theres just a what-if here about ritsu getting just a bit of psychic empathy and achieving the rest with his writers brain, and theres also a headcanon about mob not being a very good singer or not playing any instrument but being able to whistle very well
I remember theres a word for that, the very good whistler thing, from a jeffery deaver book Ive read, but I cant find it in my memory anymore
Top: Walt Disney proudly shares the scale models for
it’s a small world
andthe Tower of the Four Winds, just a few of the iconic projects he and his Imagineers would create for the 1964/1965 New York World’s Fair.
Middle and bottom: The completed attractions, circa 1964.
14.1.2017 - day 3/100 + new book + to-do list + today’s snack
i think the only reason i felt like i accomplished things today was because of my to-do list, so i guess that’s good. kinda of an “eh” day because of uncertainties, but the new book is good and i have a set style of to-do list now!（*´▽｀*）
Conjugation can seem really hard but after a while it’s second nature. Firstly, don’t go in and try to learn all the speech levels at once. Usually resources will teach you plain form (어/아요) and/or formal speech (ㅂ니다/습니다). I’ve briefly talked about plain form conjugation hereand I made aworksheet.
Are you studying/living in Korea?
Yes, I went on an exchange to Yonsei University, but I’ll be coming back home soon.
Are you a native English speaker?
Yes, despite my numerous errors I make, English is my first language. I just have a terrible habit of typing too fast and not re-reading.
Request: Jughead and (Y/N) meeting in the diner
Y/E/C=Your Eye Color
The small bell above the door jingled as I entered the small 80’s themed diner, Pop’s, also known as the only diner in Riverdale, which was a very big fall from the largeness of New York I was used to.
I had just moved here with my fraternal twin-sister, Veronica and our mother after the man I refuse to call my father had done some very stupid things, forcing us to flee our home and move to possibly the most boring town in the world.
As my shoes clicked against the tiled floor I looked down to see that I was still in my party attire from the homecoming dance, though I had left early to take Betty home as she wasn’t in the best of terms with my sister at the moment.
I walked up to the register, ordering a milkshake and paying. As the worker moved to the back to start on my shake, I saw a mysterious looking guy around my age sitting not to far away in a booth by the window, typing at a computer.
As confidence was something known to run in the Lodge family, in a few steps I stood in front of the table where the boy sat, hoping that he wasn’t a serial killer and I could possibly make another friend.
It took a few moments but the boy slowly looked up from his screen, his green eyes landing on me, “Can I help you?” He asked dryly, my smile faltered for a second at the annoyance in his voice, before picking it back up again.
“What are you writing about?” I questioned, looking down as his fingers typed rapidly on the keyboard of his silver laptop.
He responded almost immediately, “Its my novel, about this town.”
I frowned at his answer as he began typing, “Why would you want to write about this town? No offense, but it’s no big apple.”
The boy looked up from his screen for a split second, before beginning to type again, “Does the big apple have a Jason Blossom?”
The name sounded familiar to me, and I had to rack my brain fir a few seconds before remembering I had seen a poster of him at the front of school on the first day, “You mean the boy that drowned? I’m pretty positive that people have drowned in bigger towns than Riverdale, it’s actually quite a common way to go.”
“Yes, but in a town like Riverdale, nothing ever happens here-”
“Obviously.” I cut in, absentmindedly playing with the menu that was by the edge of the table. “You guys have, what? One movie theatre?”
The boy ignored my comment and continued writing his novel, “And when something like the death of the son of the richest family in town happens, people want to hear about it. As a city person I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
I opened my mouth slightly at what the boy had just muttered, should I have been offended?
“How did you know I’m from the city?” I questioned carefully, seriously wondering if this guy was done kind of crazed stalker.
The boy just shrugged, “This town is small, so when things happen, like the very rich sand famous Lodge family moving in unexpectedly from New York, people talk.” The boy looked up at me once more, “And you, (Y/N) Lodge, seem to be the talk of the town.”
I looked at the boy for a minute, studying him, “If you know my name, I feel obligated to know yours as well. Or is remaining nameless part of the antisocial all-knowing hipster thing you got going on?”
If may have just been my imagination but I swore I saw the corner’s of the boy’s lips turn up slightly at my sarcastic comment, “It’s Jughead. Jughead Jones.”
I thanked the diner employee as they handed me my milkshake and I took a sip of it, enjoying the smooth and refreshing drink, “Well, Jughead Jones. Tell me about this novel.” I requested, sliding into the booth across from the dark-haired boy, watching with curious eyes as he faintly chuckled, but went into detail about his book nonetheless.
After speaking with Jughead for what only seemed like mere minutes, a text from my sister reveled that I had been sitting with him the diner for three hours!
Veronica: Where r you?
(Y/N): Sorry, lost track if time. On the way now.
“Looks like its time for me to head home.” I told the boy in front of me, standing up and sighing lightly when I felt something pop after sitting in the same position for the last few hours.
I was surprised when Jughead stood up as well, “I’ll walk you out.”
Jughead and I awkwardly stood outside of the entrance to Pop’s, looking anywhere but each other’s eyes.
“I had fun tonight.” Jughead and I both said at the same time, causing each other to burst into laughter, after a few seconds of recovering I spoke up.
“You go first.”
Jughead nodded, pushing his hands into the pickets if his jacket, “I had a lot of fun tonight, (Y/N). You’re something different.”
“Good different?” I questioned, moving a stray piece if hair from my face.
The Jones boy nodded, “A very good different.” It was silently for a moment as he kicked a rock with his shoe before speaking up again, “So if you, I don’t know, like ever want to hang out or something-”
I cut off his awkward, but somewhat cute rambling, “I’ve been dying to check out the movie theatre here. You know, the only one?“
He nodded and chuckled a bit, "So it’s a date?”
I smiled at him, “If that’s what you want to call it.” We stared at each-other for a few seconds, his green eyes meeting my (Y/E/C) ones. I broke the eye contact by looking at my phone to see it was 1:14. “I better get going, but I had fun tonight Jughead, really.”
The Jones boy nodded, “So, did I.”
Another spur of confidence made me push on the tops of my toes, and plant a kiss on his cheek, causing a blush to spread across his face.
“See you around, Jughead Jones.” I said in a final goodbye, before turning around and walking into the parking lot.
As I got into my car, I looked to see that Jughead was still standing outside of Pop’s, and this time I was more than sure that the corners of his mouth had turned up into a smirk.
You felt the damp texture under your hand as you wiped down a booth’s table and seat. Your ears filled with toddlers crying, conversations, people slurping milkshakes down loudly and other teenagers making jokes, thinking you couldn’t hear them.
You work in a small 50’s themed diner in New York, with your friend, (Y/F/N). You two had been working there so your family could afford for you to go to a school for children ahead in their academics. You both were insanely smart, but if you told yourself that you would have to work in a small crappy diner to get into more advanced classes, you would be laughing your butt off.
Monsieur Félix Boutreux sur les Quais de Seine (1943). Bernard Boutet de Monvel (French, 1881-1949). Oil on canvas.
Boutet de Monvel painted this intimate portrait of his friend Félix Boutreux, restorer of paintings, illustrator and ceramist. He painted a series of a dozen small formats on the theme of booksellers of the Quai de la Tournelle, Quai Conti or Quai Voltaire. The painter was seduced by the world of old-fashioned works and outdated prints.