eyes, despite the cap hiding away his curls, despite the whiskered cheeks stranded with grey, and it’s more, much more than you can stand, you have to lower your eyes onto your egg salad.

The rest of the meal is a game of avoidance, played knowingly and with unexpected skill by the two of you. Every once in a while, you throw each other sideways glances, facing away mere milliseconds before your eyes can actually meet, holding your stare until the last possible moment. But for the most part, you concentrate on Yovanna, exchanging ideas on topics as diverse as politics or cinema, making plans for a girl’s night out with Rosie and some of her friends.

Frankie cooked the food you’re eating right now. You try not to linger on the thought. And he gave you extra cheese, alright, your burger disintegrating in your hands, nearly impossible to handle with the amount he managed to melt on top of the patty.

He loves the way you eat, grabbing the burger with both hands and unceremoniously pushing it into your mouth until you realise there are people around who might be watching.

Memories are resurfacing now, flowing into the gaping abyss vacated by his receding anger, flooding his brain, and his senses.

And if he can’t recall what the two of you ate during the single meal you shared over the course of the weekend, he remembers your voracity. To this day, you remain his best kiss. Like that first one on the balcony, no, not a balcony, a fire escape, when he hung on for dear life to your hips with a bruising grip as you pulled him in, a minute ago shy and self-conscious, all he had to do was show you the attraction was reciprocal.

And that other kiss you gave him after that meal, only it hadn’t been on his lips.

It was already Sunday, in the early afternoon, when you too had first thought of eating. You were together on that bed where you spent most of the weekend. Lying on his back, eyes closed and a smile dancing on his lips, he was focused on the sensation of the tip of your fingers tracing patterns along his torso.

Your stomach let out a very loud, very angry growl. Your eyebrows shot up and you rolled onto your side to cover your face in embarrassment, both of you bursting into a laughing fit. He wrestled you for a bit, trying to pull your arms away from your face, and he finally carried you out of bed. He couldn’t understand why he found the idea of feeding you so satisfactory, even then, as he still does today.

You slipped on his plaid shirt, the act so natural and familiar, you looked so fucking lovely. He felt a pang of possessiveness, a foreign feeling to him, one he’d never experienced until then. You followed him into the kitchen where you ate together in content silence, exchanging cheerful looks, like two happy puppies.

After eating, however, the atmosphere shifted. He felt your gaze on his bare skin and when he looked up, your hooded eyes told him everything he needed to know. You got up slowly, purposefully, and slowly, purposefully took off his shirt, draping it neatly over the back of the Formica chair. Fuck, he loved your tits, so damn much.

He found himself unable to move, mesmerised by your demeanour, confident and full of intent. It was new, and it was something else. You were not quite the same girl anymore, and he wasn’t sure if “girl” was still the fitting term.

Closing the distance between you in one stride, you kneeled in front of him, gently parting his legs with your hands, and you moved closer, holding his gaze. He felt dumbstruck, at your mercy, like he had when you first backed him against that same kitchen chair two nights ago, and he licked his bottom lips in a futile attempt to snap out of it.

You lowered your eyes to the growing bulge in his black briefs and his cock twitched. With parted lips, you leaned in to kiss him through the warm fabric, eyes closed in rapture under your raised brow. Softly, you nuzzled your cheek against the cottony material, and inhaled. He froze, eyes locked on you, his chest heaving, his mouth gone slack. You rested your cheek on the inside of his thigh for a short while.

Then, flicking your eyes open, you started quietly, “I really want to–” and paused, and it occurred to him you might not even know how to say it in English.

“You don’t have to, if you’re–”, he trailed off, hardly recognising his own breathy, shaky voice. What the fuck was he talking about? He might die if you stopped now.

“Please? Please let me. It’s just that… I know I’m not too good at it.”

He was already fully erect when you took him out of his briefs, hard and heavy, and when you hesitantly bit your bottom lip, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt the curled up tip of your tongue collecting the bead of precome from the head of his cock, heard your satisfied exhale, felt your cold mouth enveloping him -cereal, he remembers it now, you had cold milk with cereal-, felt the contrast of your warm hand wrapping around his base.

If you were fairly inexperienced, your eagerness more than made up for it, and he let out a muffled curse when you began licking up broad stripes, before dipping as far down on him as you could.

He wanted to bury his hands in your hair and thrust deeply into your mouth, fill you entirely, the thought of fucking your throat threatening to tip him over too soon, but a part of his brain somehow still functioning remained in control; instead he gripped the sides of his seat until his knuckles turned white.

Your mouth closed around him, you settled in a steady rhythm, tongue swirling around his fat tip, hand stroking up and down with a maddening twist of your wrist, but you were far too gentle. With his cock still in your mouth, your eyes flicked up to his with a question, to which he gave a short, rapid nod, yes, yes, do whatever the fuck you want with me and you withdrew your lips with a popping sound, your timid smile in complete contradiction with the filth of your actions, before spitting tenderly on the head of his cock.

You were going to be the death of him.

Spreading your spit down his length, you stroked harder, wrapping your lips around him again, this time sucking firmly up and down with hollowed cheeks. He saw you squirming, pressing your thighs together, he heard your moans, you were enjoying this. That realisation, combined with your ministrations, was overwhelming.

His hips locked into place, the muscles in his belly strained, his balls drew tighter, he was too fucking close; he reached for the soft hair on your nape and tried pulling you back before it was too late, but you resisted, sucking harder, looking at him from under your eyelashes with an expression that mirrored his when you had straddled him on that same chair. “Do it, use me.”

He came at once. His head rolled back, an obscene grunt echoing in the room, heavy ropes of spend hitting the back of your throat that you bravely tried to swallow, flooding past your closed lips and dribbling down your chin. You kept suckling him delicately through it and when he came around after a minute, or five, or ten, he noticed he was still holding your hair.

You looked dazed, dazed and pleased with yourself, holding him in your right hand, sitting back on your heels like a proud student waiting to be graded, and he laughed breathlessly.

He’s hoping now, looking at you as you wipe your chin clean of the dripping sauce from the burger he cooked especially for you, that he told you then how well you did for him. More women than he’d care to count have sucked his dick ever since, some of them professionals, none made him feel the way you did. All he can remember is that he had been eager to get you cleaned up.

And what happened then in the bathroom had been the beginning of the end for him.

—

When the neighbours bring their kids back home for nap time, the place becomes considerably quieter. Tom takes his leave shortly after, having to drive his daughters back to his ex-wife, and you’re slightly alarmed that his friends are letting him take the wheel, considering how much alcohol he’s had. Then it’s Will’s colleagues’ turn to go. There’s a pleasant, sated lull in the conversations, as the remaining guests stretch their limbs in the afternoon sun.

When Frankie joins your table, Benny sits up as if remembering something.

“Hey baby, I’ve been thinking,’ he starts, looking at you both, “Fish could help you with the car. He used to be a mechanic, right Fish?”

All the food you’ve ingested makes your body slow and heavy, but you think you could start shaking with the way Frankie’s eyes flick up to you, alight with an alarming gleam.

The car. Benny’s big project, getting you out of public transportation. You didn’t need one in Paris and you haven’t bought one here yet, you like the bus rides, you can read and listen to music and daydream. A real luxury. And you’re more than fine with Benny driving you around in the Mustang.

“We’ve talked about this, Ben, I’m not comfortable driving, here,” you remind him tentatively.

Frankie leans back in his chair, arms crossed on his broad chest, and you avoid the sight of his lean muscles rippling underneath the tanned skin of his forearms.

“Look, I don’t like you riding them buses alone at night. She won’t even take a cab,” he adds for his friend’s benefit. “Fish knows a lot about cars and engines and shit, he could help you choose a good one. I think that’s a good idea, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nothing about this is a good idea.

“Cheers, but I’m a big girl from a big city,” you answer with a hint of aggressiveness. “I mean I’m fine,” you try again, softer, “and I’m used to driving a stick, I would want a manual gear, anyway.”

A manual gear. Nice touch, very European, that was convincing.

“Yea I can help you with that, too,” Frankie lifts his head and you get a better view of his face under the brim of the cap, but you’ll be damned if you can decipher his expression.

This whole situation is throwing you off-balance, you can’t process what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it, not in the least, what do you want, what does he want, what is he playing at?

He wants you safe. He wants you off the buses at night, is what he wants. Nothing else. Nothing more. Aside perhaps from the opportunity to ask you one question.

Clare provides you with a much welcome way out when she joins the discussion.

“I’ve been to Paris, like fifteen years ago? I loved it! What neighbourhood are you from, exactly?”

The topic seems forgotten and you carry out the conversation for as long as you can before excusing yourself and stepping inside for a glass of water. Talking about your hometown has cooled down your nerves, but you still need a moment to yourself.

Will’s kitchen is cleaner than an operating room. It’s disconcerting, and you wonder if he ever eats in. The hob is pristine, so is the oven, and you hardly resist the urge to open the fridge just to have a peek, refraining out of respect for your friend.

The first cabinet you open contains different sorts of coffee, teas and herbal infusions, canned soups and chocolate, something you didn’t expect. You find the glasses behind the second door you open, but your hand freezes on the handle as you hear someone coming into the kitchen behind you.

It’s him. The understanding instinctual. You recognize his gait, measured, calm, assertive, and before you can decide how to react, you’re surrounded by the scent of him. You were right, of course you were right, you do remember it vividly, only now it’s more potent, and it’s so close, too close, it’s there, you feel dizzy, he’s drawing nearer and you brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come.

He stops half an inch short of your back, and it’s as if your very skin is reaching out for him.

He leans over you, his mouth to your ear, the thin hair on your nape standing, and his breath fans over your throat when he whispers, “Let me get that car with you.” It’s not a request. It’s not a question.

You feel the heat rolling off of him once it’s no longer there. You stand alone in the empty kitchen, eyes clenched, cold and perfectly still, your hand gripped onto the cabinet handle.

It’s a moment before you can walk out of the kitchen on shaky legs. You’re going to do this. You are really going to do this. You can’t pause to think.

You get to the garden and the sun blinds you, they’re all staring in your direction, if only in your head. You go back to your seat next to Benny and you put on a broad smile, willing your voice to sound perfectly casual.

“Ok you win. I’ll get that car. But a small one.”

Oh god he looks so fucking happy, like a child, and he kisses you deep, you hate yourself already when you notice Frankie’s watching, he hasn’t missed a thing. You recognise the sadness in his eyes, it’s the same that’s pinching your heart.

Everything happens too fast afterwards. Benny signals him to come over, and you exchange phone numbers, an ordinary social interaction that is anything but. The irony of the situation drops like an anvil in your stomach and you fear for a moment that you’re going to be sick. Neither Frankie nor you can look at each other as you tap the digits on the screens.

Your entire body shudders at the sound of Benny’s voice.

“Alright, then, Fish, I guess she’ll give you a call!”

—

Why you didn’t call is all he needs to know. He’ll back off once he knows. And he can’t stand the thought of you travelling by bus, alone at night. Two birds, one stone.

He didn’t recognise your scent. Standing so close to you in that clinically clean kitchen, he breathed in your hair, your neck, and it was intoxicating, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Not that he can remember your old scent. He’s forgotten about that, along with your taste, a long time ago, he just knows it’s not it. New shampoo, new perfume, maybe. New boyfriend.

The only thing he remembers after all these years, apart from your eyes and your face, is your skin. The feel of it under the pads of his fingers, under the palm of his hand, under his tongue, between his lips. How it shivered under his touch. The way it caught at his calloused digits. And your cool back against his burning chest. And your breasts, and your own hands as you ceaselessly caressed him.

Is it better to remember?

Around three years ago, he met a girl from Mexico, much younger than him, dark and beautiful, and she made him feel good for a while, he liked the sensation of her soft body underneath his, and he thought he might be in love until he realised it was nothing but a reminiscence of you. Of your skin. Over and over and over again. Always you. Only you. A life spent seeking you through all these stranger, distant bodies.

He got so close to your skin, earlier. He knows that’s how close he’s ever going to get, now. Benny’s never been this happy. Benny’s in love, it’s all over his face, on display for everyone else to see.

But it’s real. He’s got that. Everything that happened between you and him, has been real. That’s what you gave him, today, you clever, clever girl. He can be content with that, he thinks. If only…

If only he didn’t feel your skin reaching out for him.

—

In the orange bedroom, he’d fallen asleep first and you had fought through your own tiredness to stay awake just a little while longer. Looking at him, committing to memory all his singular details. The size of his hands, the shape of his nails, the colour of his eyelashes, the tattoo behind his ear and the one on his thumb, the curve of his nose, the line of his neck, the pattern of his freckles, the dip between his collarbones, the ones over his hips, the flawless shape of his length, the build of his thighs, the sharpness of his jawline, the breadth of his shoulders, the curls of his hair…

You couldn’t ever be satisfied but you didn’t want to disturb his slumber, so you got up for a glass of water and got reminded of the books piled up by the chair.

Kneeling down on the floor, you looked through a first column of physics and algebra textbooks. A few others, smaller, with eye-catching covers, were fiction. Mostly second-hand, judging by the yellowed paper. Some were in Spanish, from authors unknown to you yet, but some you knew and loved, Hemingway, O'Connor, Remarque, Capote… You picked up a beaten copy of Franny and Zooey, inhaling the old paper scent, and flipped through the pages. Here, some sentences were underlined, there, entire paragraphs. His bold handwriting sprawled in all caps in the margin, his thoughts laid down in ink, something you would never dare do.

You put down the book, resuming your browsing, you couldn’t figure out what you were looking for, only that you would know when you’d find it, and oh! there.

You held the book with both hands and murmured the title like one does a binding spell.

“Le Maître et Marguerite”

****

Taglist (Thank you 💕): @nicolethered @elegantduckturtle @mashomasho @lola766 @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine @littleone65 @bands-tv-movies-is-me @the-rambling-nerd @saintbedelia @pedrostories @trickstersp8

[mountmortar]

For the ask game: 2, 11, 17, 28, 39 if you want? <33 I hope your package comes soon and it's soooo amazing ♥️💝💝💝💓💞💘💗💘💝💕💘💝💖

HI FREYA THANK YOU ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️ It BETTER be amazing given how much I paid for it. It better revolutionize my whole life LMAOOOOOOO. ANYWAY!!!!!!!

2. show us a picture of your handwriting?

so my handwriting is actually genuinely awful (i have cracked open old high school notes before and just straight up haven't been able to decipher what i wrote at all. it's total chicken scratch) so unfortunately i am in fact going to make you look at a simple homework problem i did because i make a conscious effort to write neater on those so my professor can grade it properly. terribly sorry in advance

11. what do you consider to be romance?

HM. okay. tough question. i had to actually pull up a bunch of dictionary definitions for "romance" to answer this because it isn't something i ever think about (relating to love, that is). and i'm sure i could answer this question with something ABOUT love between people but that would stretch out into oblivion because i don't think love is something that can be qualified in black and white terms. there are many cases where something like hatred and love go hand-in-hand, even. so instead i'm going to share my favorite definition that i found in the cambridge dictionary because i feel like it applies the most to me and what i personally consider to be the best application of "romance" in language:

"the feeling of excitement or mystery that you have from a particular experience or event"

also, have this absolutely horrific screenshot i found when i was searching through definitions. what the fuck do you mean your definitions are locked behind a paywall.

17. name 3 things that make you happy

extremely strong winds on a warm day!

raspberries!

when i'm learning something new and the concepts actually start to click and make sense in my brain!

28. do you collect anything?

i used to collect snowglobes but i haven't done so in recent years just because i haven't. been anywhere where snowglobes are sold HAHA. now i mainly just collect video games and nintendo consoles i guess ^^; 39. youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

The Noble Demon because her orchestral arrangements of video game music are literally fucking top-tier. like. i listen to her music DAILY. she's got everything from pokémon to ace attorney to legend of zelda and more and it's all SO FUCKING GOOD.

[call-me-apple]

hey if u need some help learning spanish!! google translate is good but deepl translate is betyer, spanishdict is also good, ive heard good things about stuff like lexico and reverso and cambridges dictionary for english spanish stuff

also a textbook, if that helps:

https://href.li/?https://digitalcommons.humboldt.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1008&context=textbooks

u might also need a list of commonly used slang and abbrvs! im not typing that but maybe skmeone el

Ah thank you 🙏🙏 I am mostly just doing Duolingo for now though. I am not sure how much I can to commit to Spanish because I am also learning German and that is a priority.

Thanks for the dictionaries, they might come in handy if I really get into it. Reverso can be pretty questionable tho phhh from experience, but it's handy when you're familiar with both languages and just need to check usage.

[lake-archive]

Chapter 1 - Special

AO3 Link

Fandom: Ensemble Stars

Series: Ein schlafender Ritter und die Liebe

Characters: Ritsu Sakuma, Anja-Sophia 'Ann' Wolff (OC), Nyeli (OC by @watersofcamelot)

Masterlist - Next Chapter

Friend

According to the Cambridge Dictionary the definition of a friend is as follows: “A person who you know well and who you like a lot, but who is usually not a member of your family.”

A dry definition yet easy to understand. Though maybe it is a little too general. At that rate almost anyone could be a friend and it is never that simple. There are several people Ann had gotten to know, rather well in fact, but would they consider them ‘friends’? No, not really. They were co–workers, nothing more. It is too easy of a definition if they were completely honest. It sounds easy, but it’s not. It is complicated, to say the least. Relationships like these don’t build themselves that easily after all, do they? Yeah, they didn’t. Usually.

But then why, why did the two of them have such an easy time together? It was something Ann asked themselves on a nearly daily basis. There was something about him which had just clicked with them almost instantly. And it was the only other person in their life where they would dare to think such a thing. So this was special… Wasn’t it? When first seeing someone they grow stiff by default, having a hard time uttering any type of word out of their very own mouth. It was common practice. However, when having looked at him a tiny bit longer back then they noticed it themselves. Their muscles had grown less tense, easing up. Sweat had no chance building up, nor did any of the nervousness. Well, not as much as it usually would. The first few words were still a little rough but they had gotten themselves to speak up. And the more they talked the smoother it went. Or 'smoother' as their choice of words was still very limited at the time. But they had managed it seems, holding a conversation with relative ease. It is silly but truly, they felt like as if there had been something very different about that guy. Because this was not a common occurence ever since arriving in Japan. No, even back at home this was super uncommon. At the time they had no idea why or how but there was just something about him… Something about Ritsu Sakuma.

Ann had known of Ritsu's existence for a while. They were not oblivious of the top idol groups around the Ensemble Square, Knights being one of them. Ritsu is a part of them, one of their faces. So they had heard of him. They were no stranger to it whatsoever. Yet posters didn't really do anything to them, when looking at him on a picture or screen there was nothing special about him to them. He was just a guy. So they had not paid much attention. At most they might have walked past one another without paying attention to the other's presence. He didn't capture their attention right away. It was not his presence as an idol, that much was certain. They could care less about that side. It was when they came face to face in person.

It was nothing special, they had searched for their little cat companion at the time for days. When asking around and describing the smoll with cat–like features to someone, this someone noted to have spotted said cat in a guy's arms, heading to a bench nearby. So they dashed, overly worried before finally finding said cat: Nyeli. And he was with Ritsu it seemed. The reaction however was unexpected as Nyeli was eager to introduce his 'Papa' to his big sister. The talk was mundane: Introductions, then thanking Ritsu for having looked after Nyeli and even a scolding for using the word 'sorry' too much. It ended with Nyeli wanting to stay with his Papa and Ann approving after a short moment. Nothing special. At all.

It was only natural that they would meet more often, Nyeli eager to visit Ann whenever possible, always dragging Ritsu with him. That or he would sneak with his Papa to school and someone had to pick the cat up. First it would just be a simple call to the office before Ritsu and Ann exchanged phone numbers to make it less of a hassle. So both had just started hanging out together, just like that. It was the natural course of things. . Things like these would obviously happen the longer it went on. They stayed in contact pretty frequently that way. Though what first started with solely both sharing the burden of taking care of Nyeli soon turned a little more personal. And that was unlike Ann. They wouldn’t let anyone get close to them for even a short moment. Keep everyone at an arm’s length who isn’t family. But not with Ritsu.

They had started to become somewhat personal, telling him things while listening to him all the same. And they didn’t feel uneasy about it. It felt very… Once more, natural. Just talking was relaxing. If they had caught him awake that is but him falling asleep was no issue either. Was it because Nyeli trusted him? Maybe Ann thought they could trust Ritsu as well if that were the case and they would love to leave the answer at just that. However, something had been bugging them… There was more to this. There had to be more. Why Ritsu Sakuma? Why him out of all the people? Why not someone else? There had to be more to this, why they would consider him a friend. It didn’t make any sense, there had to be a reason for all of this. Yet they didn’t exactly know what. It eats them up sometimes… Maybe they were just thinking too hard about this in the end. Maybe there was no reason. Sometimes things just happen. Just like that. Not everything had a reason behind it or needed to. Or so some people would tell Ann. Maybe they were right… That didn’t really change anything though. There was something they needed to know. They just had to figure it out…

What makes Ritsu Sakuma special?

Masterlist - Next Chapter

[lains-reality]

hello. im new to non-dualism. i have been reading ada's back up posts and i still can't seem to grasp this part. can you explain what does it mean by to surrender? thank you

i need context. what did u read?

surrender literally means "to stop fighting and admit defeat" and "If you surrender to an experience or emotion, you stop trying to prevent or control it" according to cambridge dictionary.

some synonyms are "yield" "submit" "give up", its letting all this go, its letting vanessa be and instead, standing in the truth.

surrender to the moment. surrender to your own divinity. stop fighting against everything. surender to absolute perfection.

[its-moopoint]

This is how shippers fabricate stories and pass them along to followers who believe it all.

sgiandubh:

Hyde Park, London. Planet Earth

This is fresh out of the oven: S&C's interview for Marie-Claire, released a couple of hours ago on Youtube.

I listened carefully and almost choked on my Diet Coke.

Minute mark 6:08, please and thank you:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBQvZmcHYtg

Here is what I heard:

" S: Um, how did we bond? I mean, I'd call this probably involved but we did have weird dinners and things, we had a nice walk in London, didn't we, when we (unintelligible, haha).

C (dutifully chiming in): Yeah, we bonded over getting our hair destroyed. You know, I had two perms in one week, Sam was on his like seven.

S: seven times.

C: seventh hair-dye.

S: in three weeks, yeah.

C: and we went for a walk in Hyde Park and we sort of had a chat and we were like (unintelligible: "Lord" would be my best guess) this could be.

S: this could be a long one, so buckle up.

C: and let's have each other's backs.

S: yeah.

C: and we did.

S: and we did."

I immediately checked a trustworthy source of information: the Cambridge Dictionary, since these two are British English native speakers. Unlike me:

To be involved in/with something (does not apply, the first question was "how did we bond?"):

be/get involved )in/with sth) - involved - adjective = to do things and be part of an activity or event.

be/get involved with sb) = to have a sexual or romantic relationship with someone.

We knew something happened there and then. It was, after all, " a special day for us", wasn't it?

And they did.

I rest my case, your honor.

sgiandubh @lovejustlove - Stars aligned.

sgiandubh @jclovely - I respectfully agree to disagree, based on nothing else but my intuition. Chemistry test looked to me as love at first sight, which I have experienced - something shattering.

lovejustlove

Personally I think they’ve been together from the beginning

sgiandubh @monimarim - You know, I am not so sure anymore. Others heard "alcohol was probably involved", which would also make perfect sense. He could have articulated it better, damnit! Unless...

monimarim

Hmm, Freudian slip, or a voluntary one?

sgiandubh @shoutlandish - irrespective of the accurate transcript of this quote, which may, or may not be "alcohol was probably involved", yes. To my ears, it is impossible to tell and I own my mistake, if that is the case. :)

shoutlandish

I can picture in my mind the cute photo of them in Hyde Park (or right after), Cait with her wild curls. They looked so utterly infatuated. It must have been a very special day, indeed!

sgiandubh @2truthsandalie5 - I mean, either they got drunk and then turtle soup, hehe. Or they got involved, hallelujah.

2truthsandalie5 @sgiandubh It changes nothing! I agree completely!

sgiandubh @mememukisblog - "alcohol was probably involved" is an alternate transcript. He always walks a thin, red line. Always.

sgiandubh @2truthsandalie5 - It could be, I listened again. It could very well be and if I am wrong, it does not change anything to the bigger picture, does it?

mememukisblog

The Heughans!

2truthsandalie5

I heard alcohol was probably  involved, but i just listened once?

Oh dear Jesus.

Again typical shippers bullshit: they tell others what to hear. And when it's debunked they go "oh well it doesn't matter" and "believe what you want".

[spanishskulduggery]

thank you for answering my question about the present tense! but another thing -- you said assuming i meant "to pick someone up" and that confused me for a second because "pass by for someone" is a very common phrase in my circles and also "pass by" instead of "drop by". i grew up in southern california. i looked it up in the cambridge dictionary and was really shocked when nothing came up... then i asked some friends if they used it and only someone else from socal who grew up with spanish said they used it and heard it. not even a friend from norcal who also grew up speaking spanish uses it. funny i went my whole life not realizing this might be a regionalism haha. like when i realized that not everyone says "barely" to mean "recently" whereas i use it that way constantly. that one has spread though, this one so far doesn't seem to have spread outside socal?

Ohhhh, okay I got the feeling I was not 100% understanding your meaning when you wrote in

At least in my experience when someone says paso por ti it's like "I'll come get you" for giving someone a ride or leading someone somewhere

And it's possible I have seen some off regionalisms that caught me off guard over the years, and sometimes I'll say something and a native speaker has no idea what I mean and I have to be like "it's what my textbook said I'm sorry" lol

[10blue10]

The Evolution of Dragons Pt 3

Okay let’s be honest, I was gonna make this third part regardless of who was interested. Because I find it fascinating, and that’s what matters! So this third part will be about the evolution of intelligence and sapience in dragons. With some help from my partner-in-crime @arourallisreborn again XD.

Sapience is defined as ‘possessing or being able to possess wisdom’. Okay, so what counts as wisdom? Cambridge dictionary defines it as ‘the ability to use your knowledge and experience to make good decisions and judgments.’ Then again, humans are sapient and I wouldn’t say we use our knowledge and experience to make *good* decisions, at least not all the time. But oh well.

To make things more clear, sapience is about reason. Can dragons reason?

There’s plenty of evidence that they can. Over the course of the shows, for instance, we get several moments of the riders dragons solving problems of their own accord without being trained or instructed to do so. For example:

The other dragons rescuing Hiccup and Toothless from the Outcasts.

Barf-and-Belch knocking over the Eruptodon statue to stop the lava.

Barf-and-Belch saving Hiccup from the hunters to repay a life debt.

Meatlug calling to other Gronckles to help feed the real Eruptodon.

Toothless deciding to knock a dragon proofed ballista off a cliff instead.

Stormfly rescuing Garff from the Slitherwings.

Hookfang deciding to help protect the female Nightmare’s eggs.

So how would the dragons have evolved this level of intelligence? Let’s use this video on intelligence by Kurzgesagt as a baseline for dragon intelligence.

https://youtu.be/ck4RGeoHFko

The Intelligence Toolkit

Basic Tools

Information: even the ancestors of dragons had senses that allowed them to gather information about their surroundings and the state of their own bodies.

Memory: early dragons could probably remember stuff like how to avoid predators, where to find food etc. It’s likely that they would have lived in flocks for safety in numbers, so they would also need to remember their flock mates.

Learning: when dragons evolved the ability to fly, their young would still need to learn this new skill through repeated attempts until they mastered it. The same goes for their breath weapons, which they’d need to learn to control.

In fact, as arourallis put it, flying itself takes a lot of brainpower, and so does socialisation. The same would apply to swimming. Moving in three dimensions (whether in the sky or the ocean) requires spatial awareness, especially if the dragon is manoeuvring past obstacles like trees/sea stacks. Socialisation involves, well, social skills. All of this would be part of their Library of Knowledge - the collective memories and learning of an individual dragon.

As for dragons who feed on other dragons, there’s no way of telling what, if any, rationalisations they might have. My personal theory is that because these dragons are either solitary (Death Songs) or live in single-species packs (Changewings), hunting other species for food is instinctive but they might be ‘rationalising’ it as an in-group vs out-group divide. In other words, dragons that are weaker and not part of Their pack are fair game to be hunted.

I’m gonna wrap it up here because I don’t have much left to say lol. It’s harder to investigate the evolution of intelligence in dragons since we don’t even fully understand how it evolved in humans, let alone other non-human animals.

Huge thanks to everyone who’s liked and reblogged the posts in this series!

[drarrymicrofic]

Happy Egg Day! 🥚

Today’s prompt, on this Friday the 13th, is the word “quixotic” sent to us by the amazing @justthingsfromsarah! Thank you so much lovely :))

According to the Cambridge Dictionary, quixotic means: having intentions or ideas that are admirable but not practical

Happy writing! The Microfic Mods ✨📜

[supercantaloupe]

hi i'm back (verdi anon). thank you sososo much. re specifics if this helps at all: it's actually a review of a performance but we have to do background research on the composer. also i'm nervous as fuck to ask anyone about anything because i have an ambiguous extension and i really don't want to push my luck with it.

i think a general overview biography from like an anthology/textbook chapter or a music encyclopedia/dictionary entry will be most useful to you then; an entire in depth novel length biography on verdi's entire career would certainly be interesting, but probably a bit too much for this. see what your library has in terms of musical dictionaries (like new grove/oxford music online!), or look for anthologies or textbooks on music or opera in the 19th century/romantic era. verdi was a huge figure in 19th century music and opera so a book surveying those topics is practically guaranteed to discuss him and some of his career. maybe check to see if your library has "the cambridge companion to verdi" (book) or something similar (maybe skim it if you find one, though, they can be a little dense sometimes). tertiary sources like these can vary in their content and the audience they're aimed at, but i find the cambridge companion series pretty approachable. for now, avoid "research guides" that are just novel-length bibliographies, they aren't going to be helpful to you for this.

and i totally get being nervous to reach out for help, i've been there myself. but i do want to stress that your professors and librarians are there to help you, it's literally their job! for help in generally finding resources, talk to or email a librarian. they know what resources you have available and how to find them, and they're not gonna, like, tattle on you to your professor or advisor or something for asking for help, i promise. and if you're confused about or stuck on something related to class content or an assignment, email your professor or talk to them during office hours (professors really like it when you visit them in office hours! it shows interest and dedication). i mean, if it's your freshman year in college, then it's 100% understandable and even expected for all this stuff to be new and confusing; you'll figure it out over time, with experience and help from your faculty. it's not about being right or perfect yet (if it ever is).

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 28 (SPOILERS)

"getting an elephant into the Waystation was not as hard as I'd imagined." Yeah, of course it wasn't. This building literally materializes whatever size or shape entrance you need.

"a stream wending through the middle of the room" Did he misspell "winding"? No, apparently. WEND (v.): go in a specified direction, typically slowly or by an indirect route

"The Real Elephants of the African Veld" VELD (n.): open, uncultivated country or grassland in southern Africa. It is conventionally classified by altitude into highveld, middleveld, and lowveld imo it should've just been called "midveld."

"back to the main hall, where a crown had gathered . . . The rest of the freed prisoners milled around" This is such a nice, peaceful, happy scene that I'm sad it's not going to last. At least we got *checks book* two full pages of people being happy.

"The griffins allowed him to scratch under their beaks--a sign of great trust" Maybe Jamie isn't a bad guy after all? I'm still skeptical. "especially since they were guarding and egg in their neest (and no doubt worried that Sssssarah might see it)." I don't think even Sssssarah could swallow an egg that big, but she might try.

"a different green dress and jeans" Did you just say she's wearing a dress over jeans?

"Lady Artemis has been watching you." "Oh, no . . . You can tell my beloved sister to back off." You tell 'er, Apollo!

"Father!" Hehe oh noooooo "This isn't prophecy. This has never happened before--" Has Emmie been to the Cave of Trophonius a lot? How does she know?

"You sent this little sister of mine to do your errands?" Uhh. I'm guessing not on the mom's side, huh? When she said "Father" I was like OMG she's Apollo's kid! And then when it turned out to be Trophonius talking, that worry went away and SURPRISE NOW IT'S BACK! Interesting to note that Trophonius doesn't know that Georgina wasn't sent by Apollo. He doesn't know as much as you'd expect an Oracle to know.

"I wonder, Father, to whom will you pray?" True. To whom do the gods pray?

"the recovery rate for supplicants of Trophonius" SUPPLICANT (n.): one who supplicates Fuck you too, Merriam-Webster. Cambridge Dictionary says, SUPPLICANT (n.): a person who asks a god or someone who is in a position of power for something in a humble way

"No one had reported a missing baby girl like her. Her birth parents either didn't want her or couldn't raise her" Or was secretly a serial killer on the run who couldn't raise a child. Sounds about right with Apollo's standards for flings. Bad Decisions Box <- Georgina's biological mortal parent & Georgina's subsequent abandonment

"enter the Cavern of Prophecy." We're finally going innnnnnnn! Death and madness, here we come! Eat it like well-cooked ramen!

"I'm not sure." "All hail the god of prophecy!" Got nothing to say, just wanted to highlight that little bit.

"tracking devices I put on your griffins" Gee thanks, Lit. "first thing tomorrow morning. He'll wipe this place off the map." Can't thank ya more, Lit.

I feel like someone is definitely getting sealed in that cave. There's never a cave in a story without a rockfall or cave-in also happening and someone getting shut inside a stony tomb, never to be seen again.