#statistics for homework

[onlineexamhelper-expert]

[reality-detective]

The global TFR has more than halved over the past 70 years, from around five children for each female in 1950 to 2.2 children in 2021. 🤔

[detentiontrack]

Every day I understand Marcy's decision to leave all her problems behind and run away to a different dimension more and more

[everydayfrimmel]

July 20, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Cable Television)" 1400 words, roommate au, part 14/15

Frieren isn’t reading as much these days.

Granted, there is still always a book on her nightstand, and it rotates out frequently enough that he knows she’s still going through them, even if at a less alarming rate. But he almost never actually sees her reading, when that used to be all he ever saw her do. Probably because there are other things on her mind when they cross paths these days.

Himmel used to think of himself as a pretty tactile person, someone whose need to give and receive affection was unextraordinary but a little higher than average. He would have categorized Frieren as someone who never thought about it at all. Now, he’s realized that his hunger for touch is more than a little above average, and Frieren—well. 

He almost can’t escape her. 

Take now, for instance: all he’s trying to do is heat up leftovers on the stove, and Frieren can’t even leave him in peace to do that. They aren’t even steaming yet when she knocks her forehead into his upper back to alert him of her presence and then slips her arms around his waist.

It’s sort of the best thing he’s ever felt.

“Hey, clingy,” he says fondly, squeezing her joined hands with his free one. 

Frieren lets out a soft, happy sigh and squeezes. 

“You getting hungry?”

“Mm.” 

“Oh, what am I talking about,” he mutters, “you’re always hungry.” 

She giggles. “Mmhm.”

“Where do you even keep it?” he teases her. “Where in your tiny little self does all of that food even go?” 

“I’m not that short.” 

“You know, whatever makes you feel better-“ 

“You’re just too tall,” she grumbles. She has to rise on the balls of her feet to put her chin on his shoulder, which only corroborates his point. “That’s not my fault.”

“Mmhm. Sure.” 

She makes a huffy noise of disagreement and lets go of him. Pity. 

“Oh, by the way,” he says. “You never did tell me if you were having any of this.” 

“Himmel.” Her head’s already in the fridge, so her voice is a little muffled. “It’s food that I didn’t make.”

He sighs. “Fair point.” 

“But it’s gonna take too long,” she explains, then emerges from the fridge with the plate that contains the remaining of the falling-apart cheesecake they made together last weekend. He watches her take a fork to it with slight concern and a little bit of awe. 

“So you’re pregaming with dessert,” he guesses.

“Mmhm.” 

“You really are somethin’, Frieren, you know that?” 

Cheeks full of cheesecake, she turns and smirks at him. 

“You’re never getting rid of me,” he says. “I hope you’re aware of that.” 

“Mmhm. 

Then he lets her eat her appetizer cheesecake in silence, unassaulted by his feelings, which he feels is quite a gallant thing to do. He’s spent too long shutting up and swallowing his words to want to do it very much now that Frieren is willing to indulge him, but now it seems like the right call. He quietly hums to the music from his speakers and watches the frozen leftovers steam in the skillet so he won’t look at her. 

“Turn that up,” she tells him after a few moments of this. 

“Hm?” 

“Your music.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t realized she was paying attention to it; probably, he would’ve chosen a different playlist if he had. Something cooler, less middle-aged. Definitely not the soft rock hits of a decade he wasn’t born in.  But she’s asked, so he has no choice but to reply, “of course.”

Frieren has never talked about music before—what she likes, what she doesn’t, if she even cares—so he’s always assumed it doesn’t interest her much. Maybe it doesn’t, but she bobs her head a little to the rhythm as she eats her cheesecake, walks to the fridge in step with it. Sort of like she wants to dance but isn’t sure how.

He’ll have to ask her someday—to dance, that is, maybe in the kitchen like this, maybe when she’s not carrying a now-empty plate of crumbs to the dishwasher. But he’ll have to figure out what she’d like to dance to first. She might not even know, but he’ll get to an answer.

It’s like a game, getting information about Frieren. It is one of the things he loves most about her—that he needs to puzzle her out. 

“Frieren.” 

She nudges him aside to make space for herself at the counter. “Himmel.” 

“You like this song?” 

“Mmhm.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you listen to music.” 

“I don’t, really.”

So she’s not going to end my career for having bad taste, good to know.

“Mm.” He lifts her chin, studies her pouting lips for a moment, then, without really knowing why, he takes off his glasses and sets them gently over her nose. “You’re missing out, you know that?” 

“I don’t care,” she replies. “Why’d you do that?” 

“Dunno, thought you’d look cute, I guess.” 

“Do I?” 

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Very.”

He lets go of her chin; the song changes; Frieren’s cheeks flush a little with pleasure. He loves the way they do that. Himmel turns back to his leftovers, stirs them so they won’t burn while he’s looking at Frieren instead. Her shoulders sway a little, as if she is trying on the music for size, and it feels like a sizeable risk indeed.

“I think I like this one more,” she says.

“Me, too.” 

That’s all she says. He isn’t expecting her to move or speak for a while after that, but when he sneaks a glance at her, she’s peering up at him through her lashes, evaluating something. 

“Hi,” he says, smiling back.

She tilts her head curiously. He’s learned not to ask what Frieren’s thinking faces mean. 

“Hi,” she replies, slowly, as if unsure that this is the right thing to say.

“What?”

And it takes a while to arrive there, but it happens quickly. 

Frieren pushes herself up onto her toes with more speed than balance, pulls him down to meet her, and ever-so-briefly brushes her lips against his.

Himmel makes a terribly undignified noise and she stumbles back, not yet having regained either her balance or her composure. He puts his fingers to his lips, briefly, and they part a little in disbelief, because he half-believes he’s seeing things, because he’s stunned she had it in her to do it first, and then. 

And then he comes to his senses, and remembers what the proper response is if the woman of one’s dreams gives one an unexpected kiss, and returns it with one that is a little longer and a little more careful but no less a surprise.

And—it thrills Himmel as much as it takes him by surprise—Frieren is an excellent kisser.

Not because she really knows how; of course she doesn’t—but because she’s a quick learner and unashamed, and because she has trained herself to keep doing anything that seems to be working until it is no longer necessary. She kisses, in an endearing way, as if for a grade, and it charms him, warms him to the bone that she cares so much if he’s happy with her efforts.  

Top marks, he decides. The very top. 

“Hi, pretty,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, thumbs caressing both of her cheeks. 

“Hi.” 

He laughs, nudges one last brief, aching kiss against her lips before he makes himself stop. “Been waiting a long time to do that.”

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“Dunno,” he laughs. “Glad I waited, though.” 

“Mm.” 

“And I’m not gonna lie,” he says, because he thinks he deserves a break from being gallantly romantic every once in a while, “it’s kinda hot when you make the first move.” 

“Is it, now.” 

She looks like she’s really considering that, which usually means she’s going to have an itemized list of ways to do just that within a couple of hours. Frieren in love is no different than Frieren the engineer: a tactician, an analyst, and a student of what’s worked before and what hasn’t. It never fails to delight him to see how her brain makes sense of him. 

“So hot.” 

She giggles. “Noted.”

The food is going to burn. Himmel can’t keep himself from one last fleeting kiss. 

And, after: “Please do.” 

[xennariel]

My friend's daughter needs this survey filled out by as many people as possible for her math class. There's no personal info or anything. Please share to help out. Thanks!

Click for survey on Google Docs.

[cosmic-muses]

We should get rid of some of the numbers, I think there's too many of them.

[nyazai-osameow]

broke: dazai abandoning chuuya for 4 years ruined their relationship

woke: without their 4 years of separation, dazai and chuuya probably would have never had the amount of individual development they have now and therefore would not have had any chance in cultivating a slightly healthier and more understanding dynamic like they have the potential to now

[newtness532]

remember when i said i have a lot of things i need to do today and then i did none of that?

[writing-whump]

Look at that, I actually wrote 13 chapters in April, 11 chapters in March. That's regular 3 chapters a week speed. From 46 to 58. My record was 8 chapters a week last year (and okay, I wrote total of two chapters of the Solo story in February. Wrote a lot for the RP though).

[barry369]

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[pulim-v]

Jesus christ I have 50+ asks in my inbox hold on this'll take a while

[reality-detective]

Personally I think this number will rise. 🤔

[maggythewriter]

[muse-write]

.

[cosmic-muses]

You have to be willing to subject yourself to a special kinda torture if you want to work with math, huh