#I hate that she’s incompetent I hate that she doesn’t understand how grammar works

[curiosity-killed]

//

[soleilnomoon]

Hiiii! :D <3 I owe you another event request that I announced.. sitting at work, yet another late evening, and dreaming of some Ace goodness. So may I ask for an ice cream sundae, donut hole, oatmeal raisin cookie, affogato and toffee? With female reader? :D If possible with the one serving the ice cream sundae being the reader? I need lotssss of caramel and whipped cream to get me through the week! Thank you so much!!!! <3

i can’t believe it took me so long, i’m so so sorry, but!!! it’s finally here *sobs continuously* so sorry bb that i took forever, but i only like to give you guys quality writing (esp with ace, i love him) so forgive me pls thank u & ily 😭💛🥺️

3.3k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; only a tiny bit of angst (yay), fluff!!!! and smut!!! ace needs to do better, and reader isn't as slick as she thinks she is (but lbr, when is reader ever slick). friends 2 lovers (surprise, surprise i know who am i), feat. v cute things like oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), a lil roughplay but nothing crazy, a lil dry humping, idk other stuff probably idr anymore ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა but i had fun writing even tho the fluff almost killed me but for u i persevered! (if u see spelling/grammar errors no u didn’t <;3)

“look how we bleed from all this wanting” — ama asantewa diaka

unease is something you’re well-acquainted with — a painful, yet comforting, reminder of things that may or may not come. its slender vines wrap meticulously around each bone in your rib cage, lying in wait as your heart beats faster. it’s a pathetic, melancholic melody; a lullaby you can never escape. anxiety pours into you slowly — poisonous and haunting, tainting the lush, untamed garden that’s grown deep inside of you; one you’ve painstakingly tended to for most of your life, where your childhood dreams remain dormant, where your fears slither around in the thick vegetation ready to strike when given the chance. everything becomes fuzzy and unbearable, but you somehow manage to inhale several large gulps of air before continuing. 

it’s not easy keeping secrets, but you do it anyway. for him — only for him. today’s no different, as this is one secret you’re more than happy to keep to yourself.

contrary to popular belief, ace is much more particular about certain things than he lets on. for whatever reason, he’s adamant on keeping his birthday hidden from his crew mates — something you don’t quite understand, but respect, nonetheless. he says it’s because he doesn’t want the fuss and awkward fanfare of celebrating, but you know there’s another reason — one possibly drenched in tragedy and grief, so you refrain from asking again.

instead, you decide to celebrate with him in private; you’re best friends, after all. and after a few months of prodding, he finally concedes, giving you free reign to do as you please. a man like ace isn’t simple to shop for; you stress over his birthday gift for weeks, desperately wanting to find something unique — something that no one else would think to give him. it keeps you up for several nights in a row, where torn pieces of paper with scratched out ideas litter the floor in your room. at a certain point you scream into your pillow, desperate to get all your frustrations out before going back to sift through your failed gift ideas.

you pass out in the middle of ranting to yourself about your own incompetence, and the idea comes to you in a dream. when you wake up the next morning, you’re a little nervous but you’re sure this might be the one gift he wasn’t expecting — the one gift that he’ll appreciate and possibly cherish.

the thought of that only serves to rattle the tiny box of nerves that sits in the middle of your stomach — the lid barely attached; the contents ready to spill at the next inconvenience that comes your way. 

ace intentionally kept vague about what he wanted as a gift; he hates the idea of people scrambling around trying to surprise him, and instead keeps his expectations low. life, it seems, has helped him learn that lesson time and time again; it’s better, in his opinion, to snuff out any residual hope — the one that lingers behind all the disappointment that tends to follow him around — before it’s too late.

still, he’s curious to see what you’ve been working so tirelessly on. you’ve kept quiet about everything, and no matter how many times he tries to pry the answers out of you, you remain steadfast and keep the secret to yourself.

he's impressed, to say the least, and a flicker of excitement courses through him as he spends the morning of his birthday obnoxiously guessing what your surprise gift is. you wave him off, tell him to stop pestering you, but he doesn’t let up. there were times when you almost told him, but he has to hand it to you — you’re incredibly determined and stubborn. 

you convince him to come off of the ship with you and explore the main town of the island your crew is visiting. he knows you’re not that interested in exploring, that you’re doing all of this to distract him; he smiles to himself in secret, away from your curious and trusting eyes, unable to come to terms with the warmth that’s taken hold of his chest, pitifully churning his insides around. if he had more sense, he’d realize it’s his nerves that have gotten the best of him; but that’s ridiculous, what would he have to be nervous about?

especially on his birthday?

while he thinks he’s being stealthy by trying to hide his emotions, you catch him several times; you don’t say much about it, instead wanting ace to fully enjoy himself unrestricted. you admire the shape of his jaw when he excitedly looks around, nearly trip when you notice how sunlight drapes itself along his freckled, light brown skin, and choke on your drink when he glances over at you. the corners of his lips quirk upward, and a small, devastating, dimpled smile crawls onto his face. 

you’re rarely rendered speechless, but your inability to function properly causes you to let go of the cup in your hand — not that it matters, really. you don’t even care that the drink splashes near your sandaled feet, nor do you notice the way ace’s brows furrow together at your sudden clumsiness. a frown works its way onto his lips while you stand there stupidly, trying to remember what it is you’re supposed to be doing.

he tilts his head and briefly wonders if maybe the heat has gotten to you — you’re usually much more with it, but today you’re quieter and spaced out. when he opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay, you simply step over the fallen drink and keep walking down the street. something about your insistence on ignoring your recent faux pas makes him laugh out loud; he doesn’t mean to, but it’s just so damn funny to him.

and while you could be mad at him for the way he can’t seem to stop laughing at you, you know that the small bout of annoyance will fizzle out shortly. you can never actually stay mad at him, even if you tried — and yes, you have tried and failed several times over.

ace eventually catches up to you and that familiar teasing grin stretches lazily along his lips as he playfully grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. you steel your features as best as you can and narrow your eyes at him; the residual embarrassment from earlier lingers obnoxiously, making you stumble over your words.

or, that’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

because if he knew that it was because it’s become increasingly difficult to be around him for extended periods of time, then you’d never hear the end of it.

the problem is: ace already knows, and has known for quite some time. he never brought it up, because then you’d find a reason to keep yourself busy and stay away from him intentionally. he’s selfish and will continue to monopolize your time however way he can, especially today. you’ve never had an issue with ace touching you before, but for some reason his skin is warmer than normal — or maybe it’s because you’re still too nervous about the gift. you know that he’ll like and appreciate anything you give him, which is why you let out a soft sigh and rummage through your purse to shove a small piece of paper into his hand.

“i wanted to wait until we got back to the ship,” you say quietly, tongue suddenly much too big for your mouth; you try pulling away from him, but ace’s grip is firm, and you’re not trying that hard anyway. “but, um… happy birthday!”

he watches you curiously before glancing down at the paper in his hand; in a cute, neat script, you’ve written: birthday coupon (1 use only). and before he can ask anything unnecessary, you explain quickly, words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush.

“basically, you have my services for exactly twenty-four hours only.”

and, as ace is constantly in a state of perpetual confusion, he glances back at you to see if this is a joke or not.

“really?”

he wants to believe you, but he also knows that you’d never actually let him have his way for a day — or, would you? now he isn’t so sure.

your usual bravado leaves you faster than you can handle, so you nod a few times and finally manage to free yourself from his hold. after giving yourself a bit of space, you realize that you can think clearly now that he isn’t so close to you.

“yes,” you say lightly, hoping that he’ll buy your false confidence as legitimate. “whatever you want me to do, i’ll do. no questions asked.” you know you’re treading dangerously, but this was the best idea you could come up with. unease finds you again when ace remains quiet — a feat for him, as he’s usually boisterous and vocal about everything — but all of that doubt dissipates when a small, sly smile appears on his face as he pockets the coupon and beckons you closer.

“thanks, let’s go.”

you don’t bother asking where, because ace has already grabbed your hand and tugs you along with him. you want to tell him that he doesn’t have to hold onto your hand like that, but you decide that you deserve a bit of selfishness too. the day passes fairly quickly — you end up eating at several places with him, purchase enough sweets to put you into a sugar-induced coma, and laugh so hard you end up in tears.

he likes seeing this side of you, the part that’s carefree and full of energy; he admires how smooth and soft your skin is and thinks it’s impossibly cute that you can’t stop sneaking glances at him. you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are, but ace doesn’t tease you about it. already he’s had you do silly things like balance on one leg like a flamingo in the middle of the shopping plaza and cartwheel as long as you can down to the pier — the latter was him testing the waters to see if you’d really do it, but you rise to the challenge and only fall over twice.

embarrassment be damned, as long as ace is happy today that’s all that matters.

when you make it back to the ship, the sun has set, bathing the ocean and sky with a pretty mixture of bright colors. you take a moment to lean against the railing to watch the sky, mesmerized by the artistry, while ace watches you and contemplates how best to proceed with you. he’s normally much better at hiding his desire and attraction, but today he’s at his limit. he doesn’t bother looking away when you feel his gaze on you; it’s always intense, having ace’s undivided attention — and while a small voice tells you that it’s dangerous to let this tension build to a frenzied state, a much bigger voice tells you to just let go and embrace whatever happens.

it's ace who grabs your arm and tugs you with him to his cabin, locking the door behind so that no one would interrupt; and it’s ace who plucks the coupon out of his pocket again, playfully waving it around as your brain scrambles as you try to guess what he’ll request next. it should alarm you that your excitement starts to build all over again when ace plops down lazily in a nearby chair, legs spread; something compels you to move closer and before you can say anything remotely foolish, ace pulls you onto his lap.

you tell yourself that it’s purely for the sake of ensuring he has a memorable birthday, but the truth won’t let you off that easily — not when you shamelessly straddle him as your skirt rides up your thighs; not when you thread your fingers through his hair and tugging on it impatiently; and not when you softly press your lips against his and mumble something along the lines of, “hurry up and ask.”

it’s refreshing seeing you take initiative like that, so ace tosses the coupon onto the floor unceremoniously before gripping your hips firmly. that warmth from earlier comes back in full force, and suddenly you’re wondering why the both of you are still dressed. he doesn’t hesitate when he runs his tongue along your lips, and you, in response, roll your hips forward and grind down hard against his stiff cock. a dangerous game, you know — you know — but you can’t help yourself; not today, anyway.

it's you who kisses him first — clumsy and rash, but after a moment, your lips move against his with more certainty; he guides you with his tongue, heat shooting up your spine, making you pliant and eager. each time he kisses you, you have to remind yourself that it’s not another dream, that it’s actually happening. and even if, after all of this, you both go back to pretending you’re just friends, you’re sure you’ll be fine.

maybe.

you don’t dwell on that thought though, and focus on the way ace keeps rubbing his hands along your thighs — slow and tortuous, the callouses on his hands rough, but welcomed on your skin. you’re panting and whining softly, the heat radiating off his body stifling, but also addicting. he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, and you somehow get the hint when he bucks his hips against yours, your panties already damp with arousal every time your pussy rubs against his cock.

there’s a slightly dazed look in his eyes when you managed to climb off of him without your legs giving out, and it’s his own selfishness that drives him to watch you as you take off your clothes without prompting. is it adrenaline, lust, or the intoxicating effects of ace’s presence that has you in between his legs and on your knees. when he realizes what you’re about to do, he opens his mouth to tell you that it’s not necessary, but his argument dies in his mouth and fizzles out completely when you unzip his shorts and pull out his cock.

ace inhales sharply as a warm breeze slips in from the open window and tangles itself around both of you; and, although the moon hides sleepily behind a few clouds, some of its light filters through, giving you an ethereal glow as you run your tongue along the length of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. it’s not often that ace finds himself powerless in front of someone, but you’ve rendered him weak beyond comprehension. you suck and swirl your tongue around, dragging it along his slit and licking off the precum that leaked out.

it invigorates you — watching him through your lashes as your hands wrap around the rest of his length, twisting and pumping mercilessly, every stifled moan giving you the encouragement to keep going. you inadvertently rub your thighs together, pussy slick with your wetness, but, surprisingly, you don’t feel ashamed about it — not when you take more of ace’s cock into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and letting him have free reign for a bit. ace juts his hips forward, feeling only a tiny bit remorseful when he sees you gag, but the determined look in your eyes tells him that you refuse to back down.

when you feel like you can’t breathe, you lick down his length and massage his balls, earning a string of unintended, slightly incoherent curse words from ace under his breath. it’s a sensitive area — and, try as he might, he can’t help but moan your name out loud, his breathing growing unsteady, making you all the more delirious and obsessed. your teeth accidentally grazes his skin and he tugs on your hair more forcefully than he means to, startling you but not for the reasons it should.

his voice is low and gruff when he speaks again. “y/n… behave.” which is all he really needs to say, because while it was an accident, something forbidden swirls around your lower abdomen, making you bold and somewhat reckless. before he can say anything else, you suck on his balls, melting his resolve and small bout of annoyance.

he wants to ask if you’re trying to kill him, but he partially knows the answer to that already. goosebumps prick his skin as you look at him equal parts mischievous and full of adoration. he’s not sure why, but he likes that he’s only ever seen you look at him like that.it makes all of this that much more intense, and he knows that after tonight he can’t go back to being just friends with you.

it’d be impossible.

you take his cock back into your mouth again, bobbing up and down, his girth still a challenge, but you take it in stride anyway. and its when you suck on his sensitive tip again that ace’s restraint finally gives out; you feel him jerk underneath you, and his cum is thick and hot as it spills into your mouth. he half expects you to spit it out, and even through that post-orgasm haze, he’s amazed when you swallow it all.

with his face flushed — from the force of the orgasm, from how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, especially after you lick some of his cum off of your lips — ace runs a hand through his hair before standing up and pulling you to your feet. he kisses you again, sloppy, yet domineering; your hands work on tugging the rest of his clothes off quickly, and it doesn’t take long before he has you on your back thighs clamped around his head as he devours your pussy.

nothing can compare to the high you feel right now, hips rolling forward, shamelessly tugging on his hair roughly, moaning his name louder than you mean to. anyone passing by can hear you, the walls are thin enough, but you don’t care now. his tongue glides along your slit, your arousal spilling onto his tongue before he flicks it against your clit.

something about the way he’s handling you — as if you’re able to take whatever aggression he tosses your way, especially when he slides his fingers inside of your pussy, finger-fucking and enjoying how you’re falling apart underneath him — makes you that much more reactive to him. and when he sucks on your clit — merciless, just like you were being with him a short while ago — you don’t hold back.

your cries are music to his ears, and he knows he should tell you to keep it down, but he also likes how loud you’re being. almost as if he wants other people to hear that he’s the one making you writhe around on his bed like that. the orgasm is sudden, brutal, and life changing; a blinding light practically incapacitating you, momentarily robbing you of your vision. your chest heaves as you try to gather your thoughts; a lightheaded feeling takes over, making you shiver, your sweet whining only makes him want to keep torturing you with his tongue.

but he refrains, for now.

after pulling back, you both look at each other for a moment before you pull him down for another kiss — this one tender, sweet, and slow. ace lets himself fall further under your spell, not wanting to ask if you complied with his selfish whims because you wanted to or because of his birthday coupon. and if he did ask, you know, deep down, that you’d tell him it’s very obviously the former — that it wasn’t only his selfish whim, that you were equally to blame for letting things escalate like this. not that it matters much right now, since all you can think about, is how you don’t plan on leaving his bed for the rest of the night. and how you know you’ll be plenty sore once he’s done with you later on.

[zipgrowth]

Has Strunk and White Struck Out of Writing Instruction?

Ann Hall wishes people would return to William Strunk and E.B. White’s “The Elements of Style.”

Currently, she’s a professor in the comparative humanities department at the University of Louisville. She recommends Strunk and White to her undergraduate students, and asks her dissertation students to use it. She also uses Strunk and White indirectly, when she makes on students’ papers and during class discussions.

However, not everyone feels the same about the famous (or in some people’s opinion, infamous) writing style guide, which is over 50 years old. Writing in The Chronicle of Higher Education in 2009, Geoffrey K. Pullum, a professor of general linguistics at the University of Edinburgh, said the book’s advice “ranges from limp platitudes to inconsistent nonsense,” and called both of its authors “grammatical incompetents.” He wrote that he wouldn’t “be celebrating” what was then the guide’s 50th anniversary.

Hall, on the other hand, thinks that Strunk and White puts statements in “positive form” and gives “little tricks of the trade that don’t demand that you know what a gerund or a participle is.”

But Hall does think that Strunk and White has been replaced. She thinks it’s “kind of seen as old-fashioned,” and most college and university campuses would go with composition and writing textbooks such as “The Little Seagull Handbook,” “The Everyday Writer” or “The Writer’s Reference.”

In the sixteen years she’s taught high school English at Wilmington High School in Wilmington, Massachusetts, Lisa Desberg has never used Strunk and White. She says her school is literature-based—grammar is not “the essence” of English classes.

“Grammar is not something that our district tends to purchase,” she says. “We tend to create our own powerpoints and worksheets based on the Common Core.”

Desberg doesn’t think the book’s age makes it irrelevant. But she does mention that these days, “a little paperback book” may not be how students “learn grammar organically.” She explains, “For example, I try to naturally incorporate [grammar] based on errors I’m seeing in their writing...in an everyday lesson, rather than, ‘Ok now, we’re going to have a separate lesson or now you’re going to open up a separate book.’”

Shelley Blanton-Stroud teaches composition classes at Sacramento State. When she was a college student, she hated Strunk and White.

“It just seemed like a collection of stupid rules,” she says.

When she became a composition teacher in the late 1980s, she never used or assigned Strunk and White for “a lot of reasons,” including that she thought it was “far too prescriptive.” She believed, and still believes, that the most important thing writing instructors do is prepare students to enter the “national or social conversation.” Dictating rules to them, she thought, would mean the students would get so invested on memorizing them that they would never think about what they thought or how to best express it.

But about ten years ago, she was invited to do some work for the California Independent System Operator, an organization that manages electricity utilities in the state. The people in that setting were often PhDs in economics, engineer or computer science, and there were also departments full of attorneys. They understood certain topics perfectly, but struggled with making others understand them.

“And that’s when a light came on for me that related back to Strunk and White, and certainly related back to my own classroom instruction, because it’s true for students too,” Blanton-Stroud says. “If the most important thing is for a writing teacher to help her students step into this social conversation, of course you have to deal with helping them develop ideas that are relevant, but also, you have to deal with the voice they use, the tactics the use, so that people pay attention to their ideas.”

Though she still doesn’t assign it as required reading, Blanton-Stroud refers to parts of Strunk and White in her teaching. She views it as a suggested style guide for how to write in an engaging voice.

Alice Chen, an eighth grade language arts teacher and technology coach at Suzanne Middle School in Walnut, California does not use Strunk and White in the classroom. But she says it offers some helpful tips and different ways to construct sentences, which are common grammar rules.

Chen says when people get into their teaching positions, they tend to use the textbooks that are available to them, and Strunk and White was not a resource that was made available to her. And what’s more, over the years, she’s moved away from teaching grammar “straight out of a book.” She says there are many different tools out there for teaching grammar. One of her favorites is using Brain Pop videos, which she uses in conjunction with writing assignments. She says they do a great job of giving a grammar in “small bites.”

“We’re talking videos at about four minutes long, which is just really perfect for kids, and then they come with some really great review quizzes; you can also create your own,” she says.

Chen also incorporates Grammarly and the Hemingway App in her lessons. Her students use Grammarly to pinpoint simple grammar mistakes, and after those are picked up, they turn to the Hemingway App, which highlights some areas they can focus on. With the Hemingway App, she wants her students to understand whether a sentence is highlighted because it is awkward and has poor grammar, or because it is complex. She tells her students that the algorithm may not necessarily be one hundred percent accurate—the more complex a sentence is, the more it will be highlighted. And that doesn’t necessarily mean the sentence is grammatically incorrect.

“I said you have to be the ultimate deciding factor, don’t just blindly accept what the computer tells you,” Chen says.

But Hall sees problems with these types of online grammar tools. She wonders what algorithms the Hemingway App uses to determine a sentence is too dense. She points out that getting rid of sentences that are too dense would mean getting rid of writers like Jacques Derrida and Virginia Woolf.

As for Grammarly, Hall supposes it’s a useful tool for someone who’s in business and wants to just double check her grammar. But she does worry that it “sort of levels everyone down to one kind of style.” Seeing different writing styles, she says, make people think differently.

“You’ve got somebody who’s maybe not a great writer, and you just want to get some coherence in there — I think they’re useful,” she says. “But again, the trouble is do these things help you become independent of them, or do you always have to go back to Grammarly?”

Strunk and White gives people rules, but doesn’t legislate writing, which Hall thinks “these machines” are doing. She gives an example of a novice writer who might type in a sentence that’s weak grammatically, or has grammatical errors. Grammarly, she says, would correct it for the writer, but it may not reflect what the novice writer might actually want to say.

Several years ago, Cathlina Bergman and her brother, Daniel Bergman, wrote a journal article for the 50th anniversary of The Elements of Style. They wrote that they “encourage everyone to find a copy” of the book and “read all of it,” as the “wealth of information” it contains is beneficial to writers and teachers, and ultimately their “readers and students.”

While she doesn’t use Strunk and White as a textbook in her English classes at Newton High School in Newton, Kansas, she uses some of the principles in the class. However, she still thinks Strunk and White is relevant today, even with the advent of digital grammar tools. But will she assign Strunk and White in the future? She thinks so, especially now that her school is a one-to-one school (9th-12th graders all have their own individual Chromebooks).

“I think it would be interesting for them to be able to have it on their one-to-one devices as a reference guide so we can refer back to that together,” she says.

Has Strunk and White Struck Out of Writing Instruction? published first on http://ift.tt/2x05DG9

[fangirlingnextgen]

Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur Fitz

If a woman’s heart was transplanted into a male patient, the arteries would grow to be the larger-diameter type, over time, since a female’s arteries have a smaller diameter.

The Men’s room is quiet, which makes sense as Gabriel is not present, and neither is--

The door slams open, as Mat rushes in with some papers under his arm. I try to ignore him, focusing again on my book, but in seconds, he’s in front of me and drops the papers on the table, a grin on his lips as if he found a cure for a terrible disease and the whole world should praise him for it.

“Okay so I might be good at more things than just soccer,” he speaks.

I put a bookmark between the page and put it down with a sigh. What does a guy have to do for a minute of quiet around here? If it isn’t some Prince kid attacking you with a wooden sword... “We'll see about that,” I smirk at him, seeing how proud he is of himself, but raise my eyebrow either way. I can’t help but be a little sceptic about. I scan the papers, and...It actually doesn’t look bad. We were set up to complete this challenge, but as soon as our group saw the challenge, they decided they were too good to be doing something like this. Of course, when they realised they were teamed up with me -mister Smarty-pants as I’ve heard- that didn’t help either on motivating them. Surely I could just ‘fix it’. Except for Mat. Now it’s the two of us. I admit I haven’t looked out for much contact with other Selected, but I can stand Mat. Occasionally.   “Not bad, not bad,” I say, before switching my smirk into a more serious look, pointing out the obvious, “But you shouldn't have slept less for it.” His hair is ruffled, and his eyes show that he’s clearly tired. Even so, he simply shrugs, leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “I'm fine, I had an energy drink this morning so I feel good. Not sure if they appreciated that request at breakfast though.” He dares to grin, while I hold back how energy drink has effects that vary from headache to insomnia and Paresthesia. I shake my head. “You surely don't know the terrible effects of that stuff on your body…” I roll my eyes as he seems unimpressed and keeps the smug grin on his face, “But fine, I can finish this later on, so thanks.” I end with an acknowledging nod, part of me wishing I could go back to my book. “I am taking perfectly good care of my body, I always need to be in shape. But…” He suddenly takes the papers out of my hands. “You still don't know how I got so much work done yesterday.” I feel the urge to roll those papers up to hit him on the head with them. In just a second or two, he has me rolling my eyes again. “By the tone of your voice, I assume you didn't follow the rules like you should have.” He laughs, as if breaking rules is hilarious. Maybe it can be when your parents don’t need to raise you with the fact that breaking rules for -previous- Six’s doesn’t go unpunished. “As long as I won't get a red card I'm okay with it,” he says with a shrug. Soccer reference, of course. Please tell me I am not that obnoxious with my interests. “But look at this handwriting, believe me dude that's way too neat for me. That can only be one person, or well Princess.” He looks so proud of himself, I am almost happy for him. If she is what he wants, then I suppose I would want him to have that. Even if I think there’s nothing or no one he wants more than a career in soccer. “She helped us!” Almost happy for him. “Mat, why are you so proud of that? It only shows we seem to be too incompetent to do it on our own,” I counter. It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I'm not going to lose because of a bunch of idiots not working together with us, and I can't read for shit when I'm stressed so she offered to help.” Dyslexia: a condition linked to genes, so chances are someone in his family has it too. Caused by differences in the part of the brain that processes language, parts of it that should be active while reading, then don’t work correctly. “She was being nice,” he continues. “I didn't say she wasn't,” I reply in a mumble, before letting out a sigh, “Sorry, you're right. I'll see for an opportunity to thank her. Can I look at the papers now?” He hands them back to me, and this time, I clearly see the difference in handwriting. Her handwriting is neat indeed, yet the ends of some letters are rushed. Thinking faster than she can write. Smart mind. “She only said we had to write her ideas out and add our own conclusion. So we'll get it done by Friday and we'll win,” Mat speaks, “However I didn't want to tell her how the others didn't really added anything to our project... felt kinda like snitching.” I nod, not averting my look from the papers. “I understand. They will be probably out soon enough if they don't show the required effort.” I let out a silence fall as I fake to read, but a question is distracting me. “So...you want to win?” “Yeah, I want my hard work to pay off.” I can feel him look at me, while I still find the documents very…interesting. “Or are we talking about Raena?” “Both.” He chuckles in response. “She's nice, pretty really and has a sense for humor... but she can be a little too serious for my taste.” He shrugs, while I know the following question will come. “What do you think?” His tone changes into a more teasing one as he continues. “Or are you in love with her already?” Not with her, pops into my thoughts. I gladly ignore the absurdity.  “She's fine.” I shrug dismissively. “Don't know if we're...compatible, so to say.” “So you're basically saying you don't like her?” Mat asks, pressing where it hurts most. “What?” I ask, a panic rising that has a source I don’t want to discover yet. I’m an honourable man, I’ve got nothing to hide. “Uh, no! I just...consider the possibility that I might not fall in love with her,” I explain, clearing my throat. Saved it. Mental self-high five? I cheer to early, as Mat shakes his head at my response, grinning again, one I don’t like to see right now. “Dude why are you staying here then? And please don't tell me it's for Friday Fish nights.” “Fish is healthy, full of omega 3 and such…” I stop myself from going into full information-telling-mode, running my hand through my hair as I run through my thoughts I can’t follow. I sigh before I continue. “I need money for my education,” I admit.   His eyes widen in surprise. “You too?” He clears his throat, lowering his voice back to normal. “I mean, the money is nice yeah.. but what if she senses you're only staying for that and she sends you away?” “Then...that would be fair. Yet for now, there's still a chance something could be there, perhaps, so I might as well stay, and win this challenge with you.” I give him a smile. He grins and pats my shoulder amiable.   “That's what I like to hear and after that I'll beat you once again at Fifa,” he teases. “We'll see about that Mat,” I grin in return, “Though I assume soccer is your reason then?” “Well yeah.” He starts to scratch the back of his neck, as I clearly hit a sore spot. “I got scouted in Denmark when I was a year or 6 but my parents never agreed to the deal. So now I'm hoping with the media attention and money that I get scouted here.” He shrugs, as if he can dismiss his hopes like they’re nothing, “A guy can dream.” I simply nod in reply. I understand his dreams. I understand that he probably would hate for me to talk about how ‘I’m sure he can do it if he just believes’. Nice words don’t fill in for all the work it takes us to get there. “I'll mention your talent in interviews if I can,” I speak as I look at the documents, noticing more and more grammar mistakes in his handwriting. Mixing up letters. “Really? You don't have to dude but I guess it would help out,” he says. I wave his words away. “It's all I can do.” “Well you can also sum up boring medical stuff good so it's not the only thing,” he jokes. I roll my eyes at him again, but smirk anyway, amused. “Oh shut up,” I talk back. “Don't deny it Fitz one day you'll be my biggest fan” he chuckles, “Or the one who fixes up all my injuries.” I chuckle as well, imagining that we might stay friends through this, and after, long enough for that to happen. “Most likely the last,” I answer, thinking how maybe I don’t mind this partnership after all, even without the others not working along, “Just try to not to get in too much trouble before that can even happen.” Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur.