#convivial research

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ You surprise them with terms of endearment in their language

(Or, pretending that Teyvat uses certain languages based on the regions.) 

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe 

✧ You don’t remember what prompted you to emit this word specifically, however, its occurrence was as natural as the auroras in the Snezhayan sky. During a typical day, when you were casually conversing with Pierro, you just replied with:

“Of course, just be careful, mel.” (honey)

It was out before you could register it, and you hoped he didn’t catch on. But it's known that nothing passes by the Jester unnoticed. Pierro’s gaze was uncharacteristically stunned, yet it softened the moment he turned to you. 

“It’s been… centuries since you called me that.” 

You averted your gaze away in shame, muttering a small apology. But the Director stepped closer to you, his gloved fingers brushing underneath your chin to look you tenderly in the eyes. 

“No, no. I do not seek an apology. You often called me melimelum (honey apple) during our days of guilelessness. Go on. Utter these words for me once more. I must know whether you remember them as much as I do.” 

Meeting his gaze, you stammered upon your words but managed to convey “mi mel” (my honey) for him again despite your coy disposition. The Jester smiled as if an eon-long frost had been melted off his heart. Thus, he leaned closer to relish your lips in his, whispering.  

“That’s more like it, corculum (sweetheart). These words are always sweeter when uttered by your lips.” 

✧ It is no one's surprise that you and Capitano participate in convivial challenges. Who else would match the harbinger’s fierce ambition for competition if it weren't for you, his partner? From duels, training, and games, to even… endearing nicknames. Yes, just loudly calling each other cute nicknames until the other gives up, in the privacy of your own home. 

“You may be the strongest man in Tevyat, Capitano, but!” - you loudly proclaimed “I can still defeat you in a battle of wits.” 

“Your words bring forth a challenge that I seek, my beloved. If you dare to challenge me, know that I will not back down.” 

“Hmph!” - you crossed your arms, a triumphant smile already gracing your features. “My dear, sweet Captain. Don’t be so sure of yourself. It’s clear that I love you more.” 

“Absurd,” - Capitano clenched his fists, his resolve is unshaken. “My love for you brings mountains to dust and the seas to dry. It is clear that I love you more.” 

“Tsk, tsk. I can still express my love in a far wider range, geliebter (loved one).” - There it was. Your special attack as you spoke confidently back. “ You better not underestimate me.” 

The Captain froze, his stance now rigid. Even through his pitch-black helmet, you could see you seized him off-guard. A word he has not heard in centuries, even more so, you put in the effort to pronounce it correctly. The Harbinger stepped closer, his sharp fingers gently cupping your cheeks.

“My dear, cherished, loved engelchen (little angel). Where did you learn that from? Such sweet words will not be tolerated. I shall memorize the entire dictionary to out-win you in this battle of precious monikers.” 

“Oh yeah? We’ll see, herzblatt (sweetheart), because I did my research! So I win!” - you mumbled proudly, even when Capitano kept squishing your face by squeezing your cheeks lovingly. 

Your little ‘warfare’ was left at that, and you didn’t think much of it afterward. A successful conquest; or so you credulously thought. Little did you expect, that in a couple of days, Capitano would burst into the room, a thick book in his hand labeled ‘Dictionary & Encyclopedia of Teyvat's Ancient Languages’.

“My dear, you won’t believe this! I have found a compelling addition to what I must call you, notlazohtlé." (my precious thing)

“U-um, Capitano. You didn't actually spend days trying to memorize a whole… dictionary, did you?”

“Nonsense. A warrior never backs down from a challenge. Especially one bestowed upon him by his yōltzin.” (lover)

✧ When Il Dottore heard you speak, he had to ensure the grip on his book was firm. He swore he almost dropped it but made sure to conceal it, as his back was facing you while he stood in front of bookshelves. 

“What did you just say?”

“Habibi” - you retorted simply. “Or, do you prefer azizam?” (my dear)

There was a prolonged silence coming from the Doctor. The sound of this native tongue brought a conflicting range of abrupt disgust and wistful familiarity. Yet Dottore clenched his jaw; there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice, and he would much rather go on pretending he hadn’t heard you say those words. 

"What are those harebrained names you are calling me? Has your time in Sumeru made you so asinine?"

You were not surprised he reacted this way. Nonetheless, It was futile to hide your solemn disappointment, so you sighed - "Never mind..." 

The book he had been flicking through was gradually set aside. Although you couldn’t read his expression, he remained eerily still. 

"Say it again." 

"Hm?" 

"I said,” - Il Dottore suddenly turned, stepping closer to firmly set his hands on the table, looming over you. “Say it again." 

Oh no, you thought. “I said habibi. Like people in the Sumeru desert region often say… But I thought you’d loathe it so maybe aziz-” 

Your words were cut off, as the Harbinger cupped your jawline and made sure to silence your doubts with his own lips. The sudden kiss was as sweet and warm as honey, and as ardent and fiery as the blazing deserts of Sumeru. 

“I was not being serious.” - He explained after leaning away, even if his scoff came out stilted. He didn’t mean to be rude, instead, he was impressed you went your way to learn these expressions. His hold on your jaw abates in an instance “Call me whatever you want.

You blink - “Well, you studied like… twenty languages since you were a student. So I wanted to gauge your reaction. What about ‘my heart’? was it kalbi, or…?” 

“...Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), you just called me a dog.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but laugh at your antic. Your sweet attempts at endearment were beyond him, especially when you fumbled on pronunciation. Thus, he settled with teasing you, locking his lips back with yours. You could feel his love wash over you like the gentle breeze blowing across the sand; carrying away any lingering worries and leaving you with the joy of being with him.

✧ Scaramouche abhors seeing couples being all mushy and sweet in public. Lovers giggling when embracing under the shade? Ugh. Calling each other cute nicknames as they walk? Disgusting. Stealing discreet kisses while no one is looking? Nauseating! 

His reaction is nothing new for you, as he frequently crossed his arms in annoyance. Particularly after a nearby married couple passed by the two of you, one of them saying “Anata, don't forget to buy some sugar and flour on our way home.” - Just people going on with their lives. What you didn't expect was how the Puppeteer would latch to your arm and accuse you:

“Why are you not calling me that!?” 

You blinked in bewilderment - “...what?” 

Scaramouche huffed, his expression sour - “You know what! Dropping the semi-formalities and using Anata (dear). Don't make me repeat myself.” 

“But that's how married couples refer to each other.”

“So?” 

Silence. The two of you awkwardly stood still, frozen. And then it clicked. “I can’t believe my ears… The 6th of The Fatui Harbinger,” 

“Wait, I take it back –” 

“Is asking me,” 

“Don’t. Don’t you da–” 

“To use anata, like a precious spouse would do to their loved one! Aaa!” - you gushed and beamed, your tone countering Scaramouche’s flustered groans, while he tugged at his hat to conceal his furrowed eyebrows. “Should I welcome you home with a cute pink apron, telling you that dinner and a bath are ready, too? Or maybe, offer you something else… ” 

“You’re insufferable. I regret even bringing this up now.” 

“Fine, Fine. I'll stop." - you sighed after a hearty chuckle. “Sometimes, rigid formalities can appear as an insult too, you know. After all, what sort of sweetheart would I be if I didn’t consider your troubles."

You mused innocently at the mental image of using terms of endearment like a married couple. However, your imagination was interrupted as the Harbinger took it upon himself to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"Did I tell you to stop? If we're going to pretend to be a cute, married couple - then do so properly. Besides, what was that part about offering something else when greeting me back home?” 

✧ When you prepare little surprises for your beloved Pantalone, you often come up to him with contagious excitement, eager to show what nick-nacks and artifacts you brought along. This time, you recently returned from an expedition in Liyue, and as always your affluent partner greeted you with honeyed enthusiasm, embracing you tightly as you spoke of your adventures.

“Pantalone, Pantalone!” - You exclaimed gleefully “I learned something new while I was staying in Liyue Harbour!” 

“Oh? And do tell, sweetheart, what is it that caught your curiosity this time?” - Pantalone spoke elegantly, helping you undress from your adventuring garbs. 

“I was familiarizing myself with certain literary texts and it led me down a rabbit hole of traditional phrases common in Liyue… And I figured out how to call you precious! Bǎobǎo!” (baby) 

Pantalone’s eyes shot wide open with renowned zeal. He grinned and clasped his hands, “Oh, my treasure! How adorable of you! And did you go all the way out just to learn this for me? Let me hear you say it again.”

“Bǎobǎo! It suits you! Or maybe you prefer xīn'gān?” (heart and soul)

Pantalone was ecstatic, his smile further widening - “My, my, you certainly worked on your pronunciation. Your stay in Liyue paid off then, because dear, you are making me swoon with your adorable surprises. Pray tell, what other phrases did you learn?” 

“Well, I was told that lǎogōng (hubby) is good.”

“Mhm, yes, yes.” - Pantalone nodded.

“Also huài bāo,” (naughty)

“O-oh?”

“And wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you)

“O-.... oh,”

“And also shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), but I was told this one is a little bit intense.”

The Regrator became motionless. You gazed at him with such pure naïveté, so oblivious that your charming perception didn't grasp the weight of these foreign words. He placed his hands on your shoulders firmly and inquired seriously:  

“My sweetheart. Who, exactly, taught you all this?”

“Well, so. There was this lady who had a small perfumery shop by Chihu Rock. I think her name was Ying'er.” - you pondered but smiled “She was a nice lady, she taught me all these phrases, and said they would work like a charm!”

Pantalone had to exert all his mental strength to avoid fainting or exploding. He is unsure of what exactly, but one more word from you and he'd drop to his knees with a ring for you. Rather than translating your earlier words, the Harbinger lets out a shaky sigh and focuses on controlling his hitched breathing.

“Oh, Shǎguā (silly). If you were unsure of the words' meanings, you could have just asked me and I would have demonstrated. Personally.”

✧ It was another day at Tartaglia’s family home in Snezhnaya. You visit him often and his family has long since welcomed you as part of their household. Especially the siblings, as Teucer and Tonia always welcome you with tight embraces whenever you arrive. 

When you found your beloved Childe in the kitchen, he innately greeted you with a kiss on the cheek, asking: “You’re right on time, sweetpea. We’re planning on making homemade meat dumplings. Maybe some borscht as a side dish too. Is that okay with you?” 

To which you simply nodded, already moving to help - “Of course, milyy (sweet). Do you need me to start with the bullion?” 

The Harbinger stopped. He never heard you use native terms, but when he registered your words, his head quickly snapped toward you in astonishment.

“Do my ears deceive me?! Did you just call me…!” 

Aha, so you got him. You tried to hide your giddiness, a faint grin threatening to appear - “Well, I just tried to use something new. You love nicknames, right? So perhaps…” 

“Say it again!” - The man practically leaped at you, his eyes now glowing with elation as he hyped you up to reveal your cards. 

“Okay, okay big guy, just take it easy. I just said milyy (sweet). Maybe you’d like it if I said… lyubimyy (darling)?”

Tartaglia gasps as your sweet words hit his ears, but then a wide grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is this a challenge? If so, fight me! I will shower you with more love for each sweet word coming out of your mouth. But I warn you, you'll have to use them a lot more often from now on.” 

He kisses your cheeks again, this time with even more passion and fervor while he cupped your cheeks. His lips felt like waves crashing against the shore, and each one left an invisible imprint of love and adoration on your soul. As you chuckle at his affectionate antics, small hushed voices interrupt you two. 

Teucer and his sister Tonia were peeking behind the kitchen door, giggling as they eavesdropped on you two. However, when Tartaglia caught their gazes, the rascals scurried away giggling.

“Hey! Quite sneaking in! Did your parents not teach you to give adults some privacy?” 

Latin: melimelum (honey-apple), mel (honey), corculum (sweetheart) German: geliebter (Loved one), herzblatt (sweetheart), engelchen (little angel) Nahuatl (Aztec): notlazohtlé (my darling/precious thing), yōltzin (lover) Persian: azizam (my dear) Arabic: habibi (my dear), Ya balsam qalbi (O balm of my heart), qalbi (my heart), kalbi (my dog, lmao)  Japanese: Anata (informal you, dear for couples)  Mandarin: Bǎobǎo (baby), lǎogōng (hubby), huài bāo (naughty), wǒ yào nǐ,” (I want you), shǐjìn yīdiǎn (go harder), Shǎguā (silly melon) Russian: milyy (sweet), lyubimyy (darling)

*While I speak Arabic, and Russian and know a little bit of Japanese; If you have some additional info on the linguistic part, or speculation or spot some inaccuracies - please, please, please 🙏 kindly share them with me! I am open to fixing any mistakes. Or if you just have headcanons and love projecting certain languages onto these characters like I do - share them with me! 

Thank you 

[abbyromanoff]

Hi again! For the Little!Wanda au can you make one where little Wanda throw a tantrum one day and instead of physical punishment (I feel so bad when they get hit and they're little even when it's ab sex 😭) Reader gives her the silent treatment the whole day like going about her day not giving Wanda attention at all and Wanda is desperate to nursing and her mommy cares back. You could end with them sharing a bath and a little smut too. Thank you

-🌬️

ATTENTION-SEEKER

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 1451

WARNINGS: little!wanda (plz keep in mind I have no experience with this personally and only base it off of other fics and research I’ve done), silent treatment, angst, fluff, happy ending, jealousy, just sad Wanda and reader, think that’s abt it :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“No, Mommy! I don’t w’nna go!” You sighed at her puerile words that she expressed fervently. She huddled her bear close to her chest, forgoing her normally cheery and loquacious speech and replacing it with her pernicious gloom. You failed to understand why she was in such a state, given she had been joyous all throughout the day up until you announced you had to stop by auntie Natty’s and it would be best if she joined you. You knew she held a disliking towards your errands, but you always played her favorite music and allowed her your phone to play games on which resulted in her giggly tone.

“Wanda, if you keep talking back to me like that I’ll have no choice but to punish you.” You stared back at her through the mirror, a warning glare being sent her way which almost always led to her taciturn. However, this time she seemed irascible.

“Ugh, you the wors’ Mommy ever!” Your eyes shot wide, your grip on the wheel tightening as you waited for an instant and regretful apology; but none came.

“You better take that back, young lady.” She stuck her tongue out, mocking you as she aimed it in your direction. You bit your tongue, your jaw locking as you held back not only vexation, but a deep sadness that began spreading with her words.

“Alright then, if you want to misbehave, I have no choice but to punish you.” She did not know what to expect, but complete silence was the opposite. The rest of the car ride was full of a heavy gloom, both of you keeping to yourselves as your minds were only filled with petulant thoughts that haunted one another.

When you arrived at your destination, you allowed yourself to bring forth to the front step before knocking, causing Wanda’s eyebrows to crinkle together. You always helped her out of her high-seat and held her hand as you left the car, and she struggled to figure out how to unbuckle herself but eventually managed. By the time she was pushing herself out of the vehicle she spotted Nat greeting you with a warm hug that was well-returned, and she only groaned in response. She dragged her feet forward and met the woman’s gaze with a scowl, leaning closer to your body and instinctively reaching her arm out to interlace with yours; but you brushed this act off, holding steady a convivial smile as the redhead allowed you to enter.

It felt like hours had gone by before Wanda finally spoke up, waiting for Natasha to leave for the restroom before she welcomed her unsteady voice. You did not spare her a glance when she had been trying to brush against you the entire time, and you secretly hoped she would be too caught up in the TV show Nat had selected for her to try and appeal to you just so you weren’t so distracted.

“Mommy,” She started, poking your arm as you stared down at your phone. “Mommy!” She dragged out. You rolled your eyes without purpose which she saw and which caused her expression to instantly sadden.

“Don’ roll your eyes at me!” You began to bite the inner side of your cheek as she sat crisscrossed in front of you. “It r’ally hurts my feelings when- when you do that, Mommy.” She felt tears beginning to prickle her sore eyes, and if you had been able to see you would’ve stopped and apologized right away, but you were too focused on making it clear your attention was on the other returning from her quick departure.

“Thank gosh you’re back,”

“I was gone for like two minutes max, relax.” You shared a chuckle before diving further into a conversation, all while Wanda huddled her teddy close to wipe her tears in secrecy. She whimpered quietly, resting her forehead on your shoulder and wetting the cloth with her disconsolate.

“Baby? Hey, what’s wrong?” The two of you turned your attention towards the seemingly small girl behind you when you felt your skin dampening under her touch. You cupped her cheek softly, wiping the tears and easing her into your lap. She had begun to suckle on her thumb as a source of comfort, and while you usually would ask her not to do such a thing, you knew she needed it at this current time. Nat’s eyebrows furrowed as she examined you two, brushing Wanda’s hair out of her face to which she backed away.

“Can you talk to me, sweetheart? Hm?” She struggled to muster a few mumbled words so you gave her a few moments before asking a similar question.

“Mama h’rt my f-feelings,” She stuttered through her sentence, each word expressed with added letters but you pushed it aside. Your heart ached when she spoke, and you felt ashamed in yourself for what you decided to do.

“Oh, love,” You wrapped your arms around her tightly, hoping to provide the same warmth you did previously. “Mommy didn’t mean to hurt you! Baby, I am so, so sorry, I didn’t realize it would make you feel this upset.” She sobbed and sniffled quietly as you rocked her up and down with your knee. She leaned back suddenly, her heartbroken face sending a crestfallen ache deep within you.

“I didn’ wanna see auntie Natty because I jealous,” You both nodded slowly while confusion racked your brains, still easing her to continue.

“She way prettier tha’ me and you’re so happy to see her, and she have the prettiest braids eva’! I was scared you wou’d love her more than me.” She bowed her head low while you sucked in a breath, tears of your own beginning to form while Nat tried comforting your girlfriend.

“Oh, Wanda, baby, that’s not true at all! Me and your Mommy are very close friends, but nothing could come in between you two; it’s like Mickey and Minnie Mouse, you could say. But you know something else? You’re the prettiest little girl I’ve ever met - ever! You have these adorable little freckles and beautiful green eyes, and your hair is absolutely gorgeous. We all get a little self-conscious sometimes, sweetie, even I do; heck, even your Mommy does. But you need to remember that you’re perfect inside and out, and you always will be.” She paused, standing as she placed a soft kiss on the top of Wanda’s head before slowly stalking backwards.

“I’ll leave you two alone for now but I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. After you can join me for dinner, and maybe if my little Wanda is up for it, some dessert, hm? I found a delicious red velvet cookie recipe and instantly thought of you. I was hoping we could make it together later.” She left with one last wave before leaving the two of you alone, Wanda sporting a softer smile now that her auntie had cheered her up.

“Wands, I am so sorry I upset you, I never meant to make you feel so insecure and alone. I…I just was so upset and worried by what you said in the car that I thought if I ignored you entirely then maybe you’d learn your lesson, but I was wrong and I’m so sorry, pretty girl.” She brought your lowered head closer to hers, causing you to lift it as you examined her features.

“You’re so beautiful, every single inch of you. And I cannot express how lucky I am to have you as mine.” You kissed her lips softly when you finished your speech, sighing warmly into the moment as you felt weight being lifted from your tired shoulders.

“‘M sorry too, Mommy. I lied earlier when I said you was the worst, you the best mommy I could ever ask fo’, I mean it!” You chuckled into her neck, leaning back to once again admire her beauty.

“I know you didn’t, baby. Mommy can just get a little scared and worried, I don’t want my girl wishing she had someone else to take care of her. But I promise to never, ever be mean to you again, okay?” You held a pinky in front of her face, your heart skipping a beat when she gracefully took it with hers.

“An’ I promise to never make my Mommy feel bad again, as long as she isn’t bein’ a meany-head.” You pecked the top of your interlaced fingers with a laugh, patting her thigh as a signal to stand before making a final announcement,

“So, do you believe red velvet cookies will help save the day? Because I sure do and I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.”

[beecryptic]

Books found in the egg monitoring labs, […] NOTATIONS 03-05

NOTATIONS 03…[] . . . Experimental trails were conducted to assess the impact of adverse conditions on the eclosion process of [subject]. …statistical analyses were employed to quantify the extent of delay caused by adverse conditions and assess the variability in "Eclosion" success rates among different experimental groups[…] . . . > load , (batches)… 001>…convivial condition observation 002>…subsistence monitoring 003>…permanence surveillance 004>…system analysis > back(…)

…NOTATIONS 04 […] Our experimental findings reveal significant delays in the eclosion process of [subject]… source of [poison] is unknown… variability in eclosion success rates was observed among different developmental stages […] suggesting differential susceptibility to environmental stressors… The observed delays in eclosion highlight the vulnerability of [subject]… >save, [Exit]

[…] … >reboot … NOTATIONS […] 05 By identifying the key factors contributing to delayed "Eclosion" and increased mortality rates… …Future research efforts should focus on developing targeted inventions to enhance the resilience of [subject]…[…] Aim for […] strength > #004 resilience > #003 growth > #001 […] …

[hanayori89]

🐺✨Sparks Between Fang Marks: Bite from the Beast 1✨🐺

Eyes followed you everywhere.

And you weren't surprised. You definitely did not fit into a place like Ordon Village.

You observed the villagers going about their business in the humdrum rhythm of existence. Children ran past you, cackling as they caused a small gust of wind to gently roll past. You saw some gentlemen sitting around a fire by a tree, toothy grins and red plastered to their cheeks as they drank in merriment. A few properties away stood a woman, hanging wet laundry out to dry. Some of the towering trees swaying in the breeze released leaves that stuck to the fabric of the damp laundry.

It was certainly simple here compared to the conviviality of Castle Town.

You scratched your head as you looked down at your worn-out map, the writing eroded by the many fingers that held it before you. From what you could make out, the spring should have been before you hit the village.

You sighed, flustered. You felt your patience teetering back and forth like the many tree branches above. You picked your right foot up, letting out yet another dramatic sigh. You were hungry, sore, and growing crankier by the second.

But you couldn't have said no when Princess Zelda herself requested that you be the one to do the research on Ordon Spring. You stuck your finger in the heel of your shoe, giving it a small respite, then shoved your foot back in and made your way forward.

You noticed a bustling ranch up ahead. Surely, somebody could point you toward the spring.

As you approached the ranch, you saw a distorted image of a man. His features were harshly skewed, and his shoulders were so broad that they created an unbalanced rectangular shape to his body.

"Excuse me?" You called out to the man.

"Hylia, get into your pens! The lot of you!" He bellowed as he threw his hands up in defeat.

"Excuse me?"

The man turned and stared at you blankly. "Forgive me, I'm not from around here, and-"

"Yes, I can see that." The man snorted. "Let me guess; you're from Castle Town, and you need directions."

You nodded, self-consciously smoothing the collar of your tailored dress downward.

"I'm looking for Ordon Spring."

The man snorted again.

"Princess Zelda sent me." You asserted.

"Zelda sent you?" Another man made his way to the forefront; only he was much more pleasant to look at than the surely man before you. You couldn't quite gage the color of his hair as beams of light seemed to filter away the appealing darkness of it, highlighting it with blonde streaks instead. He wore garments that were expressive of what many of the villagers wore. A sash in the middle of his waist held up a tunic, which covered one shoulder, revealing the generous muscles in his arms.

He tilted his head slightly. "Princess Zelda sent you?"

You averted your gaze, unable to look at the rather handsome ranch hand.

He walked up to the fence, opening the gate and setting himself free. "Here, I can point you in the direction you need to go." He turned back toward the grumpy rancher. "Fado, cover me for a moment."

Fado snickered; his response was cut off by a cuckoo nipping at his foot.

"Why you little-!"

You stifled a giggle, remaining professional. The handsome rancher looked at you and smiled. "I wish I could say he's joking, but unfortunately, that's Fado for you."

You walked back toward the village center, where the kids still ran laps of tag. He lifted a bronzed finger and pointed ahead. "The bridge you crossed to get here; you must make your way back toward that bridge. Go past the south Faron Woods you entered to get here. The spring will be hidden to your left between the Faron Bridge and the south woods."

He looked at you with an expression of concern. "However, I do not recommend going now; it's getting pretty late. I can direct you to the village inn."

You could see exhaustion dappling against his sharp features. Despite this, he remained enthusiastic and warm. "I also must warn you, without anything to heal, you might not experience the powers of the spring."

You continued to dodge his intense gaze. "I guess I'm in the market for a paper cut then." This aroused a small chuckle from him.

"Please." His voice was as gentle as the caress of the looming dusk's sensuous breeze. "Please reconsider going tonight. You will be safer in the morning."

You shook your head. "I work for Hyrule Castle. I'm equipped to handle danger should I encounter it."

Sensing he wasn't going to convince you otherwise, he glibly responded. "Do be careful. There are creatures that lurk within the woods."

          ✨✨✨✨✨🐺✨✨✨✨✨

You pulled your shoe off and held it upside down. A small pebble fell from it.

"Why did I wear these shoes?" You grunted. The sun had long set, and you made the grueling trek through the Faron Woods once more. The dense culmination of trees had grown sparse, signaling that you were now on the perimeter of the woods.

"I must be close to the spring. I must." Your stomach retaliated against you with expletives in the form of growls. A mosquito landed on your arm; you squashed it against your flesh with an absurd clap of your hand.

"Stupid bugs. Stupid shoes. Stupid appetite!" A sawed-down tree lay in the distance, sporting a nice smooth trunk that you could sit on and give yourself a much-needed pep talk.

Bending forward in thought, you put your elbows on your knees, cradling your weary head in between the palms of your hands. Your skin felt moist with oil, and you couldn't wait to shower among everything else.

You slapped your knee with a renewed sense of motivation. "Alright! I'll take a dip in the spring while I fill up my empty vials to bring back to the castle. After this, I will return to that village and get some grub and rest. That's the plan." You nodded, satisfied with your new itinerary.

You stood up, palms on your lower back, pressing your chest forward, attempting a stretch, until you heard the nearby bushes rustle.

You turned your head, resting your chin on your shoulder, scouring your surroundings.

"Probably a squirrel." You muttered to yourself. Until the bush once again made a disruptive jostling sound.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The only response you received was the penetrating silence of the forest.

You began to laugh at how silly your paranoia was. You marched forward, resuming your search of the spring. The sound of your footsteps crunched amongst shriveled leaves, along with the mismatched sound of footsteps from behind you.

A low curdle of a growl made you freeze in place.

You slowly swiveled your head around, coming face-to-face with a wolf.

You held your breath, deciding then that dying of asphyxiation would be more pleasant than whatever the wolf held in store for you.

Its blue eyes held onto you almost as tight as you imagined its fangs would. Something about the shade of the wolf's eyes was familiar. Warm. Thick gray tufts of hair were matted at its neck from whatever creatures it had clashed with in the woods.

Maybe the wolf ate, and it would leave.

Your wishful thinking in that moment of intense fear was the only real hope you had left.

"I won't hurt you..." You whispered. You weren't sure why you were trying to bargain with the wolf. You dropped your voice to match the soothing atmosphere of the singing cacophony of cicadas surrounding you.

The wolf stepped forward. The bargain was not being bought.

Matching the tempo of the wolf's steps forward, you lowered your hand to the zipper of your purse, remembering a pocketknife you kept for protection. The wolf's fierce glare seemed to cause the warning of the handsome rancher to echo in the back of your mind.

Why hadn't you listened to him?

You slowly opened the zipper.

The wolf took another step forward. Watching. Waiting.

"I won't hurt you." You reiterated it gently.

You steadied your shaking hand onto the hilt of the knife, removing it slowly.

"I won't-"

You couldn't finish your statement. Your knife fell from your grip into a pile of leaves behind you. Hot, searing pain drilled into your left calf. Sharp fangs sank into your leg, going slightly deeper, giving the wolf the control it wanted.

You shrieked in anguish as the wolf began to fling you around like a ragdoll. You dug your fingers into the soil as he pulled your leg, dragging you through the dirt. You yelled out, "Please, please, help! Somebody!"

But you were in the middle of the Faron Woods alone. There was not a soul for miles. Nobody would hear your screams. Nobody would witness your death.

Twigs, branches, and sticks stabbed at your flesh as the wolf continued to parade your leg around in its mouth. You heard an ear-splitting crunch, and you knew it wasn't coming from the leaves on the ground. Surrendering to your unfortunate fate, you cried out once more. Hoping somewhere in the abyss of bestial rampage, the wolf would stop. Somewhere in the wolf was a docile creature that housed that gentle gaze he gave you earlier. You just had to try. Maybe he would hear the pain in your voice, and he would stop.

Wouldn't he?

"Please..." you whimpered.

Raw, wet muscle and tendon shimmered with blood beneath a fragile glint of moonlight.

      ✨✨✨✨✨🐺✨✨✨✨✨

Your body was levitating. You felt it- a feather amongst gentle currents of water being lifted up toward Hylia.

You also felt arms. Sturdy, powerful arms. Your hand shot upward, trying to feel the source of fortitude lifting you upward.

Did Hylia send brawny male angels down to deliver the dead to her now? If that were the case, maybe being dead wouldn't be so bad.

Until you felt a protruding muscle beneath your hand and the sound of a voice asking, "You're awake?"

The voice was animated with relief. Your eyes shot open as you saw miles of calming waters surrounding you. You weren't dead. Far from it.

Your head shot upward, witnessing your legs being bathed in crystalline waters- not a scratch nor bump in sight.

"The Ordon Spring?" You gasped. Your head fell backward, and you saw the kind eyes of the cute rancher. "You saved me?"

Instead of answering your question, he let his head fall downward, heavy with tormenting shame.

"What's wrong? What's-" Your hand ran from his bicep to his chest, where you felt a patch of tangled hair.

Long, gray, tangled hair.

Your eyes met his face, and you noticed a crisp patch of blood dotting the corner of his lips.

You began to flounder out of his arms.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbled. His eyes were filled to the brim with apparent remorse.

He kept prattling on apologies, but that wasn't enough to distract you from the blood smeared between his teeth and lacing his gumlines.

The ranch hand had warned you for a reason.

Only he wasn't trying to protect you from the other creatures.

He was trying to protect you from himself.

Edited:11/5/23

[bosseladytv]

Mods Updated June 3, 2024

The following mods have been updated (sim data, tuning, and strings) and are compatible with Game Version 1.107.112:

·         Arcade Lot Trait

·         Bakery Lot Trait

·         Bank Lot Trait

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·         Better Science Lair – added Gemology

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·         Better University Student Hang Out – added multi-unit lots

·         Better Vampire Nexus

·         Bowling Alley Lot Trait

·         Cemetery Lot Trait

·         Elder Home Lot Trait

·         Florist Lot Trait

·         Homeless Shelter Lot Trait

·         Motel Lot Trait

·         Youth Group Home Lot Trait

Download links:

[lilliancdoodles]

After today we have another branch of the Federation.

Research and Development Genetics (Where Elena worked) Department of Convivial Condition Observation Department of Subsistence Monitoring Permanence Surveillance Department of System Analysis Census Bureau Board of Directors Island Manager Note these are not in order of rank.

[foundationhq]

EMPLOYEE ID 8200-1875-2; 𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 Ariadne Zisis 𝐀𝐠𝐞 35 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫/𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 gender non-conforming, they/she 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 Imogen Poots 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 retired

PROFILE.

The altruistic and convivial, [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌] has a connection with the minds of humans — and non-humans — that is found once in a few lifetimes. We discovered their talent when several humanoid SCPs in surveillance came in contact with her and lost their anomalous nature. The Foundation would suffer a loss to let this unique ability go. Equipped with a high sense of empathy without any mind-altering substances or cognito-interference from SCP phenomena, [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌] was first appointed to Humanoid Containment Site-06-03 to gauge her potential. After their trial experiments into SCP psychotherapy lead to successful and humane containment protocols, they were transferred to Site-17 to further her psychotherapy work... but her expertise caught the eyes of Research and Development Director H. ███████ , who surprisingly placed her as a supervising medic for SCP-███ at Storage Site-23 within a year. Though those case files are locked and declassification is impossible for anyone under Level 5 SCiPNet Clearance, there have been rumblings that almost everyone involved in the SCP-███ experiments end up medically discharged from the Foundation, and a recent internal audit by the Ethics Committee exposed a termination order for [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌]'s research partner, Dr. P. ████, which had been overturned at the last second. The reasonings for that are, at this point in time, undetermined and unclear. Therefore, the Committee believes [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌] would benefit from a new workplace environment, far from the dramatic exploits of the SCP-███ experiments. Though more demure in personality than many of the more independently-inclined operatives found at Site-φ, [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌]’s innate talent of understanding the psyche will be an essential asset for maintaining a copacetic, functional social structure within MTF Chi-00. Even if some of their colleagues insist on going against the grain, the Committee expects that [𝑀𝑋. 𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐼𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑇𝑌] will find a way to level the field and promote unity. — Internal Memo from the Ethics Committee.

LAST ASSIGNMENT.

PSYCHIATRIST;  STORAGE SITE 23, supervising medical officer for the SCP-███ trial experiments. Overlooked and examined the physical and mental health of patients administered SCP-███, as well as researchers working in close proximity with SCP-███. As of this note, all recent work crew have either been medically discharged, MIA, or terminated by order of the Foundation.

INTERRELATIONS OF NOTE.

𝐷𝑌𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐸𝐷. You can just tell this one’s going to be a headache and a half. They don’t seem to be too interested in being anyone’s friend, never mind yours. You usually prefer to take a slow and subtle approach in these sorts of cases, but given the especially sensitive nature of this new assignment, leaving a wildcard like them unchecked for too long seems bound to create problems.

𝑃𝐸𝑅𝐹𝐸𝐶𝑇 𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅. It’s obvious that they’re in way over their head, so what else where you supposed to do other than throw them a life preserver? You’ve never been the type to stand by as someone else struggles and they’ll definitely need all the help they can get settling in and navigating the team’s… pricklier personalities.

52 𝑃𝐼𝐶𝐾𝑈𝑃. They quickly caught your eye and bent your ear after you were reassigned. The two of you are fast becoming thick as thieves, swapping stories and so on as you size up your new coworkers. It’s nice to find someone else who reads people as you do, though their outlook on the human condition seems to run diametrically opposed to yours.

𝐺𝐴𝑅𝐷𝐸𝑁 𝑉𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑇𝑌. — You remember this patient. Though you'd like to call them a friend, you abide by your professional boundaries. They were one of your first patients, and you could easily read their mind, understand where they were coming from, and feel what they felt. Now, it's different. You've always been good at reading people, but this person has become a completely different book. What happened when you two were apart?

[glowinggreeneyes-e]

Threads, 4.2k Capvers

Can be read as stand-alone but it's a chapter from There's a War Going On, AO3. I type like I'm a Victorian writer being paid by the word (derogatory).

papvers?? capventing??... capvers parenting but they're looking after an injured girl from West Horsley who wandered onto the Button House grounds. it's cute af. capvers also have Issues(tm), an 'It's Complicated' relationship status on 2008 Facebook, work-related tension bc of said angsty Issues, and yet still have penchant for fluff because gay love pierces through the veil.

May, 1940

The cloud-blocked sun still cast long shadows across the Captain’s dim study, bringing to prominence the weariness etched into the lines of his face and the aged floorboards grains. As he occupied himself with his duties, he became wreathed in wisps of smoke spiralling from the end of his pipe. Dust still kicked up with the gusts of the summer-soon reaching through the open window, capturing the Captain’s attention in moments of contemplation; he enjoyed watching it dance in the air, swirling in the rays of light, while his mind buzzed.

His gaze had been fixed on a document casing spread out before him - everything Operation Solder - it mocked him with its official title. Weeks had slipped through his fingers since he last penned a meaningful entry into the file, a truth that caused a pang of embarrassment to twist within him. However, he was quick to point out, that the fault wasn't solely his own: blame could also be apportioned upon Havers' shoulders.

Beyond the confines of their shared operations, distractions seeped into his consciousness. New training regulations fluttered in, War strategies billowed through the House, and novel projects beckoned him. Research and travel conspired to steal his hours, leaving him feeling as if he were forever chasing the hands of the clock. 

The camaraderie that once bound his unit had frayed from the incessant work, its once vibrant tapestry unravelling into isolated threads. A mere quartet, the remnants of his unit, were left finding solace in the pub's shady embrace: MacKenny, Jones, Thomas, and Johnstone, naturally. Card games and convivial offers came his way, but he abandoned those evenings once filled with social escapism. It was all melting into a mere memory. His realm of productivity demanded a vast expanse of solitude, the sanctuary of his own space, while he smothered himself in his charge.

It was a delicate orchestration of self-discipline; he navigated its intricate bars with an external resolute grace, but in his mind, he couldn’t be screaming louder.

It felt like he always ended up back here.

The tip of his index finger traced the inked signatures of his and Havers’ names adorning the bottom of the Operation’s title page. He then leafed through its neglected pages, though the Captain barely registered the innumerable notes or sketches or references. Instead, his mind only provided flashes of Havers’ research into silencers, Havers’ letters, Havers’ persistent obscurity.

At times, the Captain watched over the Lieutenant in the drawing room, capturing fleeting glimpses of Havers tutoring Roberts or pondering the world's weight with the end of a pen clamped between his teeth, or engrossed in the tomes that lined their shelves. Of course, the Lieutenant kept close attention to all communication: he’d be the first to ask Jones for the morning briefings from HQ, the earliest when sorting through paper correspondence, and the last to check MacKenny for news at night. 

The Captain witnessed Havers' self-imposed isolation, his entire hurt marked by being tight-lipped. While the two of them still found themselves captured in a web of tension, the library had provided a fragile interlude before trust dissipated into an elusive spectre. And with each stolen glance, each hesitant touch, the Captain recognized the preciousness of time slipping away, the dwindling opportunities to bridge the divide that had entrenched itself between them. 

Beneath the layers of frustration and reticence lingered a deeper truth - the profound and complicated truth that bound him to Havers. There, tightening like a torturous device around his heart, defeating his commitment to finding a way back to what they had once been, was a conviction that overrode everything else. Toxic in its intensity, consuming all reason, and yet refusing to be extinguished…

He couldn’t let it be the undoing of him: love. Especially when it was built on one man's lies.

Mid-afternoon had indolently rolled around with high clouds that cloaked the countryside. When duty had momentarily relinquished its grip, the Captain had, for the first instance that day, ventured to the kitchen for fresh water. He had dodged his unit on the way down, nipping behind walls and doors as if traversing through enemy lines, but instead, he was desperately hoping to be left in solitude.

This morning’s reports had drained his well of cordiality. An assault on the Low Countries was not just a whisper or hypothesis anymore, but a reality that gripped the world. One by one the states of Western Europe fell into occupation and War. In the trenches of his soul, Clarke sifted through the debris of disheartening news and searched for remnants of British optimism, to keep his capacity to carry on, keep to his duties, keep everyone in line.

It was after he had descended onto the ground floor landing, where silence gripped the empty space, that he was confronted by the existence of other people in the downstairs of Button House. Only this instance was entirely extraordinary: tucked neatly against the skirting in the House’s entryway, he spotted a pair of tiny red shoes covered in dried mud and oak leaves. He squinted down at them, the muscles around his eyes reflexively scrunching with his brief inspection.

He drew his hands together, clasping them resolutely behind his back and assumed a rearing posture, preparing to raise his chin with insolence: he just didn’t have time for this. 

Entering into the kitchen, he let a wave of exasperation sweep over him - the state of the cooking area was the last thing he wanted to concern himself with today.

But there, before him, was his Lieutenant and a shoeless little girl murmuring softly, engaged in quiet banter. Havers was down on one knee, first aid kit within reach. With steady precision, he gently cleaned the girl’s split skin across her shin bone with one hand and let her squeeze his other.

The scene struck the Captain twice, for the questions it raised and its palpable tenderness. A fuzziness as wonderful as the softest breeze wrapped around his ribcage as he observed. Never could he anticipate, let alone imagine, have he could have been moved by his second-in-command - he felt the strain between them go slack.

The girl was perched on one of the unused kitchen chairs, watching the Lieutenant’s actions intently. She couldn’t have been older than eight if the Captain dared hazard a guess (not that he had any authority on the ages of youth… did they have all their teeth? Did they know how to talk?). She was gowned in a blue gingham dress that complimented her freckled skin and ginger-blonde hair, rebelliously having escaped its plaits. Her long, white socks were pulled down, revealing the extent of her gashes. At her hanging feet, Havers had discarded several pieces of bloodied cloth and wipes in his endeavour to begin her healing. It appeared to be anything but superficial, but the girl’s clenched fists betrayed her stoicism. Such a sight plucked at the strings of the Captain’s heart, reverberating with echoes of sentimentality. Oh, God.

Eventually, he relented to the fact that he hadn’t been noticed. “Havers?” he asked, his voice breaking the spell of their hushed discussion.

Startled, Havers turned his head, his visage a canvas painted with a mix of guilt and mellowness, as though he had been caught in the act of thievery - stealing time from the call of duty, giving it to the girl. “Oh, sir, sorry - I have a bit of a war-wound situation that needs attending to.”

“Ah, I see,” the Captain reassured.

Infrequent interactions with children had left him unsure of how to reach across the chasm of age with the proper course of conversation. Yet, the innocence in the girl's gaze impelled him to transcend his uncertainty, not to scuttle back to his dulling work. His lips curled into a smile, etching lines of fondness around his eyes, and he approached the pair.

“And what might be the name of this young lady?” he gently inquired.

“I should have introduced you: this is Mrs Bell’s daughter, Matilda-”

“Tilly!” she corrected, her interjection imbued with spirited determination. “And I’m six and a half and a bit more, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” was all the Captain could muster, overtly formal in his reply. Any further response remained suspended, momentarily caught in the deep embarrassment of not conjuring anything else. She smiled back at him all the same.

“By Jove, you must have nearly finished primary school by now,” Havers quipped, his tone soft and dulcet, laced in charm, all the while skillfully tending to a profound wound.

“No, sir, I'm not that old.” Tilly’s melodious giggles filled the air. Her hands hurried to cover her mouth, finally letting Havers free to bandage her up with full dexterity and concentration. “I’ve only been at school for two years. But I am really good at reading and writing. My teacher, Miss Durrant, tells me I have the neatest handwriting in all the school.”

As an observer, the Captain wrestled with a sense of inadequacy, in his own territory, too. He yearned to contribute - to coax a laugh from Tilly's stomach, to ease Havers' task with a jest - but his mind remained a barren landscape, void of inspiration yet littered with mines and gunfire. So he busied himself with discarding the stained and spent medical supplies into the bin.

Only the gentleness of Havers’ eyes punctured through the noise. And his gaze wasn’t even directed at him.

Havers acknowledged Tilly's testament with an enthusiastic nod, before continuing in such a genuine and calming fashion that the Captain was stunned at his sensitivity. “Gosh, how remarkable - you should take great pride in your accomplishments. You know, I struggle at times to decipher certain Officers' handwriting. But perhaps that's more my fault than theirs.”

“I bet I could read it! I can read almost anything.”

“I’d let you, were they not classified documents… unless, of course, you’re secretly an Officer? And you’ve been undercover this whole time?” the Lieutenant playfully quizzed, tilting his head. She nodded ‘no’, cheeks rosy from blushing. “Now,” Havers continued, distracting her from his wipes of antiseptic, “for someone as eloquent and intelligent as yourself, I imagine the rest of your schooling will be a breeze. What do you want to do when you leave education?”

“Well, I wanted to be an actress but Mummy says I can’t so I’ll just work at the factory like her,” Tilly said. A hint of disappointment tinged her reply as innocence wrestled with the stark realities that framed her life. All the brazen honesty and innocence a child should possess was already being eroded.

“I think the girl who can read almost anything can do anything, Tilly,” the Captain found himself saying, a surge of warmth emanating from his heart to his words. “Your life should not be bound by anyone else's expectations. With your killer smile and delight, the world is your stage. That, I promise you.” 

As he spoke, the Captain noticed a subtle shift in Havers’ demeanour, a flicker of intrigue followed by a raised eyebrow. Yet, Havers continued his ministrations, his focus unwavering. 

The Captain and the girl exchanged a smile, content to let the moment linger, to weave his rhetoric into the fabric of Tilly's memory and impressionable heart.

“Oh, I- Thank you, sir.”

As he reached to put the first aid box away, his knuckles brushed Havers, who was reaching down to store away a pair of scissors. He quickly stood up and put distance between them, terrified that such contact would be reported to her family, even if Tilly was oblivious. “My, uh, my mother was an actress,” he added to fill the ensuing lull, an equal distraction for Tilly and himself.

“Oh, woah, what was she in?! Was she in the opera? Or-Or did she act in the pictures?” the young girl exclaimed, her green eyes - fixed on him - were wide with contagious enthusiasm, her candour a mirror of her age.

Havers also asked that question, only his was unspoken and shrouded in a veil of something indecipherable to the Captain.

It didn’t occur to him that he’d have further inquiries, nor the flood of pain and images it would unleash. Memories, long dormant, surfaced in a haze. His mother was long fated to be contained to tattered photographs and stories told by strangers. Caught in this inner reverie, the Captain bit his cheek, the taste of nostalgia mingling with his thoughts. His hands, now free of tasks, found solace at his side as he stood to attention; he looked at Tilly, though his thoughts were darting elsewhere. It was only after Havers shot him another glance of concern that he realised he should respond. “Oh, uh, well… she was on the West End in several productions; she worked under Ibsen for Hedda Gabler and Ghosts ; I was told she socialised with Oscar Wilde and George Bernard Shaw; she-she even performed in New York for a short period. If she could forge such a path half a century ago, one can only imagine what you can achieve.”

“Can she make me famous?”

He hesitated, a moment of introspection that hung heavy in the air. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that his mother had long since passed, but he also hadn’t the aforethought to lie. “Come now, you can do that all by yourself, Miss Tilly.”

At that point, the final bandage had been securely set in place, and Havers rose, his gaze hovering on his handiwork. “There you go,” he proclaimed, a note of quiet satisfaction permeating his words. 

Having inspected the Lieutenant’s meticulous efforts, the Captain made a commendatory sound and bounced on the balls of his feet approvingly. “And how’s our bravest Officer feeling?” he said to Tilly, infused with newfound confidence. Conversing with her felt more natural than anticipated, less daunting than he’d initially assumed. His heart no longer felt like it was going to explode for the wrong reasons. He’d just had to - uncomfortably at first - relinquish the mantle of ‘the Captain’.

She pulled her socks over her wound dressings. “I’m ready to get back to the frontlines, sir!”

“Jolly good. Hasn’t our Lieutenant Havers done an outstanding job?”

“He has indeed, sir… Captain, sir.” Tilly responded with a touch of formality, her voice a blend of admiration and respect. She looked up at Havers, beaming at him. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome. You displayed incredible courage, Tilly,” Havers accredited, unrolling the cuffs of his sleeves. “I commend your bravery.”

“You’re braver.”

“Uh,” he breathed, “well, I wouldn't-“

Her reply, brimming with childlike virtue, cut through the air. “And the loveliest man in the whole wide world.”

A flush of humility tinted Havers' cheeks, his attempt at modesty stumbling in the face of her unguarded sincerity. His gaze averted as if unable to bear the weight of her praise. He stumbled to find his footing. “I-I’m not sure-”

The Captain's intervention was swift, his own brand of reassurance layered with a dash of jest. “I should fancy you are spot on with that assessment, soldier. I quite agree.” 

He then found himself peering at his second-in-command, filled with pride himself; his heart was messily aflutter, stuck in conflict, as he reigned in his fleeting moments of turbulent infatuation. Havers’ reticent smile and compassion with the young girl, his intellect and service, how had he the heart to deceive him? The Captain's face fell, realising he once looked at Havers with much the same innocence as Tilly.

“He is! I got lost and he saved me from the dirt and sharp stones and stinging nettles like I was one of your soldiers. And he made my leg feel better.” Tilly's enthusiasm bubbled forth, her recounting of the events a vivid testament to Havers' gallantry.

“Oh, but you are one of our soldiers,” Havers countered, deflecting from the compliment. “You so fiercely traversed the wilderness and sought refuge with your allies when you needed help. And now - although I’m not exactly qualified - you have just been nursed back to health in this battlefield triage. That certainly makes you a real soldier.”

“I am?!” Her small hands tucked her hair behind her ears and she swung her feet. Her leg, still tender, responded to her exuberance with a cautionary protest - she winced at the sudden movement and settled for kicking the uninjured one in her excitement.

A spark of inspiration suddenly crossed the Captain’s mind, illuminating his eyes. He turned around to confirm it. In the corner of the kitchen, a coat stand stood adorned with the winter apparel of others - Last's coat, Miller’s scarf, and an old standard-issue cap that had remained untouched for months. The Captain deduced it was likely Bosanko's, left abandoned in his snappy departure. “Here, Matil- Tilly, try this on,” the Captain suggested, his voice infused with childlike anticipation as he retrieved the cap from its resting place. He swiped it and handed it over to her.

Tilly stood up, unintentionally scraping the chair back with a brief screech. As the hat was extended out to her, she glanced between the two men; though her eyes twinkled with eagerness, her eyebrows folded together. It was as if she was preparing to accept the weight of the responsibility that came with the uniform. Resolutely, determinedly, she took it and placed it like a crown. The cap, much too large for her head, remained perched with a playful tilt.

“There,” Clarke’s simper was barely masked beneath his moustache as he reflected her infectious joy. “Suits you splendidly; now you’re fully qualified and ready for whatever comes your way.”

“At your service!” A salute, both a gesture of gratitude and a pledge of allegiance, punctuated their interaction.

The Captain returned Tilly’s salute, a buoyant sensation coursing through him. He was sure he hadn’t felt this light in months, the moment lifting a weight he hadn't fully acknowledged existed. The world around them seemed to blur, fading to insignificance as he basked in the fulfilling simplicity of brightening a child’s day during a War.

Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle signs that aired Havers' unease. Ever the composed and capable man, he bore an unfamiliar veneer of trepidation. A deep inhale, tense shoulders - the Captain supposed Havers was enduring his own hurricane of emotions.

“We should be taking our leave,” the Lieutenant promptly suggested, directing his passive instruction towards the young girl.

However, the Captain chimed in, carrying a sense of authority again. “No need; I’ll call her mother to pick her up.”

“That will take too long, sir. I’ll walk her back. Make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“R-Right, very well; as you were, Lieutenant.”

Havers' gaze shifted to Tilly, his eyes meeting hers with gentle instruction. “Why don’t you put your shoes on?”

“Yes, sir!” she replied. She grabbed the cap’s visor and gathered the fabric of her dress, then scurried to the entryway where her shoes awaited.

As Tilly, absorbed in her task, prepared herself for the walk home, the Captain and Havers moved further into the kitchen, their actions a conscious retreat from the young girl's view. The Captain wasn’t sure why they were gravitating back there, moving in unspoken accord, but he let it happen.

In this sanctuary of muted privacy, their proximity stirred images of a time when the distance between them was calculated and terrifying. The Captain's heartbeat quickened, and for a fleeting moment, he was transported back to those clandestine days where their glances held a world of longing, where they couldn’t even meet each other’s eye without blushing, when he could only dream of what it would be like to kiss Havers. 

His chest leapt and suddenly it was like nothing was ever wrong. It was just him and Havers against the world once more.

If there were another force of nature left undiscovered, the Captain could feel it in his heart as it pulled him closer to the Lieutenant. The frustration he had harboured for so long washed off his soul as their knuckles brushed once more, igniting a connection that transcended speech, though not quite replacing it.

“You’re having quite the adventure today, Lieutenant. Although dealing with lost and injured children isn’t typically within the scope of our duties, I’m hesitant to pull you up for it,” the Captain spoke softly, offering warmth under his subtle teasing.

“Sir,” Havers warned in a whisper, doing nothing to pull away. A further response seemed poised on his lips, but the words never came, leaving them suspended in a painfully awkward moment.

“I had no idea you were so good with children. You treated her as if she was your own.” The Captain shifted their discourse to a more palatable subject than War or the threads between them, steering a diverting course around difficult conversation for as long as he could.

Alone and emboldened, he reached out, and held Havers’ hand by their sides: a touch, gentle yet laden with significance, meant to bridge every distance between them. Havers briefly met their intertwined hands like it was burning him, then squeezed the Captain's hand as though it was a soothing remedy.

“She will surely remember your kindness for the rest of her life. You’re exceptional with her,” the Captain continued, his words infused with affection, his grasp on Havers' hand tightening slightly.

“It’s my duty to be so. She is everything we are fighting for, everything we need to protect, everything I should be-” Havers stopped himself. His breath hitched which he bit down with a solemn smile. “I am only doing what is right.”

“Yet I do not hear of Lieutenant’s walking injured little girls home to make sure they are safe and do not get into any trouble with their mothers.”

“Well, I couldn't send her off into the village by herself. Look where she ended up last time. ”

“There are worse fates than ending up being cared for by you.”

The atmosphere between them grew warmer, filled with coy smiles and bashful glances, a glimpse of the raw infatuation they once wholly felt. An incandescent hope jumped inside the Captain, a possibility that perhaps they weren't as strained as he had feared, they weren’t as doomed as he’d embraced.

Their eyes locked, two souls laid bare, until the Captain felt compelled to break the loaded silence. “You haven't quite been yourself as of late.”

Havers huffed an aggrieved laugh through his nose. “I could say the same for you. It’s been rather a dreadful few weeks for us, though, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose so. But it wouldn’t be so terrible if we talked.”

“We tried,” Havers said, appearing a fusion of heartache and longing only documented by romantics.

Not hard enough, the Captain bitterly thought. He held this truth close, unwilling to risk regression in the delicate balance he had struggled to achieve. He still sought a way to reconcile Havers’ life with his own, with the War, with them. But Havers had made it his mission to not talk any further about himself - when everything was so intertwined, the Captain wondered if Havers ever intended on fixing the tension between them. No, he’d sooner run away, like he is now.

The goodwill that had once filled him now receded, replaced by the familiar undercurrent of paranoia. “I'm ready for you to try again.” His comment tumbled out with an unintended edge of anger. 

Then he saw a glint of tears forming in the wells of Havers’ brown eyes, and the thread of trust frayed to its thinnest strand.

“Good God. You’re impossible,” Havers breathed, almost pleading.

“What?”

“You know- Why are you-?”

“I’m ready!” Tilly called from the other side of the wall.

Tilly's shout shattered the moment, her voice a reminder of their reality beyond this brief interlude. Havers moved away with a hurried pace without another glance, his attention purposefully drawn to the young girl. 

Empty-handed, the Captain trailed behind, his own sense of yearning now mingling with the cold air that now seemed to envelop the ground floor. The space between them exploded with its expansion, threatening to swallow what was left of their fragile entanglement.

“We’ll get you home and clean those fantastic shoes up. They’ll be back to a bright red in no time,” Havers declared to Tilly with a gentle celebration. He offered his hand and she reached up, locking their palms together. Havers held all the weight of her arm with one hand and opened Button Houses’ front door with the other. “Onwards, soldier. I don’t suppose you know any marches or songs?”

As the Lieutenant guided Tilly outside, the Captain remained, watching from the window, an observer of this scene that both resonated with familiarity and echoed with the chilling void.

The Captain knew things had turned sour. Play fighting was merely fighting. From the fringes of War, they absorbed every harrowing development while they were working themselves sick. And amidst it all, a sinking feeling, a premonition, gnawed at the Captain's gut: an intuition that the worst news was yet to come.

When it did come, it would devastate him. And it will be Havers’ fault, he vehemently tried to convince himself once again.

[the-oncoming-nightingale]

A few days ago I watched "Einstein and Eddington", in the midst of my Tennaissance. I'm glad I discovered this film, it's really beautiful and definitely my kind.

Well, first of all I jokingly asked myself if David will ever play a non-queer charachter (actually I've already seen Broadchurch), even though I love him also for that ♡

But most importantly, I've started doing some research about sir Arthur Eddington. I did rember coming across his name during the astronomy course, but I realized that he is not as famous as he sould be, considering the discoveries he made. Thanks to his studies he helped confirm the theory of relativity, to name one.

And then I found a poem written in his memory, so touching and beautiful. I searched the author and...it's been written by Neil Gaiman! I leave here the text. There are actually two of them, the second one about his personal life and the rumors according to which he had a relationship with another man (I say rumors because I couldn't find evidences, even though their social and religious context would have make it difficult even talk about the situation, maybe hence the lack of proof):

IN TRANSIT (for Arthur Eddington) by Neil Gaiman

1.

To find the many in the one he sweated under foreign skies to see the stars behind the sun.

So space and time were now undone reality was undisguised. We found the many in the one.

There is no photograph, not one, that shows the mind behind the eyes. He saw the stars behind the sun.

Not with a sword, or knife, or gun, a simple picture severed ties. He found the many in the one.

Light bends around us. So we run, as gravity reclassifies the stars we saw behind the sun.

To see the world beyond the skies, to know the mind behind the eyes, To find the many in the one he showed us stars behind the sun.

2.

Unfucked, or anyway retiring, in the awkward sense. Retirement will never be an option. The gruff gentleman with the cap who understands what the numbers mean remembers a bicycle ride when he was younger.

The smoke of the cigarettes he does not smoke kicks at his lungs mixing with the buzz of the booze he doesn’t ever drink a convivial pint after the ride into the country gave him such a thirst. And afterwards they lay on their back in the stubble staring up at the stars. Together. All the stars

Countable as the words in a Bible, countable as the hairs on his friend’s head, all accountable, and that is why they never truly touched. The shadow of prison or disgrace perhaps moving between them like the shadow of an eclipse.

And, in another life, at another time, to see the stars behind the sun, he takes his photographs fighting the cloud cover. Becoming the thing that happened in Principe. when he proved that the German was right, that light had weight, half a year after the Armistice. A populariser, but not courting popularity.

Somewhen a boy is counting stars. Somewhen a man is photographing light. Somewhen his finger strokes the stubble on another’s cheek, and for a moment everything is relative.

You can also find a clip of him reading the poem:

[looloolooweez-sims]

At the start of Round 4,

The Goth family:

Lives in the Pendula View neighborhood of Willow Creek; with N.A.P.s Foodies Unite, Green Gardening, Juiced Community, Support Performing Arts

Has about § 20,185 in the bank

Owns a house worth about § 183,875; with lot traits Convivial, Good Schools, Peace and Quiet

Personal details under the cut!

Mortimer Goth:

Is an adult

Has the traits Bookworm, Creative, Outgoing; plus the aspiration trait Quick Learner, plus the reward traits Morning Person, Night Owl

Has the Knowledge aspiration Renaissance Sim, at level 4 "Renaissance person"

Is in the Engineer career, at level 4 "Cog in the Machine"

Is working on the skills Charisma (level 8), Logic (level 8), Handiness (level 5), Robotics (level 5), Writing (level 5), Mischief (level 2), Parenting (level 2), Programming (level 2)

Has developed the lifestyles Indoorsy, People Person, Techie

Bella Goth:

Is an adult

Is occult type Spellcaster

Has the traits Family-oriented, Good, Romantic; plus the aspiration trait Gregarious, plus the reward trait Incredibly Friendly

Has the Popularity aspiration Party Animal, at level 3 "Sir Gala Had"

Has the Knowledge aspiration Spellcraft & Sorcery, at level 3 "Devilish Dueler"

Has the Nature aspiration Purveyor of Potions, at level 3 "Cauldron Connections"

Is in the Secret Agent career, at level 6 "Government Agent

Is working on the skills Charisma (level 8), Cooking (level 4), Logic (level 4), Parenting (level 4), Fitness (level 2), Programming (level 2)

Has developed the lifestyles People Person, Workaholic

Cassandra Goth:

Is a YA

Is occult type Spellcaster

Has the traits Creative, Family-oriented, Gloomy; plus the aspiration trait Muser, plus the character value traits Emotional Control, Responsible

Has the Creativity aspiration Musical Genius, at level 3 "Harmonious"

Has the Knowledge aspiration Spellcraft & Sorcery, at level 2 "Learning the Ways"

Has the Nature aspiration Purveyor of Potions, at level 2 "Bubbling Up"

Is in the Freelancer Paranormal Investigator career

Is working on the skills Violin (level 8), Piano (level 5), Charisma (level 5), Medium (level 5), Logic (level 2), Videogaming (level 2)

Has developed the lifestyles Indoorsy, People Person, Single and Lovin' It

Alexander Goth:

Is a teen

Has the traits Bookworm, Romantic; plus the aspiration trait Quick Learner, plus the bonus trait Mentally Gifted

Has the Knowledge aspiration Academic, at level 1 "Freshman"

Is going to school, with a grade of A

Is working on the skills Charisma (level 6), Logic (level 4), Research + Debate (level 4), Cooking (level 2), Fitness (level 2), Rocket science (level 2)

[germanpostwarmodern]

The 1970s in the Netherlands was a decade of immense activity and experimentation in the field of housing: fostered by a state-funded program progressive quarters sprung up all over the country, new terms for conviviality were established and inhabitants were encouraged to shape their apartments and surroundings. An architect very engaged in the program and housing alike was Jan Sterenberg with his office based in Ter Apel, during this period one of the country's largest. His agenda was the connection of industrial building and quality of living, cost saving and flexibility, a problem area pressing since the 1920s. But despite his significance at the time Sterenberg somewhat fell into oblivion and only now, against the background of a Europe-wide housing crisis, receives a career-spanning study: Michiel Kruidenier's monograph "Groeikernen en Woonmilieus - Architect Jan Sterenberg en het Wonen in de Jaren 70", recently published by nai010 publishers, interweaves Sterenberg's work and the general currents of Dutch architecture, regional planning and housing in particular. As teacher at TH Delft his practice and research often intertwined and certainly stimulated experimentation and consolidated his reputation as a leading housing expert. As Kruidenier explains this quickly led to more and more commissions for housing developments and living quarters that in turn increased his involvement with prefabrication and building systems. The latter are comprehensively explained by the author and outline how Sterenberg continuously sought to improve the relationship between economy and quality. That these quarters are still thriving documents photographer Harry Cock whose five series capture their undeniably interesting layouts and unexpectedly calm atmosphere.

"Groeikernen en Woonmilieus" refocuses a historic but again topical contribution to innovative 1970s housing that through the author's extensive research and lucid writing receives its due appreciation. In view of a widespread housing shortage coinciding with often dull architectural solutions the book might serve as a source of inspiration for today's architects.

[wolfanddragon98]

@dreaming-for-an-escape

Adrian took the chance to slip away over to where Harrold stood while Aemond petted and spoke softly to Vhagar. She had no idea what Aemond was saying but she could at least make out the language. It was High Valyrian, a language she did not know personally but had read about during her hours of research. 

A loud noise from Vhagar broke the convivial moment between them. The she-dragon was giving her an intense stare that weirdly enough was similar to Aemond’s. The staring only broke at whatever Aemond said to her. Adrian watched with interest as Vhagar’s head gently leaned into Aemond’s hand. 

My nosy ass is now wondering what exactly he was saying to Vhagar. 👀

[italian-restaurant-adelaide]

Taste of Italy: How to Select the Perfect Italian Restaurant

Italy, a country renowned for its rich history, breathtaking landscapes, and, of course, its delectable cuisine. Italian food has captivated taste buds worldwide, offering a diverse array of flavours, textures, and aromas that celebrate the country's rich culinary heritage.

Whether you're craving a comforting bowl of pasta, a crispy wood-fired pizza, or a decadent tiramisu, finding the perfect Italian restaurant is essential for an authentic and memorable dining experience.

In this guide, we'll delve into the intricacies of selecting the best Italian restaurant Adelaide, ensuring that every meal transports you to the bustling streets of Rome, the rolling hills of Tuscany, or the charming villages of Sicily.

Understanding Italian Cuisine

Italian cuisine is as diverse as the country itself, with each region boasting its own unique culinary traditions and specialties. From the hearty, meat-centric dishes of the north to the fresh seafood and citrus-infused flavours of the south, Italian food reflects the country's rich cultural heritage and agricultural abundance.

Understanding the fundamentals of Italian cuisine, such as the importance of fresh, seasonal ingredients and the art of simple yet flavourful cooking techniques, is essential for appreciating the nuances of dishes served at different restaurants.

Identifying Authenticity

Authenticity is the cornerstone of Italian cooking, emphasising high-quality ingredients, time-honoured recipes, and a deep respect for culinary traditions. When selecting an Italian restaurant, look for signs of authenticity, such as handmade pasta, imported cheeses and meats, and a commitment to traditional cooking methods.

Avoid establishments that rely heavily on shortcuts or overly commercialised dishes, as they may lack the depth of flavour and authenticity that define true Italian cuisine.

Researching Options

Before embarking on your culinary adventure, take the time to research your options. Browse online review websites to read feedback from previous diners.

Additionally, reach out to friends, family, or local food bloggers for personal recommendations. Word-of-mouth can often lead you to hidden gems that may not appear in online searches.

Examining Menus

A restaurant's menu can provide valuable insights into its culinary philosophy and commitment to authenticity. Look for traditional Italian dishes like spaghetti carbonara, risotto alla Milanese, or osso buco, as well as seasonal and regional specialties that showcase the freshest ingredients available.

Pay attention to the use of high-quality, locally sourced ingredients, as well as any chef's recommendations or daily specials that highlight the restaurant's creativity and expertise.

Assessing Ambiance

The ambience of a restaurant sets the stage for the dining experience, enhancing the flavours and aromas of the food while transporting diners to the heart of Italy. Consider factors such as decor, lighting, and music when choosing a restaurant.

Whether you prefer the cozy intimacy of a rustic trattoria, the refined elegance of a modern ristorante, or the casual conviviality of a bustling pizzeria, the ambience should reflect the spirit of Italian hospitality and conviviality.

Checking Reviews and Ratings

Online reviews and ratings can provide valuable insights into the quality of a restaurant's food, service, and overall dining experience.

Look for establishments with consistently positive reviews and high ratings, but also take note of any constructive feedback or recurring issues mentioned by diners. Keep in mind that personal preferences vary, so consider multiple sources before making a decision.

Evaluating Service

The level of service can greatly impact the dining experience, influencing everything from the pace of the meal to the overall ambience and enjoyment. Pay attention to the attentiveness, friendliness, and professionalism of the staff, as well as their knowledge about the menu and willingness to accommodate special requests or dietary restrictions.

A well-trained server can enhance the dining experience, ensuring that every meal is a memorable occasion.

Considering Price vs. Value

While price is certainly a factor to consider, focus on the overall value offered by the restaurant in terms of quality, portion sizes, and overall dining experience. While some establishments may command higher prices due to their reputation, location, or use of premium ingredients, others may offer excellent value for money without compromising on quality or authenticity.

Consider your budget and dining priorities when selecting a restaurant, opting for establishments that offer a balance of affordability and excellence.

Dietary Restrictions and Preferences

It's essential to choose best Italian restaurant Adelaide that can accommodate any dietary restrictions or preferences you may have, whether you're vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free, or have food allergies. Look for establishments that offer a variety of options to suit different dietary needs, as well as knowledgeable staff who can assist you in making informed choices.

Don't hesitate to communicate your needs and preferences to the restaurant staff, who are often happy to accommodate special requests or modifications to dishes.

Reservations and Timing

To avoid disappointment, consider making a reservation, especially during peak dining hours or for special occasions. Plan your visit for a time when you can fully enjoy the experience without feeling rushed or crowded, allowing ample time to savour each dish and soak in the ambience.

Keep in mind that Italian dining is meant to be savoured and enjoyed at a leisurely pace, so allow plenty of time to indulge in good food, good company, and good conversation.

Local vs. Chain Restaurants

While chain restaurants may offer consistency and convenience, consider exploring local, independent Italian eateries for a more authentic and personalised dining experience. These establishments often source ingredients locally, support the community, and pride themselves on preserving Italian culinary traditions passed down through generations.

By supporting local businesses, you can contribute to the vibrant culinary landscape of your community while enjoying the unique flavours and hospitality of independent restaurants.

Exploring Wine and Beverage Options

No Italian meal is complete without a glass of wine to accompany it, and Italian wines are celebrated for their diversity, complexity, and ability to complement a wide range of dishes. Consider the restaurant's wine selection and expertise, opting for Italian varietals that pair well with the flavours and ingredients of your meal.

Additionally, explore the restaurant's cocktail menu for classic Italian aperitifs and digestifs that enhance the dining experience and evoke the spirit of la dolce vita.

Embracing the Experience

Once you've selected the perfect Italian restaurant, embrace the experience fully, immersing yourself in the sights, sounds, and flavours of Italy. Savour each bite, appreciate the craftsmanship and artistry of the dishes and enjoy the warm hospitality of the staff.

Dining at an Italian restaurant is not just about nourishing the body—it's about feeding the soul, creating lasting memories, and celebrating the joy of good food, good company, and good conversation.

Post-Dining Feedback

After your meal, consider providing feedback to the restaurant, whether positive or constructive, to help them improve and ensure that future diners have an exceptional experience.

Share your thoughts and impressions with the restaurant staff or management, either in person or through online review platforms, and offer specific feedback about the food, service, ambience, or any other aspect of the dining experience that stood out to you. Your feedback is invaluable in helping restaurants maintain high standards of quality and hospitality.

Conclusion

Selecting the best Italian restaurant Adelaide is an art form, requiring careful consideration of factors such as authenticity, ambiance, service, and value. By following the tips and guidelines outlined in this comprehensive guide, you can ensure that every dining experience is a true taste of Italy, transporting you to the sun-drenched shores of the Mediterranean with each bite.

Whether you're celebrating a special occasion, enjoying a leisurely meal with friends and family, or simply indulging in your love of Italian cuisine, may your culinary adventures be filled with joy, discovery, and unforgettable flavours.

[chilljuicecbd]

Unveiling the Zen in Every Sip: Exploring Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice

Introduction: In a world pulsating with stress and hustle, the quest for relaxation and tranquility has become paramount. Enter Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice, a refreshing elixir promising to harmonize your senses and induce a state of calm amidst life’s chaotic rhythm. In this article, we delve into the essence of this chill-inducing beverage, exploring its origins, ingredients, and the potential benefits it offers.

A Blend of Nature and Science: At the heart of Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice lies a fusion of natural ingredients and cutting-edge science. Crafted meticulously, this juice combines the wholesome goodness of black and red fruits with the therapeutic properties of cannabidiol (CBD). Each element is carefully selected, ensuring a symphony of flavors that tantalize the taste buds while soothing the mind.

The Power of CBD: Central to the allure of Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice is CBD, a non-psychoactive compound derived from the hemp plant renowned for its myriad health benefits. With its anti-anxiety and stress-relieving properties, CBD has garnered widespread acclaim as a natural remedy for modern-day ailments. By infusing CBD into this invigorating juice, Rockstar aims to offer consumers a holistic solution to unwind and find serenity in the midst of life’s challenges.

A Symphony of Flavors: Imagine the burst of flavor as ripe blackberries, succulent raspberries, and tangy cherries mingle harmoniously on your palate. Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice is a celebration of nature’s bounty, capturing the essence of these luscious fruits in every sip. The infusion of CBD adds a subtle depth to the taste profile, elevating the experience to new heights of indulgence.

Mindful Consumption: In a world where mindfulness is increasingly elusive, Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice encourages a moment of pause and reflection. Each sip becomes an opportunity to savor the present, to disconnect from the chaos of daily life, and reconnect with oneself. Whether enjoyed alone as a moment of solitude or shared with loved ones in conviviality, this beverage serves as a catalyst for mindfulness and inner peace.

Potential Health Benefits: Beyond its exquisite taste and calming properties, Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice may offer a host of potential health benefits. Studies suggest that CBD possesses anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties, which could aid in alleviating symptoms of various health conditions, including pain, inflammation, and oxidative stress. While further research is needed to fully elucidate the extent of these benefits, initial findings are promising, positioning CBD-infused beverages like Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice as a novel avenue for wellness seekers.

Embracing the Chill Lifestyle: In a culture that glorifies busyness and productivity, the concept of chill has emerged as a radical act of self-care. Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice embodies this ethos, inviting consumers to embrace the chill lifestyle and prioritize their well-being above all else. Whether enjoyed as a daily ritual or an occasional indulgence, this beverage serves as a potent reminder to slow down, breathe, and savor the simple pleasures of life.

Conclusion: In a fast-paced world fraught with stress and tension, Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice emerges as a beacon of tranquility, offering solace to weary souls in need of respite. Through its exquisite blend of natural ingredients and therapeutic CBD, this beverage transcends the ordinary, inviting consumers on a journey of relaxation and rejuvenation with every sip. As we navigate the complexities of modern living, let us not forget to pause, to cherish the moments of stillness, and to celebrate the simple joys that enrich our lives. With Rockstar Black Red CBD Juice, the path to tranquility awaits – one sip at a time.

[antonia-gergely]

Artist Research: Claire Tabouret (b. 1981, France)

There's a luminosity to her work that I think is beautiful. It's something I've recently been working towards bringing out in my own work. Warm, convivial, eyecatching?

[oliverbraid]

The laptop fan whirs into my stumpwork duvet cover, like an airplane in ascent. The raised and stuffed silk thread figures leave ridges in my skin when I sleep or rest. They depict scenes of past friendships. Much of my earlier creative output is an ode to memories of convivial connections. Dust gathers onto the threads and is inhaled by the computer, mixed in with pizza crumbs and miniscule flakes of dried-up semen. On the blurry screen, speckled by coughs, sneezes and probably more semen, @SolStone_86 updates in real time imagery and text.  

Sunshine and @RitiGee. @TheOldMechanics in collaboration with @CllrSDick @GCCOuncil #bubblyjock #sharingtogether #collectivemeal #engagedcommunity

Riti’s van glows in early evening sun, as she passes out plates from the hatch into an impromptu al fresco reimagining of tonight’s dinner event. Fox scoops at her meal, laughing and revealing the ambiguously rendered machinery shining on the china.

Sol and Dick cheers their paper cups. In the background Sausage Roll digs his pockets for money, charity mugged by an expectant Wilma and her cling-filmed platter. Over on @CllrSDick, bowls of the candy, his candy, are rebranded as #traditional #historical. @SolStone_86 is celebrated for his research into this element, and for his idea to move the #showontothestreet #success.

Through our research with @RitiGee and @SolStone_86 @Theoldmechanics #computerbank, the participants learned of early #mechanics confectionary production and machinery before the events of #blackfriday. Participants will release new blogs as part of ongoing learning outcomes. Exciting news coming soon.

*

A Written Ambition I have a dream that one day I will write a story, or a book of some kind. Writing and books have carried my through difficult times and I want to pay back that service in my own way. I haven't trained for this and I know I need practice. For now I am trying my best to practice this and I plan to update my writing in small chunks here. It isn't edited and it's mostly explorative at this stage.