#three minutes

[chlana-pilled]

olivia rodrigo while writing lacy:

[wordrummager]

Chaos (unseen) It’s there at the root of all things stirred up by unseen forces like tornadoes or emotions awaiting triage a magic amalgam of chaos made of dust, salt, pigment and a desire to know why or at least who we are no matter the direction we go it’s not that different in real chains or imagined constraints the grass or the ice may grow or wither like we do like we will, into chaos.

[sorrysomethingwentwrong]

"just three minutes,"

Dunedin Airport , New Zealand

The Airport implemented a maximum time for loved ones to say goodbye to their relatives with a hug.

“It's hard to say goodbye so make it quick. 3 minutes max,”

Pathetic...

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio keeps playing Enya ... not my cup of tea, but then I have coffee. Today's quiz was all about The Boss. The answer was very obvious, even to me, but I never text in. The traffic lady talked about traffic, before going on to say two friends had stayed over and were extreme fans of the man on the radio and would he give a shout out to them. The chef on the radio is in and as it's Friday it's all about fish, prawns and breadcrumbs.

The three minute misery came and went with reports that the data centre people need more of everything to build even more data centres. They need more land ... and electricity ... and funding ... and ... and ... and ... so could the Emeraldians please get off the Emerald Isle. I don't think the chef on the radio has a recipe for that.

The peony has finally flowered. The plant has quite some age on it. I've been here 10 years and it was here before I came. Have been given a Tayberry plant and a blueberry plant. The Tayberry is a cross between a raspberry and a blackberry. I already don't get any blackberries or raspberries from the garden ... so I'm pretty sure if these fruits appear the birds will be the only ones holding up taste and texture score cards.

Pineapple, raspberries and blueberries are on the cake menu today, plus flapjacks, plus the coffee pot. Friday, Friday, Friday and the man on the radio is playing The Drifters 'Up On The Roof' ...

[radkatzzstuff]

nova the unfunctional when i find you

[ktinastrikesback]

There have been a lot of 3’s this season already but last night was…a shit ton of 3’s

[nihiladditaenihilperdidi]

Head tilted slightly to the side, studying Rune, that warmth that had been there just seconds before had evaporated. Could it be that he was upset about being interrupted? But exactly what had been interrupted? He wanted to believe it was the former—that Rune was, in some unspoken way, as reluctant to part as he was. But Enoch knew better than to indulge in such thoughts. It was foolish to believe that this man, his mentor, could share these feelings.

Rune had always been bold—he was the adventurer, the risk-taker, the one who had pulled Enoch out of his rigid life of expectations and structure. And Enoch? He was a scholar, a creature of habit and restraint. It was absurd to imagine that the mage might feel… anything like what he felt, however desperately he wished otherwise. He couldn’t afford to let his gin-clouded mind turn that wish into some fragile hope. So best they separate for the night before he did something he would regret in the morning.

“Of course.”

Shoulders sagged as he watched the Euthanatos gather his things, fighting the urge to tell him to stay and dismiss the librarian. A brief moment of longing tightened his chest—hadn’t they made a quiet agreement that he would stay the night? So that he would wake up to the sailor sleeping on his couch, sharing comfort in a lazy morning together. His heart ached at the very thought of envisioning Rune’s fingers curled around a mug of coffee and smiling at him. He needed to rid himself of these fantasies.

The smile on his lips didn’t reach his eyes as he offered a subtle wave to the man before turning his attention to the librarian. “Tell me what happened, Geoff…”

But the words barely registered. Even as he listened to the librarian’s account, his thoughts remained stuck in the past half hour, replaying every fleeting expression on the mage's face, every unspoken word that hung heavy between them. He forced himself to smile, nodding at the right moments, even as the ache in his chest only grew heavier.

The visit was mercifully cut short. Enoch admitting to a headache and promised to catch up over a cup of coffee soon, but he needed rest right now. So there he lay in bed, Moby Dick gently cradled between his fingers, but the words blurred and faded as his mind drifted back to the evening. To the way Rune had looked at him, as if there was something there—something he was too afraid to name, too afraid to even hope for.

Lying back against the pillows, Enoch closed his eyes. He had to be content with this—silence, distance, and secrets he would never dare speak aloud.

I love you, Felix. I love you.

Whatever it was Enoch was thinking was beyond Rune’s capacity. Their connection became brittle with the first turn of the knob. Tongues wagged enough due to his presence. The professor needn’t mention the gossip circulating the dorm and university. Not even the dinner party was unscathed. The vibration in his ear and the cool pressure in his bones said everything unspoken. Sensations beyond the verbal language of telepathy; the feeling of guilt and awareness, morbid curiosity, and prejudice from every other stranger, and the subtle pulse of Enoch’s mind.

He would never blame him. Not for the unspoken. Emotions were private affairs and the very definition of human complexity. He needn’t look beyond his own dilemma to sympathize with silence. Magic of the mind was a growing pain, both physically and spiritually. To weigh one’s actions rather than their thoughts – most of the time. The few exceptions so few as to remain far removed from thought.

Such was his mind leaving Enoch Neumann’s home. Burdened by thought, philosophy, morality, culture, lust, yearning, and guilt. And all he had wanted was a touch. Just a touch. But it would never be enough. A touch would suffice for a moment, and he would desire a kiss. The warmth of Enoch’s lips on his cheek, on his mouth. The taste of his tongue. His hands beneath his shirt, exploring the forbidden valleys and hills that shaped his form.

He needed a drink. He needed a pipe and the touch of an unburdened lover. He needed distraction.

He needed anywhere other than London.

But first, he needed sleep. Then and there, walking into the crisp city breeze, he promised to sleep it off. Dream of this man and dream deeply, dream for hours, days if need be. Pour all of his love and lust and foolishness into the idealized being that he had come to love. Wipe his slate clean, polished, and proper, and never tempt fate again.

Because love was a secret. Love was sacred, and safe behind one’s lips. Love was a burden made of sacrifice. Love was selfish, and if he could apologize without having to explain himself, he would.

I love you, Enoch.

[the-final-sentence]

The bell rings.

Amina Mae Safi, from “Three Minutes”

[fishingscam]

me and @litttlebugman experiencing totality in Watertown, NY

[fieriframes]

[THE DOUGH GOES IN THE OVEN FOR ABOUT THREE MINUTES.]

[ikram1909]

And that's full time. Longest fucking game ever

[nopizzaaftermidnight]

[ell-if-i-know]

@tabaxi-power

Yall know the posts that are like "you can usually tell who little sister is bc she'll be the taller one", lets test that theory

if you need an example, my sister is older than me by 3 years and I'm taller by a few inches

[bagholes]

.

[theeepiestfroggo]

I was three minutes late for my dentist appointment and now I've been waiting here for an hour fuck dentist office scheduling man.

[static-radio-ao3]

luke hemmings tickets sold out in three minutes. i'm gonna do something drastic.