favorite period

Adorable Asks! 🌸

(I’m making this a regular thing on my blog now!)

Put Adorable asks, and the number of the question in my ask box, and I’ll answer!

1. Have you met your soul mate?

2. Favorite color when you were younger, and now?

3. Do you wear eye-shadow? What color?

4. Are you in love right now?

5. In your opinion, is love at first sight real?

6. Are you an optimist, realist, opportunist, or pessimist?

7. First kiss details? (If you haven’t been kissed, reply how and if you would like to be.)

8. Do you own stickers, an stationary?

9. What’s your aesthetic?

10. Do you wear dresses, and skirts?

11. What is your hair like?

12. Does time go by fast or slow to you?

13. What time do you go to bed? What time do you wake up?

14. Favorite sweet food?

15. Tea, coffee, or hot cocoa?

16. Space, Ocean, City, or Forest?

17. Favorite game as a child?

18. Comfort book?

19. Princess, Fairy, Mermaid, or Unicorn?

20. Do you fall in love easily?

21. Favorite word?

22. Describe your life in 3 words.

23. Do you dance? Slow dance?

24. Do you wear fake nails, or paint your nails?

25. Has anyone ever confessed to you?

26. Do you lie?

27. What makes you smile?

28. Have you ever cried in a book or movie?

29. When and who was your first crush?

30. Marriage or kids?

31. Are you superstitious?

32. Who’s your 3 am thought?

33. Do you like candy? What’s your favorite candy?

34. Favorite holiday?

35. Favorite season?

36. Cat or dog person?

37. Are you quiet or loud?

38. Favorite time period? (80′s, 60′s, etc.)

39. Favorite fashion fad that went away?

40. The best dream/ worst nightmare you’ve ever had?

41. Worst fear as a kid?

44. Do you flirt?

45. What’s your style?

46. Do you blush?

47. Do you feel everything, nothing, or you don’t know what to feel?

48. Are you a crier? Do you smile?

49. First love?

50. Last love?

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top 10 favorite events or periods in history (in no particular order)

Bon Soir [Lafayette x Reader] Part One

Description: You, an American patriot from a loyalist family, catch the eye of the Marquis De Lafayette one night at a tavern. After your first night with the enigmatic frenchman, you realize how turbulent life can really get in a time as turbulent as this. 

Warnings For This Chapter: Smut, alcohol, mild swearing, and mild Lams, where I could slip it in ;) 

Notes: So, there will be five parts to this story. It will, if we’re being honest here, be updated probably once or twice a week until it is finished. This story is a mix of Hamilton’s characters and actual historical stuff, and there will also be lots of appearances from the rev set in this fic, so brrrah, brrrah!! Enjoy. 

||Part Two||


It’s a beautiful night in the colony of New York, the moon full and the usual chill in the air slightly warmed. Besides it being a lovely night, it was also quite rowdy- but during these turbulent times, you couldn’t expect less from the Northern colonies.  

You pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders… it’s really not a night to be out for a lady, but you couldn’t care less. Your family still clings to the proverbial olive branch, one of the less popular voices of loyalist reconciliation. You’re a patriot, through and through, and any chance you have to escape your frankly shameful homestead under an anonymous family name at night to “cavort” with those who share your views on freedom, you take.

Slipping down a dark alley with the hood of your cloak pulled up, you find your way into the even rowdier Fraunces Tavern. Looking around, you smile. Men clinking their sloshing drinks together, shouts and jeers at the king tossed around liberally- this was the beginning of a revolution, and you’d be damned if you missed it.

“You lookin’ for a good time, honey?” some guy with a heavy Boston accent asks you from the table next to the door, and you turn to him.

“I’m looking for a drink, and whatever good time I can derive from that.” The guy still stares at you, waiting for a follow up, so you decide to win even more favour by voicing your views. “Fuck the king?”

The entire table bursts out in cheers and pounds their fists and mugs down repeatedly as you smirk and saunter past them. You get to the bar, and ask for a Sam Adams, before turning around and surveying. To answer the drunk man’s question, you aren’t actively seeking that sort of good time, really… but, nights like these were full of exceptions.

“Here you are, miss,” the friendly bartender nods to you, then pauses, “I’ve seen you in here a couple times now, and I don’t recall your name.” He looks genuinely confused. “Who’s your husband?”  

“I’ll let you know once I find one,” you wink, and cross the tavern to occupy a booth. Just as you’re lifting up your skirts to sit, the door crashes open, and in come four very loud young men.

“What time is it?!” one yells, and the other three yell back, “Showtime!” while cackling and slapping each other on the back.

You roll your eyes again, imagining all the fights they were sure to start tonight. The bartender seems to know them, and pours four ales for them as well. Snatching up his drink, the short one with the ponytail and goatee marches right up to the table in the middle, getting up on it and chugging half his mug.

“To the revolution!” he finally bursts out with, and almost trips off the table. The large one with the beanie catches him, shaking his head with a grin, and the second shortest one with curly hair and freckles joins the talker with a close arm around his shoulder.

“Now this is the place to be, amiright boys?!” freckles shouts, taking a long drink.

“Oui oui, mon ami,” another voice chuckles, and your interest is immediately peaked. A frenchman in the colonies? The excitement of these taverns is incomparable, and it is exciting to say the least to hear someone from so far away- you know a little of the language, or what you had learned as a girl.

You watch in quiet admiration as a tall, athletically built man with dark hair tied up in a bun and a close trimmed beard steps out, carrying two mugs of ale. He hands one to beanie man, and plops his own down on the table. “We must tell the king casse toi with our war effort!”

“We will, Laf,” beanie assures, “But first? Horses.”

“What?” freckles and goatee both say at the same time.

“Corsets,” beanie laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I meant corsets.”

“Hercules, you are an idiot,” Laf deadpans.

“I’m the most mature one here,” Hercules shoots back.

“Easy, when tes amis are Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens.”

Hercules lets out a booming laugh, and is soon joined by Laf’s own charming snicker. Alex and John are too enamoured with their own private conversation to notice much.

Your eyes train on Laf. If he was french, he must have a longer name than that… you’re determined to know it. He was undeniably a charmer- he was handsome, dashing as a prince, and very stylish. With the words he had uttered earlier, you found it safe to assume he’s as passionate about American independence as you are.

You make an excuse to walk by.

Heyyy there,” goatee (Alexander)? calls, swivelling his head to look at you.

Bingo.

Hercules lets out a low whistle as you turn to face them. “I don’t mean to be too forward, but madamn.”

"What the ever loving merde is that supposed to mean, Hercules?” Laf’s face scrunches up, and Herc just shrugs.

“Works on most of ‘em.”

“I’m Alexander Hamilton, bastard, orphan, son of a whore,” Alex jumps up, grasping your hands, and you can see the gears in his slightly drunk mind turning. “So I’d love to flirt for like, a really long time because you’re pretty and everything, but there’s a revolution to plot-”

“-And drink to!” John adds.

“-And drink to, as my beautiful lover Jackie just piped in and waaait, I’m probably not supposed to say shit like that in a tavern full of guys who will probably have me castrated for it, but hey, we die like men, right?”

“Yo, um, sorry 'bout him,” John blushes with a slight slur, coming over to guide Alex back to his seat. “He gets- *hic*- chatty when he’s tipsy.” You just laugh, letting them know it’s no big deal. John doesn’t seem very interested in you romantically or sexually, only greets with a good natured- albeit tipsy as well- smile. Hercules gets up to introduce himself.

“Hercules Mulligan. I’m Irish.” He drops his voice down to a whisper. “That’s kind of my thing.” Laf gets up to hip bump Hercules out of the way, take your hand, and press a kiss to it. You blush deeply.

“Bon soir, belle mademoiselle. I am Paul Yves Roch-”

Heeere we go,” Alex slurs.

“-Gilbert de Motier de Marquis de Lafayette,” Laf finishes with a glare to his friends, then turns back to you with a gaze that could only be described as… lust ridden?

“Plaisir,” you reply in french, and his eyes widen, his entire body straightening like an arrow in excitement.

“You speak my mother tongue, cherie?!”

“Only a little,” you confess with a timid giggle, “I’m not French, monsieur Lafayette, only acquired some words from my studies.”

“Gorgeous and intelligent,” he flirts, “A lady after my heart.”

“Handsome and bold,” you volley back, “A man after mine.”

“OHHHH SHIT!” John shouts, and Alex begins to laugh.

“GUESS WHO’S GETTING IT IN TONIGHT?!”

“Not you two,” Laf growls, and John and Alex tumble over each other watching you both. Hercules just rolls his eyes, and downs his drink.

“Care to drink with us?” Lafayette offers, outstretching his hand, and you happily accept. Hercules gets up to grab you another beer, and slides it over to you. John begins to chug his second, and you smirk, taking it as a challenge. Downing yours to the last drop, you’ve finally earned the respect of Hercules Mulligan as he bangs on the table and shakes his head.

“You are getting better and better as the night goes on,” Laf whispers, and you laugh.

“Is that the alcohol talking?”

“On the contrary, cherie, I am still on my first… though I may be thinking with something other than my mind,” he alludes, and you feel a shiver run through you.

He is very attractive.

“What brings you to the colonies?” you ask Lafayette conversationally, and he takes a sip of his ale.

“Revolution.”

“You’re here for congressional duties?” you feign ignorance, though you know how to identify a congressman- powdered wigs, brightly coloured jackets, and stuffy mannerisms. Nothing Laf possessed.

“Ah no, mademoiselle. War is imminent- that is the talk here and overseas. I will fight as one of you for your glorious country!”

“Ayyy, to our fighting frenchman!” Alex lifts his mug, and John raises his as well.

“Very brave,” you murmur, “I wish I could serve in the continental army.”

“You can still do your part at home,” Laf assures, taking your hands excitedly, “You can make gunpowder, you can sew uniforms, you can…” he suddenly hesitates, lowering his eyes, “Pray for and write letters to your husband.”

“Why does everyone in this tavern assume I have a husband?” you tease, and he looks back up.

“Forgive me. No one has, eh… courted you yet?”

“Courted me? Oh, quite a few. I have yet to accept,” you giggle, “I suppose I’m just as hard to please as the next young lady.”

“I, too, have very specific tastes,” he nods, and bites his lip, “Mais, it would be very nice to have a woman to boost my morale on the battlefield.”

“Wait… hey, what’s your name?” John laughs, “We didn’t even ask!”

“Oh,” you blush, eye contact with Lafayette broken, “Um…” You sigh. It shouldn’t be any trouble to give them your real name. “(y/n) (y/l/n).”

Everyone repeats your name, raises a glass, and drinks. Lafayette smirks at you a moment longer, then drinks as well.

As the night wears on, you start to become even closer with the group. Stories are passed around, drinking games are played, and talk that would’ve sounded like treason in many other colonies flowed freely from your mouth with the boys. As the night begins to dwindle with the candles burning down close by, hands begin to wander, skirts began to lift a few inches, and blood begins to rise.

“Raise one last glass to freedom,” John finally says, somewhat soberly, as everyone stands up, “Something they can never take away.”

“No matter what they tell you,” Herc adds, placing a hand over his heart.

“Raise a glass to the… five of us, here tonight,” Alex nods, looking to you, “Our cause is a great one.”

“King George will never stand a chance,” you finish, and everyone downs their last sip and sits back down. With that, Laf takes your hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckle. You turn to him, and take note of how he’s staring at your lips. Danger and adrenaline course through your veins, imagining just what he could be picturing right now. Practically in his lap by now, you shift your hips a little, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“It is getting late, ma cherie,” he murmurs, obviously holding back, and begins to stand.

“It is,” you nod, moving to brush your fingers along the hem of his blue coat, and grasp your fingers firmly in his lapel. His eyes dart to meet yours, dark and warning, and his fingers find yours as he lets out a wistful sigh.

“(y/n)… I am a gentleman, and you have had too much to drink.”

“I assure you,” you grin, turning the tables and ghosting a kiss over his knuckles, “I have not.”

He spends a long time staring at you, debating mentally. You can feel him hardening in his breeches under you, but despite his uncomfortable expression and beading sweat, he doesn’t make even the slightest nudge to meet your grinding movements.

“Are you quite certain?” he finally asks, interest beginning to spark again in his eyes as he realizes that maybe you do want him like this.

“All I want is to feel your lips on my neck,” you confirm with a whisper in his ear, and he slots his large hand around your wrist, standing you up. The three others don’t even question it as Laf leads you out the back door, and the once the heavy wooden door closes, you’re both free. He immediately presses the front of you right up against the brick, pulling your hair aside and grazing his teeth over the back of your neck.

“Then, if there are no reservations on either of our parts, I will give you everything you need,” he growls, and continues his attack on your neck, showering kisses up and down. You flip around so that you can face him, and he pins you back again, opening up the neck of your dress just a little more for better access.

Lafayette’s gaze is hungry. Your excitement is known to him as he reaches under your dress, unbuttons your underclothes and realizes you’re already wet for him.

“So eager,” he groans, “Such an eager little kitten, desperate for her papa, hm?”

“Oh,” you sigh, his words sending pulses down to your core. He pulls your underclothes off, but as his long fingers are about to breach you, he pauses.

“You… have been touched or taken before, yes?”

You bite your lip, look around, and nod shyly. If word of that got out around here, you’d be off the market, as it were…. not that you particularly desired to on the market, but that was a different matter entirely. His face blossoms into a grin, and he lifts your legs up to wrap around him.

“Hold onto me, cherie, do not let go,” he murmurs, and once your arms are secure around his neck as well, he uses one hand to unbutton his breeches. You can already see the outline of his large cock, and once he has everything undone, he pulls it out.

“Monsieur, you’re so big,” you whine, and he gazes at you, licking his lips.

“We can make it fit, ma cherie,” he whispers, “Spread your legs a little wider for me… that is it, kitten… like that.”

You keen under the pet name, and he positions himself at your entrance before finally pushing in, groaning together with you as you tighten around him.

“Oui, oui, yes…” he breathes, “That is good… so good for me…” He sucks his lip between his teeth, and after a few seconds, begins to move, nudging you back against the wall with each deep thrust. He’s very large, so he has no trouble hitting that spot that drives you crazy, but he makes it even better when his fingers find your clit; Laf has a different approach than most men do, though- the select few you’d been with (if they make the effort to find it at all) rub with harsh, rough pushes… Lafayette massages you in slow circles, making you moan for him.

Leaning forward, the intensity between you increases as your foreheads meet, lips drifting close to each other and parting, almost kissing but not for minutes at a time. The teasing was getting to him, and he finally surges forward, breathing in your breath. You give his bottom lip a feisty bite, and he smiles, drawing away.

“You are a true northern belle, mademoiselle (y/n),” he mumbles, panting, “You are not like other ladies.”

“Oh, on the contrary sir,” you reply, “I simply don’t bother with the false customs. I say, fuck tradition, and fuck anybody who wishes to advise me otherwise.”

“There is a revolution on because of Americans who share your general mindset, ma chou,” he grins, and kisses you again.

As you both begin to race toward your climax, his thrusts increase, and you’re soon being pounded into the wall, legs tight around his ass and cries being muffled in his blue coat.

“Please… ah, Laf….”

“(y/n), so perfect, j’aime votre parfum…”

As he whispers your name, you hear voices, and turn to see two men walking by the alley on the road, in hats and coats. They sound southern.

“What if th…th-” you gasp, and Laf strokes your cheek.

“They will not see us, it is too dark. Besides, why would anybody pay attention to a stray kitten, begging in an alley, like you?”

“Ah,” you throb again at his dark laugh, and he shrugs.

“Also, the alleyway behind a tavern is where all the drunkards stumble out to vomit. No respectable man or woman wants to see that.”

“What an arousing image,” you scowl, and lean in for another kiss.

“You are so beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips once you part, and licks a line up your neck to just below your ear; you’re losing yourself to the pleasure. “Do you think you can come for me, ma (y/n)?” Laf rasps in your ear, stroking over your clit fondly, and you nod with a little whine, crying out his name softly as he slams in particularly hard. Circling his hips to guide you through a long orgasm, he lets out a little gasp of his own after you’ve finished. As you shake and pant his name, he sets you down carefully before quickly pulling out and taking himself in hand, jerking frantically a couple times and coming like a shot against the brick wall. Your name falls from his lips a few times like a prayer, and soon, you’re both sated and exchanging lazy tongue kisses, tasting each other’s mouths in the night air.

It’s chillier than it was earlier. You should get home before your one of your sisters or father notices you’re gone.

“When do you leave to join the ranks?” you ask, staring into his eyes. He does up his buttons precisely, patiently and one at a time.

“Very soon, I assume, cherie.”

“How very childish of me, but… what you said, about having someone to look out for you…”

“Mmm?”

“Will you…” you look down, embarrassed, and take off a ring on your pinky finger. “Remember me over a couple beers with your friends?”

His eyes light up, and he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

“When I wake up and when I fall asleep, (y/n).”

You smile a little. “Thank you for your service.”

He kisses your hand one last time. “If it takes fighting a war and, eh…” he leans in to your ear, brushing your hair back, “getting better acquainted behind a tavern to meet, it will, most certainly, have been worth it, ma chou,” he smiles back.

You dance and sigh your way home, ignorant of every redcoat who gives you a second dirty look. With men like the Marquis de Lafayette and his friends leading the troops, those bastards’ll be back home where they belong in no time.

8

” You must know that such love is impossible.”
“ Impossible loves, I’m very much afraid they can become an addiction. “

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get to know meme: favorite movies {5/5} » the hunchback of notre dame (1996)

see there the innocent blood you have spilt
on the steps of notre dame
now you would add this child’s blood to your guilt
on the steps of notre dame?

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The 1960s were an awfully turbulent time.

Pictures:

1. First man on the moon.

2. Vietnamese children running from the site of a napalm attack.

3. MLK in the march from Selma to Montgomery.

4. The self immolation of a Buddhist monk in protest of governmental anti-buddhist policies in South Vietnam.

5. Flowers are placed on the bayonets at an anti-war protest, otherwise known as “flower power”.

6. Woodstock music festival, attended by an estimated half million people.

7. The Beatles

8. Marilyn Monroe, who died August 5th, 1962.

9. President John F. Kennedy.

10. Lyndon B. Johnson being sworn in to office after the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

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cutie 🍇

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black sails ladies meme // favorite episode: 4x08 “XXXVI.” {story by jenniffer castillo & jillian molin, directed by uta briesewitz}

All the times Ritsu gets rekt in the manga

Ritsu is an above-average esper, but he’s still weaker than the other 3 main esper boys (and the super 5 + touichirou). This, combined with his brave, somewhat reckless character, lack of self preservation (when he deems other things/people more important, like his brother or freedom), and smart mouth means he gets the sh*t beaten out of him quite often,, so I made this compilation for my own reference (God I love this kid so much). Under the cut

Keep reading

My brother and I were talking about the new Ducktales and when we heard Darkwing was confirmed, we got to admitting that if he showed up, we’d rather not see him as Darkwing.

It’d just be way more fun to have Launchpad have this “Great buddy” named Drake whose daughter Gosalyn he looks after from time to time. And occasionally has to drop everything immediately “Right now! Gotta go! Sorry!” before running out the door.

And when everyone finally meets Drake, he’s constantly telling Launchpad what to do and Launchpad’s still in his early hero-worship phase so he’s falling all over himself and nearly calling him “DW” once or twice.

Scrooge, Donald & everyone else just assumes Drake is his boyfriend and Launchpad is whipped.

At least one person tries to tell Launchpad that he “deserves better” and “Man, Mr. Mallard bosses you around a lot. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Then Darkwing gets the spin off show he deserves and we have the opposite: Launchpad constantly going off to his other job and Darkwing getting frustrated his pilot isn’t around. :P

…I want to write a fanfic about it now.

Did you ever imagine we’d reach a point in Supernatural where Sam could be considered a total third wheel? Not that him and Dean haven’t been serving up a serious (literal) bromance since day one, but I think we’d all be lying if we said we didn’t tune in for our regular dose of Destiel.

Castiel and Dean, aka Destiel, form their special bond toward the end of season four, and ever since then, chances of me favoring anyone else have been squashed. In fact, there are some aspects of their bromance that might make it one of my favorites on television, period. Remember when Dean gives Castiel his nickname, Cas? And each time he admits that he needs him both as a cohort and a companion? So frickin’ cute. Their friendship is one of the shippiest out there. Need a few more reasons to love Destiel? Allow me to elaborate.

Castiel enters our lives, and the lives of the Sam and Dean, out of pure business. He is there on a mission, to work for them, and that’s it. Then, all of the sudden, we see a turning point where he goes from being there to work with the brothers to being invested in them on a personal level. Dean is having trouble trusting him, and Castiel responds reassuringly with a gentle but firm reminder that he isn’t going anywhere. He can trust him.

That’s a pivotal moment in their relationship, because along with instilling a great deal of trust for Dean, Cas realizes himself that he cares about the brothers as people, as friends. It set the tone for the remaining seasons, forming the foundation of the close-knit bond that we see today.

We don’t see Cas offer a one-sided, unwavering brand of loyalty, either. Dean has proved time and time again his appreciation, admiration, and dedication to his best bud throughout the various seasons. For example, in the heart of season five when Dean escapes from that whole apocalypse mess, what’s the first thing he does? Searches for Cas, who, mind you, is waiting for him exactly as the two of them had planned.

Then, remember when they get stuck in the purgatory back in season seven? Castiel can’t help Dean escape at all. In fact, because of the staggering number of souls that are cast in there after him, Cas serves as a complication of sorts. For once, he can not be the powerful angel and saving force that everyone knows him to be. Dean even has the chance to escape clean, but refuses to abandon his friend and leave him behind. After all, as we hear repeated like a broken record, he needs him.

Their bond is based on a connection that runs deep, diving into the deep end rather than splashing in the shallow section as an overwhelming number of friendships on television do. It has been a matter of life and death quite a few times, and each time, I watch the two of them save one another and prioritize their bud over almost anything else. How often does once come across a fictional friendship that strong?

Not to mention, all of their teary-eyed (OK, maybe that’s me and not them, but still) bro hugs are next-level adorable, and their clear love for one another as brothers and best friends is half the reason we’re still watching the show. Their clinging onto one another without even attempting to do so is an example of how natural their relationship is and how when the two of them work together, magic happens. Even in the toughest situations, Dean has had positive affects on Cas, and vice versa, and because of how different the two of them are in a lot of different respects, these attribute to them making each other a better person.

Maybe I take Sam and Dean for granted because of their real-life brotherhood, but still, something about the rather surprising, strong brotherhood between Dean and Castiel that I have watched form throughout the seasons leaves that of everyone else behind in the dust. Seeing them share the screen again in “Tombstone” after Cas returns, donning (heinous) matching cowboy hats, sharing laughs, and solving mysteries together warmed my heart.

Can’t wait to tune in next week, to see more of Destiel … er, I mean, watch more ghost, ghoul, and demon hunting. Obviously. But, being real here, mostly seeing more of the adorable best friendship that is Dean and Cas. #Destiel4Ever.

Go to POPSUGAR to read the original article

I first I thought, I’m I reading the onion?
But no, this is real Destiel is Canon, even with the Bomance perspective, that is a safe way to look at this relationship, we made it canon.

figured i’ve been seriously slacking on the murderboys lately, so i thought i might as well post this 0v0/ it’s been sitting finished in my folder for a while now since i was going to make a sticker set (may or may not finish it, it depends) buuuut i got a little distracted…

in this house, we appreciate bubba

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Just in time to celebrate the release of Wonder Woman!!!

  Pyrrha will always be my favorite character, period.  I loved one of the posters for the Wonder Woman movie, and re-imagined it with my favorite red-headed Amazon.

  I drew Pyrrha with markers and ink first, then made the image in Photoshop.  I included the final product with the text, no text, and pin-up only versions.  

Please like, share and re-blog! (and please give me credit if you repost!)

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Jack Rackham Appreciation Week:

Day One: Favorite Scene

Because what’s it all for if it goes unremembered? It’s the art that leaves the mark. But to leave it, it must transcend. It must speak for itself. It must be true.