Terms Of Endearment Quotes

Because I’ve got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding." “Why are they all high-calorie foods?

Do you mind if I ask you a question, darlin'?" "Only if you stop calling me darlin'" "Now where I come from that's a term of endearment." "Really? Well, where I come from motherfucker is a term of endearment. Want me to start calling you that?

Why are terms of endearment always food? Honey, cookie, sugar, pumpkin. Its not like caring about someone is enough to actually sustain you.

I turned around to see Jim standing in the aisle with a smirk and a box of tampons in his hand. “Very funny asshole. Looks like you’re on the rag this week. Make sure to get yourself some Midol and a copy of Terms of Endearment so you can have yourself a good cry.

Sydney: "You can be Jet if you want, but we are not posing as a couple again" Adrian: "Are you sure? Because I've got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding." Sydney: "Why are they all high-calorie foods? And bread pudding isn't really that romantic." Adrian: "Do you want me to call you celery stick instead? It just doesn't inspire the same warm and fuzzy feelings." - The Indigo Spell

Ashley tugged on his sleeve. "You're scaring me Walter." "Sorry I guess talking about ghosts is-" "It's not that," she interrupted shaking her head. "You're using logic. That's scaring me." Walters eyebrows knitted. "So much for terms of endearment

After a pause Lily looks up at me. “Sometimes I think of you as Dad.” My heart rises in my throat. That’s the only term of endearment I need.

Baby? I am not a baby.” “No, I know. It’s…a term of endearment. It’s like ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’. It just means I love you.” “If you say so, but it is strange, to call the woman you love as a baby. But then, Americans are strange.

She never called her son by any name but John; 'love' and 'dear', and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny.

if you look someone in the eye and call them a ‘fat, worthless, syphilitic puddle of badger crap’ it doesn’t mean you don’t like them. It can be – and often is – a term of endearment.

Doll. Dame. Kitten. Baby. American men have many terms for women. Just when Ana thinks she has learned them all, a new one appears. In her English class at the hotel, these words are called terms of endearment.

It was inconsiderate, she thought, how blandly people mentioned the future in the sick rooms. Phrases like next summer were always popping out; people made such assumptions about their own continuity.

Are you sure?" he said. His tone was lighter now, turning him back into the Adrian I knew. "Because I've got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding.

I think you need to give me a pet name—a term of endearment." His face was its typical impassive mask, but I could tell that I’d surprised him. Finally, he said, “Like…babe?” “No—that feels awkward and wrong and has undertones of pedophilia. I’m thinking of something more age appropriate, yet affectionate.

Ryan held out his hands. "What the hell is this? Beat The Shit Out Of Ryan Week?" "I didn't think you'd mind, since you're always insisting upon getting yourself hospitalized,"Claire said. Ryan's face screwed into disgust. "That was uncalled for." "The truth hurts, baby." He smiled. "If you're going to talk to me like that, you can insult me all day long." Claire pulled her car keys from her pocket, and then pulled on Ryan's hand. "I meant that you're a baby. It wasn't a term of endearment." "Yeah, right.

HEDYLOGOS - the spirit of the language of love and terms of endearment, who now, one assumes, looks over Valentines cards, love-letters and romantic fiction.

as Jazaieri observes, “There’s no empirical evidence to suggest that beating ourselves up will actually help us change our behavior; in fact, some data suggests that this type of criticism can move us away from our goals rather than towards them.” Conversely, the more gently we speak to ourselves, the more we’ll do the same for others. So the next time you hear that harsh internal voice, pause, take a breath—and try again. Speak to yourself with the same tenderness you’d extend to a beloved child—literally using the same terms of endearment and amount of reassurance that you’d shower on an adorable three-year-old.

Asmoday.” She brushes her lips against his forehead. “You stupid, stupid idiot.” Kisses each of his cheeks. “Why did you do that, you big dummy?” He smiles at her. “I am not an expert, but I am fairly certain those are not correct terms of endearment.

What does talí mean? Is it Aurenfaie?" "Talí?" A ghost of the old grin tugged at one corner of Seregil's mouth. "Yes, it's an Aurenfaie term of endearment, rather old-fashioned, like beloved. Where'd you pick that up?

What does that word mean?" Cassidy asked. Her voice was soft, sexy. Mind-blowing. "Querida, or whatever you said? I don't speak Spanish." "It's a term of endearment. An Anglo might say darling or honey." "What was the other one you used? Me ha? "Mi ja. Short for mi hija. It's what you say to someone you care about." She smiled. "When you say that you sound ---I don't know---affectionate." "Maybe I like cats," Diego said. Cassidy rested her hand on his chest, and her smile widened. "Meow.

These were good people and they had been good to us and we had therefore had a good time. To conclude otherwise was frightening, raising the specter of some unnameable quantity without which we could not abide, but which we could not summon on demand, least of all by proceeding in virtuous accordance with an established formula. You regarded redemption as an act of will. You disparaged people (people like me) for their cussedly nonspecific dissatisfactions, because to fail to embrace the simple fineness of being alive betrayed a weakness of character. You always hated finicky eaters, hypochondriacs, and snobs who turned their noses up at Terms of Endearment just because it was popular. Nice eats, nice place, nice folks- what more could I possibly want? Besides, the good life doesn’t knock on the door. Joy is a job. So if you believed with sufficient industry that we had had a good time with Brian and Louise in theory, then we would have had a good time in fact. The only hint that in truth you’d found our afternoon laborous was that your enthusiasm was excessive.

and sometimes this daily disappointment, this constant agony of hope deferred, would bring me to my knees by that door begging her to open to me, crying to her in every term of passionate endearment and persuasion that tortured heart of man could think to use.

Ianto Jones was at his station behind the run-down Tourist Information Centre that served at a front to the clandestine goings on in Torchwood. His bare feet were on his desk, his tie slumped like a crestfallen snake next to an open pizza box, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. "Taking it easy, I see?" said Jack, stepping out through the security door that led into the Hub itself. "Well at least someone has the right idea. Whatcha doing there, Sport?" "Sport?" said Ianto. "Not sure I like 'Sport' as a term of endearment. 'Sexy is good, if unimaginative. 'Pumpkin' is a bit much, but 'Sport'? No. You'll have to think of another one. "Okay, Tiger Pants. Whatcha doing?" Ianto laughed. "I..." he said, pausing to swallow a mouthful of pizza, "am having a James Bondathon." "A what?" "A James Bondathon. I'm watching my favourite James Bond films in chronological order." "You're a Bond fan?" "Oh yes. He's the archetypal male fantasy, isn't he? The man all women want to have, and all men want to be." "Are you sure it's not the other way around?

Look, in my world slut is a term of endearment. Why do I have to keep explaining this to people? You’re going to have to find a new name if you want to actually hurt my feelings.

You're welcome, mon coeur." Instead of bending to kiss her hand, Bastien shook it, as he would an equal, his signet ring winking back at the stars. A wave of satisfaction rippled through Celine. "Do passing acquaintances use such terms of endearment?" "They do in my world." She smiled through a flicker of sadness. "Your world is beautiful, Bastien. I wish I could stay." "As do I.

Their home was nice, the food was nice, the girls were nice – nice, nice, nice. I disappointed myself by finding our perfectly pleasant lunch with perfectly pleasant people inadequate. […] These were good people and they had been good to us and we had therefore had a good time. To conclude otherwise was frightening, raising the specter of some unnameable quantity without which we could not abide, but which we could not summon on demand, least of all by proceeding in virtuous accordance with an established formula. You regarded redemption as an act of will. You disparaged people (people like me) for their cussedly nonspecific dissatisfactions, because to fail to embrace the simple fineness of being alive betrayed a weakness of character. You always hated finicky eaters, hypochondriacs, and snobs who turned their noses up at Terms of Endearment just because it was popular. Nice eats, nice place, nice folks- what more could I possibly want? Besides, the good life doesn’t knock on the door. Joy is a job. So if you believed with sufficient industry that we had had a good time with Brian and Louise in theory, then we would have had a good time in fact. The only hint that in truth you’d found our afternoon laborious was that your enthusiasm was excessive.

Your chimp?" Bennett asked with a half laugh. "Despite what you might think, that is not a term of endearment for your girlfriend!" Harry explained, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Even though she has monkey toes.

The boon of language is not tenderness. All that it holds, it holds with exactitude and without pity, even a term of endearment; the word is impartial: the usage is all. The boon of language is that potentially it is complete, it has the potentiality of holding with words the totality of human experience--everything that has occurred and everything that may occur. It even allows space for the unspeakable. In this sense one can say of language that it is potentially the only human home, the only dwelling place that cannot be hostile to man. For prose this home is a vast territory, a country which it crosses through a network of tracks, paths, highways; for poetry this home is concentrated on a single center, a single voice, and this voice is simultaneously that of an announcement and a response to it.

Do you mind if I ask you a question, darlin’?” “Only if you stop calling me darlin’.” “Now where I come from that’s a term of endearment.” “Really? Well, where I come from motherfucker is a term of endearment. Want me to start calling you that?

Ix who?" "Ix Caut. Your name in this life meant 'Little Snake.'" Bill watched her face change. "It was a term of endearment in the Mayan culture. Sort of." "The same way getting your head impaled on a stick was an honor?" Bill rolled his stone eyes. "Stop being so ethnocentric.That means thinking your own culture is superior to other cultures." "I know what it means," she said, working the band into her dirty hair. "But I'm not being superior. I just don't think having my head stuck on one of these racks would be so great." There was a faint thrumming in the air,like faraway drumbeats. "That's exactly the sort of thing Ix Caut would say! You always were a little bit backward!" "What do you mean?" "See,you-Ix Caut-were born during the Wayeb',which are these five odd days at the end of Mayan year that everyone gets real superstitious about because they don't fit into the calendar. Kind of like leap-year days.It's not exactly lucky to be born during the Wayeb'. So no one was shocked when you grew up to be an old maid.

I noticed that among this class of colored men the word "nigger" was freely used in about the same sense as the word "fellow," and sometimes as a term of almost endearment; but I soon learned that its use was positively and absolutely prohibited to white men.

Hi...ah..." What did she call him? Honey? Babe? Darling? "...Humraaz." The Urdu term of endearment came out before she could stop it. Liam's gaze shifted to her, and his face softened. Before he could ask her what it meant and ruin the performance, she rose up on her toes, pressed her hands against his chest, and kissed him. Without hesitation, Liam wrapped one arm around her waist, pressed his mouth against hers, and bent her over backward in a full-on movie kiss. Her breath hitched and her lips softened. His lips were firm and cool and tasted of coffee and something sweet. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and for a moment she thought her heart had stopped. But it didn't matter. Upside down, in front of her work colleagues, she was the woman she always wanted to be. Then she was up and back on her feet, lips tingling, an ache of desire between her thighs. "What does it mean?" he murmured gently. "The one with whom we share our secrets." "Then I am your humraaz," he said. "And you are mine.

Love you, Snickers. He's nicknamed me after his favorite candy, a term of endearment. Love you, too, Dad.

reply instantly, stunned by his term of endearment

You are a dangerous woman, malysh.” “What does that mean?” “Malysh? It’s a term of endearment. It means little one.

MTV will lead us to believe that the B word has become a term of endearment or slang among equals, but I still mainly think of it as the insult of choice for the inarticulate.

Word Powers: A beautiful bitch has four legs, not two. Even terms of, so called, endearment have unintended manifestations. Guard your grill.

Mi estrella.” 2 My heart bursts at the term of endearment.

She was always telling people to shut the fuck up. It was a term of endearment.

Why do you call me your little deer?” I’m not fluent in Italian, but I know enough to understand the term of endearment. “You’re skittish like one.

Well, we've never had a divorce in our family," Aurora said, "but if we have to have one, Tomas is a good place to start.

What is it, liebchen?” The term of endearment, and the tenderness that had returned to his eyes, made her knees weak. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him once more, but she resisted. Just barely.

That's one of the only things I look forward to about an evening like this, you know -someone to drink tea with at the end of it. For all I know, the whole point of civilization is to provide one with someone to drink tea with at the end of an evening. Otherwise you have no one with whom to talk over whatever may have happened during the evening. Dinner parties are often more fun to talk about than they are to attend - at least they aren't complete until they've been discussed.

Sunrise to sunset, that’s life, my darling.” I loved the way he said that, my darling. I liked it more because he rarely uses the expression as a term of endearment for Dick, he had terms of his own, this was mine and it made me level in some way.

I glanced at Bernardo, but kept my gaze on the big man across the table. "What gives, Bernardo? He does talk, right?" Bernardo nodded. "He talks." I turned my full attention back to Olaf. "You're just not going to talk to me, is that it?" He just glared at me. "You think not hearing the dulcet sounds of your voice is some kind of punishment? Most men are such jabber mouths. Silence is nice for a change. Thanks for being so considerate, Olaf, baby." I made the last word into two very separate syllables. "I am not your baby." The voice was deep and matched that vast chest. There was also a guttural accent underneath all that clear English, German maybe. "It speaks. Be still my heart." Olaf frowned. "I did not agree with your being included on this hunt. We do not need help from a woman, any woman." "Well, Olaf, honey, you need help from someone because the three of you haven't come up with shit on the mutilations." A flush of color crept up his neck into his face. "Do not call me that." "What? Honey?" He nodded. "You prefer sweetheart, honeybun, pumpkin?" The color spread from pink to red, and was getting darker. "Do not use terms of endearment to me. I am no one's sweetheart.

Joanna, what does mo ghra mean?" Joanna smiled. "It's a term of affection- an endearment. It means 'my love'." Rosalin felt her heart rise up high in her chest and lock in her throat, cutting off her breath. My love. Not "my beautiful one." The sneaky devil! He'd lied to her! Lied! And she'd never been more happy in her life.

I distinguished Mr Heathcliff’s step, restlessly measuring the floor; and he frequently broke the silence, by a deep inspiration, resembling a groan. He muttered detached words, also; the only one, I could catch, was the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment, or suffering; and spoken as one would speak to a person present — low and earnest, and wrung from the depth of his soul.

Of course I’ll come, you great lummox. You don’t need to beg me. What more important thing could I possibly have to do? She set the pencil down and waited. A few seconds passed before it rose and tilted, nub pressing to the paper. Lummox? She chuckled. It’s a term of endearment. The pencil jerked in her hand—Bacchus had started writing before she could set it down. Then you find me endearing.

A favorite pastime of soldiers on long mounted patrols was testing each other with impossible hypotheticals. They were an endearing yet vulgar form of moral drama, but only because the alternative was to contemplate being blown up by an illiterate goat herder’s morning project. “What would you rather do, have sex with your sister or shoot your mother?” “Would you rather pick up a baby with a pitchfork, or throw a paraplegic in a fire?” In one form or another, these young men were weighing the relative value of human life in real terms, perhaps as a surrogate for murkier thoughts that might otherwise be in the forefront, such as, “Why am I risking my life in this wasteland?” or “Whose life is worth more, that of my best friend in the gun turret or of some Iraqi kid I’ve never met?” It passed the time.

putting beginning walkers in a “falling cap” or “pudding.” So named for its resemblance to black pudding, this was a sausage-shaped padded roll that went around the head and was kept in place with a chin strap. Having seen the pictures, I have to wonder if parents used them because they kept children safe or because they looked hysterical. They eventually disappeared, but left a linguistic remnant in the term of endearment puddinhead.

He unfastened his pants and shrugged off his shirt, baring his beautiful chest, the ripple of his abs, and the soft trail of hair leading below. "I was saving the best for last." He ground his palm over his erection. "Tease." She couldn't tear her eyes away. "Take it all off." "You're not in a position to make demands." But he didn't make her wait. Instead he lowered his zipper and pulled out his cock. Thick and hard, he was more than ready for her. "Do you want this, sweetheart?" She wasn't complaining about the term of endearment now. "Very much." He gave a casual shrug that belied the evidence of his desire. "Maybe when I've finished my search." "What else..." Her voice trailed off when he lay between her legs, slid off her panties, and placed her feet on his shoulders. "The best things are found in the most secret places." He lowered his head. His tongue did the most wicked things that had her arching and twisting on the bed. "Jay..." It was a plea. It was a demand. "That's Mr. Dayal to you." Without warning, he slid two fingers deep inside her, his firm steady strokes making all her nerve endings fire at once. His tongue found her sensitive clit and her inner walls tightened around his fingers. She soared and peaked, her orgasm crashing through her body in a tidal wave of sensation. Dazed, languid on the bed, she watched him shrug off his trousers and roll on a condom. "Did you find what you were looking for?" "Not yet." He lifted her legs, spread them wide, opening her for him as he positioned himself between her thighs. "You're very good at your job." Now that her body was sated, she was generous with her praise. "And you are a beautiful, sexy temptress who is about to be fucked by a man who wants her so desperately he's willing to do anything to have her.

The dark, uncontrolled, primordial part of a person informs them that they are alive. Living free entails accepting a slew of wildness. All wild animals act by instinct. Human instinct and intuitive thought allow us to gain insights and new beliefs, which human rationalization confirms. Logic and intuition work well together, if both sources of mental visualization are drawn from when most apropos. Planning carefully should never replace the spirit for improvisation. Acting recklessly is no substitute for measured evaluation. Nonetheless, a dash of craziness makes most people more endearing than the calculating banker whose ledger driven life causes them to see life in terms of money pouches. Letting go of all conceptions of what is, and dreaming what could be, is a form of delusion. Knowing the difference between fantasy and reality does not mean that a person should disdain imaginative acts. I need to recognize when it is time to stop woolgathering and come back down to reality and work in the pebbly bedrock of the here and now.

For I had begun to understand that to be a witness, in the sense in which I am using the term, means, ultimately, just one thing. It means that a man is prepared to destroy himself, if necessary, to make his witness. A man does not wish to destroy himself. To the full degree in which he is strongest, that is to say, to the full degree of the force that makes it possible for him to bear witness at all, he desires not to destroy himself. To the degree that he is most human, that is to say, most weak, he shrinks from destroying himself. But to the degree that what he truly is and what he stands for are one, he must at some point tacitly consent in his own mind to destroy himself if that is necessary. And, in part, that tacit consent is a simple necessity of the struggle. It is the witness’ margin of maneuver. In no other way can he strip his soul of that dragging humanity, that impeding love of life and its endearments which must otherwise entangle him at every step and distract him at last to failure. This is the point at which the witness is always most alone.

Yet if I am not mistaken we are likely to be there well before Lord Leyton - well before even your little squadron...' 'What the Devil do you mean by my little squadron? It is a perfectly normal squadron, rather large than otherwise. Two ships of the line apart from Suffolk: a fifty-gun ship, two considerable sloops of war . . .' 'Hush, hush, Jack. Never fly into a passion, soul,' cried Stephen, seeing that his friend was seriously annoyed. 'Sure you must know after all this time that we use little as an endearment - a meliorative term, as one says my little Puss to a handsome Amazon that weighs fifteen stone in her shift.

We need you to show Jeevan how to break through firewalls. You don’t have to do any of the breaking; you just need to show him.” “Jeevan knows how to defeat firewalls—he did it all the time at the Graveyard. If he’s not doing it, it’s because he doesn’t want to but he’s afraid to tell the Stork Lord.” “The Stork Lord—is that what the media’s calling him now? “No. It’s my own term of endearment,” Hayden admits. “But if they did start calling him that, I’m sure Starkey would love it. I’ll bet he’d build himself an altar so that the common folk may worship in song and sacrifice. Which reminds me—I’ve been toying with the idea of an appropriate Stork Lord salute. It’s like a heil Hitler thing, but with just the middle finger. Like so.” He demonstrates, and it makes Bam laugh.

The book treats, in fantastical terms, the dread problems of excessive specialization, lack of communication, conformity, cupidity, and all the alarming ills of our time. Things have gone from bad to worse to ugly. The dumbing down of America is proceeding apace. Juster’s allegorical monsters have become all too real. The Demons of Ignorance, the Gross Exaggeration (whose wicked teeth were made “only to mangle the truth”), and the shabby Threadbare Excuse are inside the walls of the Kingdom of Wisdom, while the Gorgons of Hate and Malice, the Overbearing Know-it-all, and most especially the Triple Demons of Compromise are already established in high office all over the world. The fair princesses, Rhyme and Reason, have obviously been banished yet again. We need Milo! We need him and his endearing buddies, Tock the watchdog and the Humbug, to rescue them once more. We need them to clamber aboard the dear little electric car and wind their way around the Doldrums, the Foothills of Confusion, and the Mountains of Ignorance, up into the Castle in the Air, where Rhyme and Reason are imprisoned, so they can restore them to us.

The next day, it was still raining when Lee issued his final order to his troops, known simply as General Orders Number 9. After four years of arduous service, marked by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need not tell the brave survivors of so many hard fought battles, who have remained steadfast to the last, that I have consented to the result from no distrust of them. But feeling that valor and devotion could accomplish nothing that would compensate for the loss that must have attended the continuance of the contest, I determined to avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past services have endeared them to their countrymen. By the terms of the agreement officers and men can return to their homes and remain until exchanged. You will take with you the satisfaction that proceeds from the consciousness of duty faithfully performed, and I earnestly pray that a Merciful God will extended to you His blessing and protection. With an increasing admiration of your constancy and devotion to your country, and a grateful remembrance of your kind and generous considerations for myself, I bid you all an affectionate farewell. For generations, General Orders Number 9 would be recited in the South with the same pride as the Gettysburg Address was learned in the North. It is marked less by its soaring prose—the language is in fact rather prosaic—but by what it does say, bringing his men affectionate words of closure, and, just as importantly, what it doesn’t say. Nowhere does it exhort his men to continue the struggle; nowhere does it challenge the legitimacy of the Union government that had forced their surrender; nowhere does it fan the flames of discontent. In fact, Lee pointedly struck out a draft paragraph that could have been construed to do just that.

Vim?” “Sweetheart?” The whispered endearment spoken with sleepy sensuality had Sophie’s insides fluttering. Was this what married people did? Cuddled and talked in shadowed rooms, gave each other bodily warmth as they exchanged confidences? “What troubles you about going home?” He was quiet for a long moment, his breath fanning across her neck. Sophie felt him considering his words, weighing what to tell her, if anything. “I’m not sure exactly what’s amiss, and that’s part of the problem, but my associations with the place are not at all pleasant, either.” Was that…? His lips? The glancing caress to her nape made Sophie shiver despite the cocoon of blankets. “What do you think is wrong there?” Another kiss, more definite this time. “My aunt and uncle are quite elderly, though Uncle Bert and Aunt Essie seem the type to live forever. I’ve counted on them living forever. You even taste like flowers.” Ah, God, his tongue… a slow, warm, wet swipe of his tongue below her ear, like a cat, but smoother than a cat, more deliberate. “Nobody lives forever.” The nuzzling stopped. “This is lamentably so. My aunt writes to me that a number of family heirlooms have gone missing, some valuable in terms of coin, some in terms of sentiment.” His teeth closed gently on the curve of her ear. What was this? He wasn’t kissing her, exactly, nor fondling the parts other men had tried to grope in dark corners—though Sophie wished he might try some fondling. “Do you think you might have a thief among the servants?” He slipped her earlobe into his mouth and drew on it briefly. “Perhaps, though the staff generally dates back to before the Flood. We pay excellent wages; we pension those who seek retirement, those few who seek retirement.” “Is some sneak thief in the neighborhood preying on your relations, then?” It was becoming nearly impossible to remain passively lying on her side. She wanted to be on her back, kissing him, touching his hair, his face, his chest… “Or has some doughty old retainer merely misplaced some of the silver?” Vim muttered right next to her ear. “You’ll sort it out.

I was unable to leave immediately for another reason: this was that the lavishness (unknown to the Courvoisiers) for which the Guermantes, whether opulent or practically ruined, were famous when they entertained their friends, was not only lavishness in material terms but also, as I had often experienced with Robert de Saint-Loup, a lavishness of charming words, courteous gestures, a whole gamut of verbal elegance nourished by real intensity of feeling. But as this last, in the idleness of fashionable existence, finds no outlet, it poured forth at times, seeking some channel of expression in a kind of fleeting effusiveness, which was all the more anxiously solicitous, and which might, on the part of Mme de Guermantes, have been mistaken for affection. She did in fact feel it at the moment she let it overflow, for she discovered then, in the company of the friend, man or woman, she was with at the time, a sense of intoxication, in no way sensual, similar to that which music induces in certain people; she would find herself picking a flower from her bodice, or a medallion, and giving it to someone with whom she would have liked to prolong the evening, yet with the melancholy feeling that to prolong it would have led to nothing but idle chatter, which would have absorbed nothing of the nervous pleasure, the fleeting emotion of the experience, and which would have been reminiscent in this respect of the impression of lassitude and regret that follow the first warm days of spring. And as far as the friend was concerned, it was important that he was not too taken in by the promises, more thrilling than any he had ever heard, proffered by these women, who, because they are particularly susceptible to the sweetness of a moment, turn it, with a delicacy, a nobility not granted to ordinary creatures, into a masterpiece of endearment and kindness, and no longer have anything of themselves left to give in the moment that follows. Their affection does not outlive the moment of elation that dictated it; and the subtlety of mind which had led them at that point to intuit all the things that you wished to hear, and to say them to you, will enable them, a few days later, to pinpoint your foibles and use them to entertain another of their guests with whom they will in turn be enjoying one of these moments musicaux which are so short-lived.

Jimmy’s goal since childhood, he explained to Siegel, had been to join the cast of Saturday Night Live. He was endearing. After a two-hour call, Siegel offered to represent him. She had one question, however. “Why don’t you stay and graduate?” Jimmy was a semester shy of a degree. Siegel suggested that they get started in the summer, so he’d have a bachelor’s degree to fall back on, just in case. “No, no,” Jimmy insisted. “I need to get on Saturday Night Live, and you’re going to make it happen, because you know Adam Sandler! I don’t want to do anything else.” Siegel knew this was a long shot—and a long-term endeavor—especially for an out-of-town kid with zero acting credits. But for some reason, she couldn’t turn him down; she had never met someone as focused and passionate about a single dream as this grinning bumpkin from the tiny town of Saugerties, New York. And though his skills were rough, given some time in the industry, she thought he might just make it. “OK, let’s do this,” she said. So, in January 1996 Jimmy quit college and moved to Los Angeles. For six months, Siegel booked him gigs on small, local stand-up comedy stages. Then, without warning, SNL put a call out for auditions; three cast members would be leaving the show. Having worked with one of the departing actors, David Spade, Siegel pulled a few strings and arranged a Hail Mary for the young Jimmy Fallon: an audition at The Comic Strip. SO HERE HE WAS. Fresh-faced, sweating in his light shirt, holding his Troll doll. In front of Lorne Michaels and a phalanx of Hollywood shakers. When Jimmy ended his three-minute bit, the audience clapped politely. True to his reputation, Michaels didn’t laugh. Not once. Jimmy went home and awaited word. Finally, the results came: SNL had invited Tracy Morgan, Ana Gasteyer, and Chris Kattan, each of whom had hustled in the comedy scene for years, to join the cast. Jimmy—the newbie whose well-connected manager had finagled an invite—was crushed. “Was he completely raw? A hundred percent,” Siegel says. But, the SNL people said, “Let’s keep an eye on him.

Good luck with your horrifying blood-and-knives spell, pumpkin blossom,” Kami said, unlooping his arm from around her waist and standing up so he could. She dropped a kiss on the side of his mouth as she did so. Jared paused and then said, “Thanks.” That was almost encouragement, Kami thought. She didn’t even know where the dumb terms of endearment had come from, except from her inherent terror of being serious about anything, but they appeared to have the effect of a stun gun on Jared. They worked when nothing else had worked, and she had to use what she had

Do you ever stop to consider how seldom your significant other uses your name in daily life? For us it was always some term of endearment, like “honey” or “babe”, or even the more extravagant “sugar badger” or “manly mouse”. The only time that changed was during arguments when the strangeness of being called by your name left no doubt that you were in trouble.

The need to satisfy this urge is so compelling that everything he does is oriented toward its fulfillment. In the process he develops certain qualities and attitudes that mold his character. Some of these could be called endearing: he becomes sensitive to the needs of others —within the frame of what he is able to understand emotionally. For example, though he is likely to be quite oblivious to a detached person's wish to be aloof, he will be alert to another's need for sympathy, help, approval, and so on. He tries automatically to live up to the expectations of others, or to what he believes to be their expectations, often to the extent of losing sight of his own feelings. He becomes "unselfish," self-sacrificing, undemanding—except for his unbounded desire for affection. He becomes compliant, overconsiderate— within the limits possible for him—overappreciative, overgrateful, generous. He blinds himself to the fact that in his heart of hearts he does not care much for others and tends to regard them as hypocritical and self-seeking. But—if I may use conscious terms for what goes on unconsciously—he persuades himself that he likes everyone, that they are all "nice" and trustworthy, a fallacy which not only makes for heartbreaking disappointments but adds to his general insecurity.

Butts are for rainwater, my little Baumkuchen

Sugar why don’t you sit down by the table and we’ll start supper,” said Dorothy to her husband of 50 years. “Sure thing,” said her husband, settling himself down. “Now darling, would you like the soup first or the salad?” asked Dorothy. “Umm I guess I’ll take the soup.” He responded. After a whole meal of one endearing term after another, their guest Bob couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. Bob snuck into the kitchen and asked, “Dorothy do you always talk to your husband like that?” “Bob, I’ll be honest with you,” Dorothy replied. “It’s been five years now, I just can’t remember his name, and I am just too embarrassed to ask him!

Call me that generic, cheap knock-off of a term of endearment like you forgot my real name. One. More. Time. So help me, little siren, I will paint your vocal cords with my cum and brand them with my name.

prophetic and scarily pertinent to late-nineties urban living. The book treats, in fantastical terms, the dread problems of excessive specialization, lack of communication, conformity, cupidity, and all the alarming ills of our time. Things have gone from bad to worse to ugly. The dumbing down of America is proceeding apace. Juster’s allegorical monsters have become all too real. The Demons of Ignorance, the Gross Exaggeration (whose wicked teeth were made “only to mangle the truth”), and the shabby Threadbare Excuse are inside the walls of the Kingdom of Wisdom, while the Gorgons of Hate and Malice, the Overbearing Know-it-all, and most especially the Triple Demons of Compromise are already established in high office all over the world. The fair princesses, Rhyme and Reason, have obviously been banished yet again. We need Milo! We need him and his endearing buddies, Tock the watchdog and the Humbug, to rescue them once more. We need them to clamber aboard the dear little electric car and wind their way around the Doldrums, the Foothills of Confusion, and the Mountains of Ignorance, up into the Castle in the Air, where Rhyme and Reason are imprisoned, so they can restore them to us.

Lummox? She chuckled. It’s a term of endearment. The pencil jerked in her hand—Bacchus had started writing before she could set it down. Then you find me endearing.

Chemistry From the middle Dutch boele, which means lover, bully was a term of endearment in the sixteenth century, which meant that a feudal lord could take the hand of his love under the apple trees in spring and exclaim: my bully, feeling adrenaline flood his body as his heart rate tripled and his palms began to release water mixed with urea, ammonia, salt. Essentially, he could feel what I felt over four centuries later when Ian Starkey called me a fag. I was fourteen, and the next day he kicked me twice, spat in my face, took my glasses and wouldn't give them back. And the whole time sweat glands were developing in our armpits and genitals, and our adrenals were releasing corticosteroids, and something about testosterone was why, though I hated him, I kept imagining him with his shirt off. True, Ian Starkey knew how to hurt me, but I doubt he knew why he was doing it or that we feel pain when neurons in the brain convert an electrical signal to a chemical signal and back again, which is also what allows us to feel a kiss or my brain to take strange comfort imagining all the boys of the world leaning into the strong arms of their tormentors in spring under the apple blossoms, saying I forgive you, saying: I can never forgive you, saying, my enemy, my bully, my love.

My little black cloud’ George would say, lopping Solange’s hair through her fingers as the child was falling asleep. It took me some time to understand this was intended as a term of endearment. Maurice was always: ‘my little cub’, ‘my bear’; Solange: ‘cloud’, ‘thunder’, ‘little tempest’. How many time do you have to call a cloud a tempest before it turns stormy?

You’ve never used a term of endearment for me,” Xira grumbled. Unable to keep her lips from twitching, Alex said, “I can call you ‘pretty girl’ too, if you want.

Bae is like a term of endearment,

(When I use the term “my” in reference to an animal, I mean it only in the most endearing way, much like one would say “my best friend” or “my beloved,” rather than thinking in terms of ownership. I’ve always thought of animals as individual beings worthy of our respect, rather than mere property that we own. When the word “pet” is used in this book, it means “beloved animal who is a part of the family”; it does not mean possession. When we share our lives with animals, we become their guardians; not their owners.)

That term of endearment brought back old, old memories. Robin’s mind flickered with images of herself as a tiny child, sitting in the Lazenbury’s kitchen, eating Chips Ahoy cookies and drinking apple juice, reading the comics out of the Sunday paper or watching ReBoot, Pirates of Dark Water, or Darkwing Duck on the wood-cabinet Magnavox.

Eshgham, a term of endearment meaning my love

I was going to wait for a special occasion, but I don’t want to wait. I want to put a ring on her as soon as possible. I want her to be mine. All mine. Her eyes go wide when I show her the box. “I can’t quite go down onto one knee,” I say in apology. Her eyes fill with tears, and I stuff the box back down in the cushions. “We can do this another time,” I say. “Are you kidding?” she asks. She takes my shirt in her fists and jerks me toward her. “Ask me. Ask me. Please ask me.” She’s in my face, and I’ve never been more in love with her than I am right now. But she sits back, looks at me sheepishly, and says, “If you want to ask me, that is. You don’t have to ask me if you don’t want to.” I wrap my arm around her head and give her a noogie. “I don’t just want to. I have to.” She looks up at me, her thoughts in as much turmoil as her hair. “I can’t live without you, dummy,” I try to explain. She grins at the term of endearment. There was a time that a word like that would have shredded her; now it’s just a word. A funny one, too, because she’s the opposite of dumb. “I love you,” she says. She kisses me, her tongue sweeping into my mouth, the gentle touch of it against mine making me go rock hard immediately. “Get the box back out,” she says. I can feel her grin against my lips when she goes back to kissing me. “What box?” I ask. “The ring. Ask me. I promise I’ll say yes.” “You’re so easy,” I tease. She wasn’t always easy. It was damn hard loving her in the beginning, but I couldn’t avoid it. She’s like a piece of me that was missing all my life. I can’t imagine a day without her. I reach into the cushions and pick up the box. My heart is thumping in my chest like a roofer’s hammer, even though she just told me she was going to accept. I open the box, and it creaks on its hinges. “Will you marry me?” I ask. She takes the box and sits back, an open-mouth grin on her face. It’s a mixture of awe and happiness. “I used to look at this when I was little. My dad said my rich husband would get me a big, fat rock and we’d live happily ever after. But all I ever wanted was this ring and a husband who loved me.” I tip her face up to mine with a crooked finger under her chin. “I love you.” I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Did you forget to say yes?” “I didn’t forget,” she tosses back at me. She sets the box on the table and gets up. “I just haven’t said yes, yet.” She points toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink? I’m thirsty.” She gets up like she’s going to walk away, but I grab her shirt in my fist and pull her back down. I pick up the box, take the ring out of it, and hold it up. “Marry me, Em,” I plead. “If you say yes, we can have lots of crazy sex and live happily ever after.” I want to laugh, but I can’t. It’s not really funny. “Marry me, Em,” I repeat. “Please.” She smacks me on the forehead with palm of her hand, and I’m momentarily stunned. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she says. She lets me slide the ring onto her finger. “I couldn’t make it easy for you, dummy,” she says. She settles into my side and nuzzles into that spot that’s all hers. There are no secrets between us. Not anymore. And it feels so fucking good.

Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says. I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do. “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?” “Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really, I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid. You have a learning disability, but you’re not stupid. I know that.” I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him. “Don’t pull away from me,” he warns. That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom, and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop. “Forgive me,” he says. I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parents’ house. That word and others like it—I’ve heard them for too long.

I can’t help the terms of endearment. I “Honey, Sweetie, Baby” everyone, from my grandma to the mailman. It’s a nurse thing. Molly

Whether you are married or have lived with someone for a time, look upon that person and know that, as much as you may love that individual, he or she is not your "better half." Yes, this popular term of this endearment can be a warm, comforting notion that speaks to intimacy and trust. but these people you care about so deeply aren't "half" of you at all. They do not fill in your blanks. You have no blanks. You are whole within yourself.

Michaels writhed and twisted underneath Judge’s weight. He let him soothe him a few more moments before he unclenched his ass and breathed in deep. This time Judge didn’t ram his way back in, he took his time and eased back through his channel, and Michaels felt every ridge and vein in his cock. “Is that better?” Judged breathed. “Was that too much dick for you before?” Oh, man. The terms of endearment, the sweet nasty talk. What was going on? It felt intimate as hell. Loving, even. Judge’s pace was slow and sensual. They were connected all over, so close he could feel Judge’s powerful heartbeat. “S’good, s’good,” Judge murmured in his ear. One big arm around his chest, his thumb tenderly stroking Michaels’ nipple. “Yeah, babe. It’s good.” Michaels turned and whispered against Judge’s cheek. Loving the way he turned into the touch, just a little. It wasn’t a kiss but they were getting closer and closer. Neither one of them said anymore. Only moans and whimpers could be heard as they gave each other what they both needed. Judge sensed that Michaels’ body wasn’t wanting fast and punishing. He needed relaxing and reassuring, and that’s exactly what Judge gave him. Until the sun came up and reminded them they were there to do a job and split… not fall in love.

Bernie was eating dinner at a friend’s house. The friend prefaced every request to his wife with a sweet term of endearment: honey, darling, sweetheart, precious. When the wife left the room for a moment, Bernie turned to his friend and said, “You’re such a sweet old fool. After all the years you’ve been married, it’s a fine thing to keep calling your wife all those pet names.” “To tell the truth,” his friend replied, “I forgot her name seven years ago.

Baby is a term of endearment.  It’s what you called me when you loved me.  Every time you say it now, it rips another piece of my heart out and quite frankly, I don’t have very many pieces left.” “I still love you Melody.” My head jerked up and I burned his baby blues with my own. “So you say, but it didn’t stop you from walking out, did it?  Pardon me for saying this, but I thought that you’d learned how to love someone from watching your parents.  I can’t imagine either of them walking out on the other for any reason.  Those two are rock solid Anton.

who looks with unconcern on a Man struggling for Life in the water and when he has reached ground encumbers him with help’) is matched in the Dictionary by the delightfully acerbic entry quoted at the head of this chapter. Chesterfield’s apathy had its reward: Johnson’s fury was spent.ar The lexicographer’s rejection of his patron’s belated assistance has often been identified as key moment in the history of publishing, marking the end of the culture of patronage.7 This is not strictly accurate. Patronage had been in decline for fifty years, yet would survive, in attenuated form, for another fifty. Indeed, Johnson was in the 1760s awarded a pension by the Crown—a subtle form of sponsorship, tantamount to state patronage. The letter’s importance is not so much historical as emotional; it would become a touchstone for all who repudiated patrons, and for all who embraced the laws of the marketplace. In the short term, however, Johnson’s rejection of Chesterfield did not endear him to the booksellers who had underwritten the Dictionary.

Syn felt a foot nudge his under the table, making him look at Furi and turn up the corner of his mouth. “There, that’s better,” Furi said in his deep, sexy timbre. “You’re hot as fuck when you get all controlling." Syn just shook his head and took a large gulp of the beer the waitress just sat in front of him. “We’ll have the endless wings, please.” Furi ordered for them. “Anything else, babe?” Syn choked on his beer at Furi’s term of endearment, wrenching a hearty laugh from not only the waitress but from his date too. “Funny. You’ll pay for that later.” “I hope so,” Furi almost purred.

Disgrace abounds, but good dinner parties are rare.

I don't like the way he says that -- Girls -- like we're children being scolded. Some words should be ours to own, at-times-vicious yet tender terms of endearment we toss around like glitter that suddenly taste sour in the mouths of men.

You’re thinking too hard, baby.” I jolt, realizing I was staring and getting lost in my head. The term of endearment that slips from his lips like velvet has me wanting to purr while widening my legs for him in invitation.

No. No. No.” Caesar shook his head as the voices left on his voicemail began to play in his head. He had tortured himself daily listening to her voice message and ultimately her death. “Man, what is wrong?” Riley asked curiously. He couldn’t understand what had happened in mere seconds to make Caesar react the way he was. “You did this? It was you that ruined my life!” “Huh?” Riley asked, clearly confused. “The day Shayna was murdered she never ended the call. Her conversation was recorded on my voicemail. When she said ‘Hey Hun. I’m so glad to see you’ I thought it was a term of endearment. But it wasn’t. She was talking to you. She never called you by your last name like the rest of us. It was always Hun.

Night, love.” Yeah, let’s just pretend that little term of endearment doesn’t do funny things to my insides.

Roma Montagov, this is unacceptable,” Juliette declared tightly. This was all too reminiscent, too wistful, too much. “Leave before you get shot.” Even with his face shrouded in the shadows, Roma managed to convey a frown that reached Juliette with maximum effect. He looked around, seeing no one in the gardens below him. “Who will shoot me?” “I’m going to shoot you,” Juliette snapped. “No, you’re not. Open the door, dorogaya.” Juliette jerked back, horrified not by the command, but by his term of endearment. With delay, Roma seemed to realize too what had slipped out, his eyes widening a fraction, but he didn’t fumble or take it back. He merely stared at her in wait, like he hadn’t just pulled out a relic from their past, one that they had smashed to pieces.

Finally, never call her by her name alone, but with terms of endearment, honor, and love. If you honor her, she won’t need honor from others; she won’t desire praise from others if she enjoys the praise that comes from you.

It is well to learn the ethnic backgrounds of your parents, to love and cherish the ancient folklore. But never, never forget, you are an American first. And millions of Americans before you have fought for your freedom. The Nation holds all the terms of our endearment. Support, defend and honor those whose duty it is to keep it safe.

UNCONVENTIONAL DESTINATION WEDDING LOCALES Destination Wedding Jan 6 This wedding season, fall in love with endearing unconventional destination wedding locales Theme Weavers Designs Since all the travel restrictions have been lifted, destination weddings are back in vogue. However, the pandemic has led to a major paradigm shift. In this case, Indian couples are looking into hidden gems to take on as their wedding destination, instead of opting for an international location. With the rich cultural heritage and a myriad of local traditions, it has been observed by industry insiders that couples feel closer to their past and history after getting married in a regional wedding destination. At the same time, it is a very cumbersome task to find the perfect wedding destination - it has to be perfectly balanced in terms of the services it offers as well as having breathtaking views. This wedding season, choose something offbeat, by opting for an unexplored destination, that is both visually appealing and has a romantic vibe to them. Start off your wedding journey with an auspicious location. Rishikesh, on the banks of the holy river Ganges is one of the most sacred places a couple can tie the knot. This tiny town’s interesting traditions, picturesque locales, and ancient customs make this one of the most underrated places to get married in india. Perfect for a riverside wedding in extravagant outdoor tents, this wedding season, it is high time Rishikesh gets the hype it deserves. “The Glasshouse on the Ganges,” is one of the most stunning places to get married. While becoming informed travellers, this place is interred with a vast and vibrant cultural history. It offers an extremely unique experience as it revitalises ruined architectural wonders for the couple to tour or get married in, making it a heartwarming and wonderful experience for all those who are involved. Steep your wedding party in the lap of nature, in Naukuchiatal, Nainital, Uttarakhand. This place is commonly referred to as “treasure of natural beauty,” where it offers mesmerising natural spectacles for a couple to get married in a gorgeous outdoor ceremony. Away from the hustle and bustle of the urban jungles that have slowly been taking over the Indian subcontinent, this location provides a much needed breath of fresh air. This location also provides much needed reprieve from the fast paced lifestyle that we live, making a wedding a truly relaxing affair. As this is a quaint hill station, surrounded with lush greens, there are numerous ideas to create a natural and sustainable wedding. The most distinguishing feature of this location is the nine-cornered lake, situated 1,220 m above sea level. There is something classic and timeless about the Kerala backwaters. This location is enriching and chock full of unique cultural traditions. With spectacular and awe-inspiring views of the backwaters, Kumarakom in Kerala easily qualifies as one of the top wedding destinations in india. Just like Naukuchiatal, this space is a study in serenity, where it is far away from the noisy streets and bazaars. Perfect for a cozy and intimate wedding, the Kerala backwaters are a gorgeous choice for couples who are opting for a socially distant wedding, along with having a lot of indigenous flora and fauna. Punctuated with the salty sea and the sultry air, the backwaters in Kerala are an underrated gem that presents couples with a unique wedding location that is perfect for a historical and regal wedding. The beaches of Goa and the forts of Rajasthan are a classic for a reason, but at the same time, they can get boring. Couples have been exploring more underrated wedding locations in order to experience the diverse local cultures of India that can also host their weddings

You’re such a pirate.” He chuckles under his breath. “I’ll pretend you meant that as a term of endearment.” “I don’t.

There are the usual terms of endearment, all perfectly acceptable in casual conversation between cooks: motherfucker (a compliment), cocksucker, sunofbeech, dipshit, scumbag, scum-sucker, dumb-fuck, rat-bastard, slackjaw, idiota, bruto, animale, asesino, mentiroso, whining little bed-wetter, turd, tortuga, strunze, salaud, salaupard, chocha podrida, pendejo, silly cunt, seso de polio, spazz, goofball, bucket-head, chucha, papi-chulo, sweet-cheeks, cupcakes, love-chunks, culero, shit-stain, cum-gargler, and so on.

It was right during the period when Karadžić was the most vocal champion of absolute separation along “cultural border-lines” that I happened to thumb through the 1991/92 Sarajevo phonebook. Under the family name Karadžić, I found twenty-one entries. In addition to the aforementioned poet, the rest of the entries could be fit under the following ethnic rubrics: 10 Muslims, 9 Serbs and 1 Croat. The most curious aspect of these lisings is the fact that the only Croat, Mate Karadžić, carried the same first name as the leader of the Croatian nationalist party, Mate Boban. And amongst the Muslims, I found Ale Karadžić, Ale being a term of endearment for Alija, the first name of the Bosnian President Alija Izetbegović.

Of course I’ll come, you great lummox. You don’t need to beg me. What more important thing could I possibly have to do? She set the pencil down and waited. A few seconds passed before it rose and tilted, nub pressing to the paper. Lummox? She chuckled. It’s a term of endearment. The pencil jerked in her hand—Bacchus had started writing before she could set it down. Then you find me endearing.

I’ve been contacted by the duke. He wants to talk, but—” the pencil paused for a moment— I’d prefer to have you with me. I do not believe the duke or anyone in his household intends me harm. Nor do I think there will be any nonsense with spells. But I’ve not yet sorted through my feelings regarding the revelation about the siphoning spell, and I believe your presence will help me remain steady. Elsie’s heart softened like better. Help him remain steady. Smiling, she reached for the pencil, but it moved again, and she stayed her hand. He wishes to see me tonight. I do not expect you to rearrange your plans for this. I’m prepared to reschedule. I believe he will do as I wish; if the duchess’s letters are to be believed, Isaiah feels guilty for the part he has played in this. I am happy to provide transport—” Elsie grabbed the pencil and wrenched it out of Bacchus’s invisible hand. She felt the moment he let go, and beneath his half-finished sentence, she wrote, Of course I’ll come, you great lummox. You don’t need to beg me. What more important thing could I possibly have to do? She set the pencil down and waited. A few seconds passed before it rose and tilted, nub pressing to the paper. Lummox? She chuckled. It’s a term of endearment. The pencil jerked in her hand—Bacchus had started writing before she could set it down. Then you find me endearing.

I should have gone with. Slayers are stronger together.” Valen drums his fingers on the table. “Have you met Greer, slay bae?” One of his fries smacks into my face. I blink twice, glance down at the fried potato in my lap, then give him a look. “Rude.” “She’s the only one who can call me that, teddy bear.

His free hand strokes my cheek so gently and lovingly, I think I’m going to melt. “You can do this, Solnyshko.” No. Nope. I must be dreaming or else…or else…Captain Kirill just called me his sun. A term of endearment that’s only used between lovers.