#and that's enough. that's insightful. that's all that you need.

[tailornorata]

At 15 I celebrated a big achievement with the dance group I was a part of, they were all over 30 and I needed a signed note from my mum that said I was allowed to be in a pub with these people.

At 18 I visited a friend who was in her 70s in ireland for two weeks.

At 20 I hung out with a group of ppl I shared a specific interest with every two weeks, the youngest person besides me was 37. I still visit her and her family today.

At 25 I became an elder queer to a young queer person for the first time. I helped them find a therapist, we dyed each other's hair and still chat regularly to this day.

At 30 now I've done similar things for people several times. The examples I've given from my own youth are also just some of my experiences. You can learn a lot when you befriend people older than you. And it feels great to now be someone who can be that older friend to others.

All that being said, there are people who will try to take advantage of your age. I have met enough of them in my lifetime. But interestingly enough I feel like being friends with other people older than me gave me a lot more insight into what turned out to be predatory behaviour from those people.

So yes, go be friends with people older than you, go socialising outside of your age group, it will enrich your life.

But also, don't trust blindly, just bc they are older. If something feels off, leave the situation, the friendship, the space.

And don't let people older than you convince you to keep secrets from the adults you actually trust. "This is our little secret" is often enough code for "What I am doing with you is wrong."

I need you people to realize that you can be friends with people older than you. like, much older than you. like, decades older than you. you can be friends with these people. regular friends, just like anyone your age. it is possible.

[n0tamused]

⋆.˚ ★—Anaxa x Reader

Contents: How does Anaxa comfort you, and how does he react to you comforting him?

A/n: Good luck on your pulls!! Words:539

Masterlist ✦ Rules ✦ Ko-Fi

˚☽˚.⋆Comforting you

-Anaxa doesn't look like he knows how to comfort, probably comes off as too blunt, too harsh, too cold, too this or that, too logical in a field that needs tact and sentiment. However, that is not wholly true. He does understand when someone need a gentler hand, or a shoulder to lean on

-Perhaps it can go without saying, but, he doesn't ever go out of his way to really harass/insult anyone, he doesn’t have the time to go on witch hunts and only gets confrontational when met with ignorance or clear disrespect, and so when he's in a relationship with someone he loves all his otherwise snappy qualities turn into heavy attempts at being more empathetic or at least more warm

-He does prefer when you come to him with problems that can be solved or on which he can give his insight on from a more logical perspective, at least that way he can help you best. But with emotional issues he goes more quiet, simply listening to you talk and vent and rant, sometimes offering a few words if you seem to be looking for a quick input, but largely he stays quiet until you're done. Then he does his best to find some common ground between logic and emotion

-He's not clueless, just trying to be gentle with you. He'd also offer to have your head in his lap and run his fingers through your hair, like you do to him. He also rubs your shoulders while you're there

-Makes you tea or if you're feeling particularly rough and visibility crumbling, he throws in some stronger medicine to help you relax

˚☽˚.⋆You comforting him

-Anaxa is shit at receiving comfort as his first habit when he's distressed is to run to his work or to his room and isolate until he has found the solution himself. He buries himself in his work 90% of the time, and the other, rare, 10% is when he's around his grave or under the shade of Cerce’s great shade, pondering about the future and what ifs in silence

-He's stiff as a plank when you offer comfort, he does feel rather weak and vulnerable when he knows you noticed his shift in demeanor, which truth be told - it is not that hard to tell apart when he’s simply frustrated or when he’s genuinely feeling down

-Although that doesn't mean he doesn't grow to really appreciate your concern and often does try to ease your mind, by at least sharing a room while you both work at your own work. He doesn't want to neglect his time with you either, yet it is hard for him to wholly accept it too

-He does prefer more subtle approaches at comforting him, simple questions or gestures like you making him a lunch box and sliding it to him for example, or simply giving him that knowing look of yours. Nothing over the top but enough to let him know he's loved and cared for, he's not alone and if he pushes this away he'd only be hurting someone, someone he loves, and he doesn’t want that. He can’t lose you due to his selfishness and neglect. He won’t

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter seven, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, insight on one of the spots in the arena, lots of blood, violence, panic, anxiety, jj and kie <3, toppers just exisiting, and sorry we’ll get more rafe and y/n soon LMFAO i just needed a little trouble, might be an abrupt ending but next chapters fair warning someones gna die LOOL, not proofread

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

the water’s still red when you first step in.

like it’s not thick, it’s just stained. that’s the thing about blood. it never looks real when it’s in the water. it disappears within a few splashes.

your jacket’s already halfway off. you ease it off your arms and crouch at the edge, scrubbing at the fabric in circles, trying to work out what you can. in front of you, jj and topper are already knee-deep in the shallows, laughing under their breath as they slap at the water and try to rinse themselves without freezing. topper’s shirt is still on him, soaked and clinging, but he pulls at the collar and dips under, letting out a rough curse when he surfaces again.

“cold as shit,” he mutters.

you don’t laugh, but kie does. she’s crouched beside you, elbows braced against her knees, dirt under her nails as she sets up something with wire and a few spare twigs she found in her bag. she’s got that look in her eye, like sharp and focused, like every movement matters.

you squeeze the sleeve of your jacket tighter. water runs down your knuckles and drips off the hem, the tension from the bloodbath’s still in your muscles. you can’t shake it. can’t scrub it away.

“what’s that one for?” you ask quietly.

kie doesn’t look up, just ties a knot with her teeth and flicks her gaze toward the water. “gonna leave it in there. if someone tries to wash off, this’ll clamp down on ‘em.”

you blink. “seriously?”

she shrugs. “works. it’s low. hidden. hurts like hell.”

“good idea,” you say, and mean it.

a shadow falls over your shoulder. the sun dims just slightly.

you glance up and see rafe standing there, shirt clinging to him. he’s wringing out the hem of his shirt, arms tensed and droplets flicking off with each twist. water traces lines down his chest before soaking into the waistband of his pants. it’s almost enough to make you look away, but you don’t.

he doesn’t say anything either. just stands there like some unbothered statue, watching the rest of the group move around the bank, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before glancing back out at the trees.

you finish with your jacket and shake it out once before slinging it over your lap. it won’t be dry by night, but it’s better than nothing. kie finishes her trap and stands, brushing her hands on her pants and starting to walk deep to where jj and topper are to bury her trap, probably muttering to them to be careful where they stand.

you whiste low between your teeth to get their attention.

topper’s folding his jacket over his shoulder as he looks back at you, “we movin’?”

“yeah,” rafe says before anyone else can. “enough light left to find somethin’ decent.”

the walk back to the forest is quieter. the birch trees start tall and sparse, with white trunks and peeling bark, like they’re trying to shed skin. the deeper you go, the less sound there is. birds don’t chirp. wind doesn’t carry the way it did near the water. it’s all damp earth and whispering grass, and when your foot crunches on a twig, it sounds loud enough to be gunfire.

“don’t like it,” jj mutters after a while. he kicks a rock, watches it roll until it hits a root.

“no one asked,” rafe says, but it’s automatic. not mean.

kie walks with her blade drawn as topper fiddles with his axe. you just keep your head down, counting your steps between the trunks. when you finally stop, it’s not because the spot is good. it’s because it’s getting dark.

no one says it, but you all feel it. it’s that collective kind of settling that happens when you’ve run out of options and decide this’ll have to do. there’s no firewood worth lighting, not without giving yourselves away, but the boys try anyway. they scrape at bark and try to spark something with flint, building a makeshift ring of stones around what might be a small flame.

kie leans against a tree, her legs curled to her chest, jacket pulled over her knees. she keeps nodding off and snapping back awake, like she’s afraid of what she’ll miss if she sleeps too deep. jj eventually drops beside her, back to the same tree, and they sit shoulder to shoulder without saying a word.

topper circles the camp twice before choosing his own tree. he tosses his bag down like it’s a pillow and sits on top of it, facing out, legs crossed, fingers twitching like he still wants something to do with them.

he’s quieter than usual. you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s worried for diamonte. wherever she is.

you sit last. back to a birch, jacket draped across your chest like a blanket. your boots are still moist, your pants too. it doesn’t help that the night’s dropped colder than expected. your fingertips are numb at this point.

you glance over. rafe’s nearby. not right beside you, but close. his bag’s at his side, but he hasn’t laid down yet. he stands with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the dark like he’s expecting something to move. his shirt’s still damp, and it clings to him in the middle, wrinkled and uneven where he’d wrung it out. he looks like a statue again.

your gaze drifts down to his fingers that curl against his arm. his chest is rising slow. his hand twitches briefly toward his belt like he’s debating keeping a knife in hand.

you look away. your breath fogs faintly in the cold. the jacket around you isn’t enough. nothing is. your skin still feels sticky, even though you scrubbed it raw.

somewhere in the distance, a cannon goes off. just one. everyone flinches, even if only slightly. you don’t say it, but you know what they’re all thinking. nine left, and you’re still here. nine more people other than the ones in this circle and you have no idea how it’ll play out.

eventually you try to sleep, like really try, but the cold creeps into your bones, making every breath feel sharp. you shift against the rough bark of the tree at your back, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself, its material sticking uncomfortably to your skin.

you five have decided at two at a time to stay up. so somewhere nearby, jj and kie are keeping watch. they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces lit faintly by the dying firelight, speaking in voices too soft for you to catch. now and then you hear the scratch of jj's boot against the dirt or the low clink of metal in kie's hands as she fidgets with something.

your eyes fall closed, and for a few moments, you drift in the uneasy space between waking and sleep. but just when you feel yourself slipping under completely, something changes. it’s subtle, like a shift in the air, but your body feels it before your mind catches up.

the wind.

it brushes over your cheek like a blade, so cold it burns, and instinct snaps you awake with a jolt. you sit up, heart hammering, hands instinctively tightening around the edges of your jacket. for a few seconds, you think it must have been a dream, some leftover thread of anxiety pulling you from sleep. but then you hear it again. it’s a faint, whispering sound threading its way between the trees, too high-pitched to be natural.

you glance toward the others. kie has frozen, crouched low with her hands still tangled in the trap she was working on. jj straightens, muscles tense, his hand drifting to the knife tucked at his belt. across the clearing, rafe stirs where he's leaned against a tree, lifting his head sharply like he heard it too.

nobody speaks. nobody moves.

the forest around you shivers with every gust of wind, the slender birch trunks creaking and swaying in this slow, unsteady rhythm. they’re so hollow it catches the wind in strange ways, creating sounds that don’t quite belong in this world. you can hear wails and soft, deliberate whispers that seem to dart past your ears before you can catch them.

the longer you sit there, the more you feel like the forest isn’t just alive, it’s watching.

you scramble to your feet, your hands stiff from the cold. rafe is suddenly beside you, his fingers brushing your elbow to steady you. his eyes flick quickly over your face before shifting to the trees around you. he says nothing, but the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders tells you enough. he feels it too.

“guys, what the hell is that?” kie murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. her voice even sounds wrong in the hollow space, too human, too solid.

jj doesn’t answer. he’s already moving, silently packing up the few things he had pulled from his bag earlier. a few feet away, topper, who must have woken up at the sound, is sitting up, staring wide-eyed into the trees as if he can see something none of you can.

no one needs to say it. you need to get out of here. there’s something wrong about this forest.

the group starts gathering their things immediately, slinging backpacks over shoulders, stuffing whatever supplies you had out back into whatever pockets you can. the fire is left to smolder and die eventually too.

you stick close to rafe without even thinking about it, matching your steps to his as jj and kie fall into a loose formation ahead of you. topper brings up the rear, checking over his shoulder every few seconds like he expects something to lunge out of the trees and drag him away.

the birch forest feels endless, like you’ve lost your way in a maze or it stretches further than you remember it did earlier, like it changed. either way, it’s making you freak out.

and the deeper you move into the forest, the worse it gets. the wind picks up, slicing across exposed skin in quick, stinging bursts that leave you wincing and turning your head.

at one point you swear you see something in the corner of your eye, like a shadow darting between the trees, but when you turn, there’s nothing. only the birch trees.

beside you, rafe pulls his jacket tighter and leans down slightly, his mouth brushing your ear so he doesn’t have to speak loud enough for the forest to hear. “keep moving, a’right? n’ don’t stop.”

you don’t argue. you don't even look at him. you just keep your eyes ahead, focusing on the faint outlines of jj and kie.

every so often, the group rotates who’s leading. jj passes the front to kie, then topper takes over for a while, but it doesn't really matter. the forest looks the same in every direction, and every step feels heavier than the last.

minutes seem to bleed together until your legs are sore and your throat burns from breathing the cold.

nobody argues when jj suggests camping at the mouth of the cornucopia instead. you guys slip out of the tree line as fast as you can without breaking into a full sprint.

the cornucopia looms in front of you. it’s better than being out in the open or trapped between those trees again. probably should’ve just stayed here first.

everyone collapses down near the entrance without much ceremony, backs against the cold metal walls or slumped over their packs.

you're still catching your breath when topper curses under it, pulling back his jacket sleeve and looking at his forearm. “dude,” he mutters, voice half in disbelief, half in frustration. “i swear to god something scratched me back there.”

he turns his arm toward the firelight after jj and rafe managed to get a small fire going, careful to keep it low and hidden, and sure enough, there's a thin, angry-looking slice across his skin. the sleeve of his jacket is torn too, a clean rip like something sharp and invisible slashed right through the fabric.

kie is on her feet immediately, brushing dirt from her palms as she crosses over to him. “you need to clean that before it gets infected,” she says, already digging through the nearest backpacks, checking each one quickly for any sign of a medkit or even something they could use as a bandage.

watching them stirs something uneasy inside you. you remember that slicing feeling against your skin earlier. fuck. you shift where you sit, running your hands over your arms, your sides, your legs, looking for anything, any sting, any wetness that might mean blood. nothing. not until—

“hey,” rafe says quietly.

you glance up at him just as he steps closer, and his hand lifts before you can react, the tips of his fingers brushing carefully along your cheekbone. his thumb drags lightly across a spot just beneath your eye, and you flinch at the touch. something stings there.

your hand flies up instinctively, covering the spot as you jerk away slightly, heart pounding. you hadn’t even noticed. hadn’t even felt it until now. your fingers come away faintly wet when you touch the scratch, and you blink down at them, stunned. it really got you. the forest really left a mark on you.

“it's not deep,” rafe says as he glances back over his shoulder toward kie. “you find anything?” he calls to her.

kie shakes her head, still rifling through a few more bags. “nothing real. some antiseptic wipes, but that's about it.”

“give ‘em here,” rafe says, already reaching out a hand.

within a minute, he’s back in front of you, crouching low enough that you're eye-level with him. the wipe in his hand stings worse than anything when he presses it gently against the scratch, and you grit your teeth against the burn, refusing to pull away even though every instinct tells you to. rafe works quickly, efficient but careful, his fingers steady where they brace the side of your face.

“you’re good,” he says after a moment, crumpling the wipe and tossing it into the fire to burn away. “just a scratch.”

just a scratch. but somehow it feels like more.

you sit there quietly as the night goes on, the fire burning low between all of you, throwing long shadows against the inside of the cornucopia. no one talks much. the exhaustion is too heavy, and the fear from the forest still lingers. eventually, one by one, people start settling down where they sit, leaning back against the cold metal and pulling their jackets tighter.

rafe stays close, sitting just a few inches from you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. jj and kie continue their watch again, trading quiet words and keeping their eyes pinned to the trees. you try to sleep, but your body refuses to fully relax, your muscles still wired tight, your mind half-expecting to see something move in the darkness just beyond the firelight.

morning can’t come fast enough.

it’s quiet, which should be a good thing, but by now, silence feels more like a warning than a gift. you sit with your knees pulled to your chest, knuckles cold. there hasn’t been much movement since dawn.

you keep glancing around the clearing, your eyes tracking empty air. you know the cameras are out there somewhere, always are, but there are no booms in the sky. no signs of death.

by the time it’s day three you’ve only heard one cannon, maybe two if you count the one that rang out sometime late last night too.

you’d been awake last night, barely, head resting back against your pack, watching the sky twist open as a hovercraft descended near the water. you couldn’t see much, just the mechanical limbs dropping down and pulling a limp body up into the air before disappearing again. maybe it had been one of the tributes. maybe it’d been kie’s trap. either way, someone was gone.

you remember fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, wrapping it tight until it snapped, and trying not to think about it.

but you didn’t get much time to be still. you hear a scream the morning after.

you jolt upright, hand scrambling for the daggers you’d kept close to your hip. your head turns fast, eyes scanning for movement and you find it, just beyond the edge of the cornucopia. a mess of limbs and shouting. kie. she’s out there, fighting off two figures, maybe three, already half on the ground.

she must’ve gone out early, probably to check something or maybe even just pee, and got followed back.

jj’s already on his feet, spear in hand, eyes locked on the chaos just ahead. topper curses behind him, grabbing for his axe, but he’s moving fast, rage written all over his face.

“go!” jj barks.

the three figures ahead split up. one, a girl with a jagged ponytail and wild eyes, stays back with kie, pinning her to the ground and shouting something you can’t make out. the other two, the boys, are charging straight for jj and topper.

you barely have time to think before you and rafe are running too, his mace clenched tight in his fist. you reach them just in time to see kie struggling under a girl’s weight, the other tribute pressing a forearm against her throat.

jj lets out a hoarse yell and lunges first, spear angled low before snapping it upward into the stomach of the boy charging him. the point hits home, but the kid’s momentum sends them both sprawling. they hit the ground hard, wrestling for control, jj keeping the shaft of the spear between them, teeth gritted, muscles locked.

topper meets the second boy mid-sprint.

he swings his axe, catching the edge of the kid’s shoulder with a sickening thud. the boy stumbles, but not enough to stop. he grabs topper by the collar and drives a knee into his side. they break apart only to collide again, fists flying, wood meeting flesh, metal against bone.

you and rafe flank wide, slipping into the chaos.

you duck a blind swing from one of the boys and drive your dagger across the back of his thigh, deep and slicing. he jerks with a yell, and jj takes the opening, twisting his spear up and shoving it straight through the boy’s chest. he lets out a gargled cough before he collapses to the dirt.

“kie!” jj yells, dragging the spear free, almost like he needs to make sure she knows she’s going to be okay. he’s already moving toward topper. topper’s still fighting, but barely.

blood is running down his forehead, but he’s got his axe up, teeth bared as he swings again. this time, it hits clean. the blade bites deep into the side of the boy’s neck. he jerks once, then falls to his knees. topper pushes him off with a final grunt, panting hard.

you’re already turning your head, trying to find kie, the girl. there. she’s still on top of kie, but something’s wrong. she’s not hitting. she’s not stabbing. she’s just holding her.

then you see it. her leg, caught in something like taut metal wire, barely visible in the early morning light, looped tight around her calf. blood drips fast and heavy from the gash, pooling into the soil beneath her. it’s one of kie’s traps. that’s why they’re here?

you’re already moving.

the girl’s too distracted by the pain to realize you’re there. you lunge, dagger drawn, slicing across her back to knock her off balance. she shrieks and twists.

rafe’s there beside you in an instant, swinging his mace with brute force. it crashes into her side, ribs crack with a dull, sickening crunch. she tries to scream, but it chokes out into a wheeze.

you don’t hesitate. you grab the front of her jacket, force her down, and drive your blade into her chest. she jerks just once, then goes still. for a second, all you hear is breathing.

you turn to kie, who’s propped herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, staring at the body beside her.

jj steps forward, spear still slick in his grip. “you good?”

kie nods slowly, then glances down at the wire trap still tight around the girl’s leg. “caught her,” she mutters, voice scratchy.

you nod, swallowing hard. “trap held.”

“trap held,” jj echoes, looking down at the girl like he almost can’t believe it worked.

topper leans on his axe, the high from the fight already wearing off, sweat sliding down his temple. rafe’s still standing beside you, his breathing finally slowing. you don’t realize how close you’re leaning into him until the sound of another cannon rolls through the sky.

third one in less than a few minutes.

you stare at the girl’s bloody leg for another second before finally backing away. and for the first time since you woke, you realize you’re still shaking.

but rafe doesn’t move. he’s staring. you notice the shift in his posture before you notice what he’s looking at, eyes are narrowed slightly downward. you follow his gaze and—

your stomach sinks. blood, but not from the girl you just killed. it’s smeared across kie’s thigh, soaking the side of her pants. she didn’t even notice. or maybe she did and just didn’t want to say anything. but now that you’re looking, you can see how stiff she’s sitting, how carefully she’s trying not to put weight on that leg.

“shit,” you breathe out, already crouching beside her. “kie—”

she flinches when you reach for her, just barely. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not.” you press your hand near the tear in the fabric, fingers already sticky. “jesus, kie, they got you bad. when—?”

kie glances toward the body beside her, then away again. her mouth is set. “before. when she and the guys first jumped me. one of them had a knife.”

“shit. topper, grab anything from their bags. i don’t care what it is, just— something.”

your hands hover uselessly near the blood that won’t stop spreading. it’s soaking through your fingers.

“we need to get her out of the open,” you say, sharper now. your eyes snap up to rafe and jj. “help me—inside. she needs cover.”

jj doesn’t hesitate. neither does rafe. the three of you lift her together. she tries to mumble that she’s fine again, but the sound is thin and breathless. you don’t even look at her.

topper follows, arms full with whatever gear he could grab from the fallen tributes’ bags like loose supplies, scraps of cloth, water, someone’s jacket. it’s not much, but it’ll have to be enough.

inside the cornucopia, you get kie onto one of the tables, and even then she grits her teeth and turns her head away to muffle a sound. her leg hangs slightly off the edge, blood’s dripping down the table now.

you try to breathe. you’ve never had to deal with this before.

your hands shake as you rifle through what topper brought. there’s gauze from someone’s first aid strip, a torn-up shirt, a flask of water, a hunting knife you toss aside quickly.

“what do i do?” you ask, looking at kie frantically. “just tell me, tell me what do i do, okay? i don’t know how to help you.”

kie’s jaw is tight. she looks at you, then down at her leg. her face is pale but her eyes are sharp.

“you’re doing fine,” she says gently, which somehow only makes the tears in your throat sting worse. “start with pressure. above the cut.”

you grab a strip of cloth and do as she says, wrapping it around her thigh and pulling tight. your fingers fumble the knot. blood seeps through almost instantly.

“fuck,” you whisper, pressing harder.

jj’s pacing now, running both hands through his hair, the spear clutched tightly in one of them. his mouth is twisted, his shoulders hunched. he looks like he might explode.

“they could’ve killed her,” he mutters, voice rising. “they could’ve fucking killed her—”

“jj,” rafe warns, stepping in front of him, hand pressed against his chest. topper joins him a second later, pushing lightly on jj’s shoulder. “calm down.”

jj jerks his arm away, breathing hard. but he doesn’t move toward you again. he just stands there, watching, helpless.

then, a yell, somewhere across the field. everyone freezes.

rafe and topper spin toward the open mouth of the cornucopia. rafe grabs his mace. you don’t even look up.

“go,” you say quickly, pressing the cloth harder against kie’s leg. “whatever it is, handle it. we’re fine in here.”

topper hesitates. “are you sure—”

“yes.” you glance up at him finally, your expression unreadable. “you don’t need all of us for one scream. go.”

jj growls something under his breath but doesn’t argue. he’s the first out the door, rafe and topper right behind him.

you’re alone again, just you and kie and the blood that won’t stop leaking through your fingers.

“you’re not gonna die,” you tell her, not sure who you’re trying to convince. you reach for more cloth.

kie tries to laugh, but it catches in her throat and becomes a hiss of pain. “yeah. well. thanks for the pep talk.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp

[goldbloomsworld]

You Know, I Think I Can Understand Why Michi Didn't Care About Mai

P.S: This post is meant to explain bad parenting, not excuse it. And this analysis will be focused on the show, not the comics.

Inspired by @zuko-always-lies and a Twitter thread I made earlier in the month(https://tinyurl.com/5epfmkvp)

The relationship between Mai, Michi(her mother), and Ukano(Mai's father) is not one that is given vast amounts of exploration. In fact, it's only explored in two episodes. But it still provides fascinating insight into the FN upperclass, and how imperialism can warp human relationships, even for the victors.

This is the first piece of dialogue we get when we first meet Mai and Michi:

It may not seem like much, but there's a lot to unpack here:

The conversation starts with Mai voicing her intense displeasure with the move to Omashu. Michi responds by bringing up Ukano's new appointment and their families' rise in status, and she states that Mai should be happy and enjoy the perks of their new position. Mai then responds by saying she has nothing to do and nothing ever happens, which Michi responds to by scowling.

Now, Mai isn't someone who's shy about expressing discontent (we see that throughout the show). But Michi's response (or lack thereof) to her discontent is very telling about their relationship. Firstly, Mai felt comfortable enough with her mother to openly express her dislike of their current situation, which indicates that Michi is probably the more active and approachable parent (Mai was angry about the way Ukano handled the pentapox situation, but all she did was offer him fireflakes).

Secondly, she didn't expect anything more than for her complaints to be dismissed and ignored. When she voices how bleak Omashu is, she doesn't expect a response, nor does she react to Michi's disdainful frown.

On Michi's end, while she's definitely not passionate about her daughters' continued misery, and would like to see her happy, she also doesn't really care. She never once asks about possible solutions to her daughter's boredom or isolation, nor does she ask Mai about what exactly is missing from her current life in Omashu that's causing her misery. She has no response to Mai's second comment, and is content to just side-eye her and move on.

I think we can all agree that this isn't stellar parenting, but if we go back and look at things from Michi's perspective, it makes sense:

I think there's enough in the text to conclude that Michi had fertility issues (Having 2 children 13 years apart doesn't seem like something someone in Michi's position would have done by choice. )

(Plus, if you believe Mai is Izumi's mother, this may be why Izumi is an only child).

So imagine this: you've spent a significant amount of time trying unsuccessfully to produce a male heir because men are the only ones that get high-ranking positions in your nation(remember guys, Azula was the only female in the war meeting and she was the Crown Princess who was specifically invited by the Firelord). While you're going through that, you and your husband have been working to advance his political career in order to protect and elevate your family. Then, finally, after 13 long years, you have a son, and soon after that, your husband is elevated to the position of governor of an entire colony. You've hit the jackpot, and all your efforts and ambitions have finally paid off. Under those circumstances, how perceptive would you be to the needs of the least necessary member of your family?

That scowl is foul, but I understand

In an imperial system, someone's intrinsic value is based on how much of an asset they are to the system. Mai is neither her family's future nor is she it's present. Her greatest task is to marry well, and her biggest prospect was burned and sent on an impossible scavenger hunt. Every time we see Michi care deeply for something, there's a logical reason(she cares about the fate of the city because her husband could potentially lose his governorship if it's mishandled; she cares about her son because he's the future of the family), but Michi doesn't have a logical reason to care about Mai, so she doesn't. And that makes Mai feel like her feelings don't matter, which causes her to repress herself.

Azula, the world's least qualified psychotherapist

I do think Mai cares about her family, and she wants their approval. But she much prefers that the company of the Fire Siblings and Ty Lee to theirs. That's why she was ready to go the moment she had the first opportunity. I'm not a big fan of the way the comics reset the familial relationships, because it didn't feel earned, and it felt like Yang missed the point of the original dynamic.

PS: I don't know why so many Zutara shippers insist on denying Mai's trauma. It doesn't actually make sense from a shipping standpoint because Mai's trauma doesn't somehow make her more suitable for Zuko (you could even argue that it makes her less suitable if you want to take it that far). Honestly, sometimes it feels like character spite drives certain segments of this fandom more than anything else.

[avonne-writes]

Could you give us some insight into how John and Gale’s sex life changes once they have kids and how they navigate that and adjust? Especially with John’s high sex drive/libido. Do they ever have arguments over the lack of sex, etc.? Does it ever make them crabby and short with one another, especially on John’s end? Do they ever take weekend trips or vacations without the kids so that they can have intimate time for themselves to focus on each other? And how does their sex life change from when the kids are babies/toddlers/little kids to when they’re older?

Good question! Things do change, because of all the time, energy and attention children require.

Bucky and Gale have been together for 20 years already when Abby is born, so sex isn’t a big priority in their relationship anymore. It’s not as difficult to give up on it in favour of more sleep, which they desperately need while Abby is a baby. In that initial period, they usually have sex only on the weekends, then 2-3 times a week when she's a bit older.

They have to learn how to be quiet again, and I think that's the most frustrating change to them. But they're really good at having sex even without any words exchanged, they know each other so well. They don’t go all the way as often as they used to, because that takes a long time and it's more difficult to stay quiet than during handjobs and blowjobs. However, they do joke about how the situation is reminiscent of their high school years.

The absolute rock bottom in their sex life is when Matty is born, because then they not only have two children under 5 (one baby), but Abby also brings home all sorts of contagious illnesses from daycare. Then, they only have sex every few weeks. But it gradually improves after that until they're back to 2-3 times a week. I'd say 3 times per week is their average until the kids move out.

They do try to have some time to themselves regularly. It’s a big relief when the kids are old enough to have sleepovers. And every summer, the kids vacation in Milwaukee with Georgia and Neil for a couple of weeks.

They don’t have too many arguments about sex. They're resourceful, so they usually find a way to be intimate if one or both of them are getting frustrated. Sometimes, they have smaller disagreements over what sort of sex they have time and privacy for. Bucky's libido isn’t as high as it used to be, so he’s fine with their 3 times weekly sex. If he's really horny and Gale’s really tired, Bucky just jerks off in bed or in the shower sometimes. This doesn’t bother Gale at all - if Bucky does it in their bed, he likes to curl close to Bucky, stroke his chest and whisper encouragement in his ear.

[reijisteacup]

I'm glad to see a Reiji fan.

Can I request being in a relationship with Reiji Headcanons?

Thank you in advance.

Reiji Sakamaki Alphabet Head canon

Sfw Alphabet Head canon

A – Affection

Reiji shows affection through his attentiveness rather than overt sentiment. He adjusts your scarf before you step outside, refills your tea without asking, and smooths your hair when it’s out of place. To many, this would seem like nothing more than nitpicking—but from Reiji, it’s a quiet confession. He doesn’t give spontaneous hugs or gush over you, but he’ll remember your preferences, your quirks, your routines—down to the smallest detail. These little acts of service and refinement are how he expresses warmth in a world where love is rare, fragile, and often seen as a weakness.

“You are important enough to be perfect.”

B – Bonding

Bonding with Reiji means entering his world of structure, discipline, and intellectual engagement. He invites you to help in the lab not because he needs assistance, but because he values your presence beside him. Conversations with him can stretch deep into the night, covering topics from alchemy to philosophy. He’ll lend you his favorite books and ask your thoughts later, observing your insights with an unreadable expression—though inwardly, he's thrilled you took the time. If you can match him in wit, or even disagree respectfully, he’s quietly delighted. That’s where connection lies for him: in shared intellect and mutual growth.

C – Cuddles

He may act flustered or pretend to scold you if you initiate cuddles—especially in public—but if you press close during the night, he won’t push you away. In fact, you’ll find that Reiji is incredibly grounding to cuddle. He prefers calm, stable positions—like holding you against his chest with your back to him or having your head rest in his lap while he reads. In these moments, he becomes less the strict nobleman and more the silent guardian, arms firm around you like you’re something precious he never expected to have. He won’t say it aloud, but these moments are everything to him.

D – Dates

Reiji's ideal date is like something out of a classical novel. He won’t take you to loud, chaotic places—instead, he plans elegant evenings of refined taste: gallery exhibitions, piano recitals, historical tours of ancient estates, or a candlelit dinner he personally prepares. He ensures every detail is curated to perfection, from the cutlery to your attire. He even offers you his arm in true aristocratic fashion. During the date, he’ll be the perfect gentleman, gently correcting your etiquette while sipping tea, and if you show appreciation for his effort, you might just catch the faintest smirk on his lips.

E – Emotions

Reiji keeps his emotions under tight lock and key. He was raised to prioritize control and logic over sentiment, and anything beyond that makes him uncomfortable. But over time, in the quietest, most vulnerable moments, you may catch glimpses. A tremor in his voice when he thinks you’re hurt. A flash of panic in his eyes when you’re late coming home. He won’t cry, not in front of you—but if he ever did, it would mean you’ve seen the real Reiji: not the heir, not the enforcer, but the man. To be trusted with that raw part of him is a gift he gives to no one lightly.

F – Flirting

Reiji flirts like he’s fencing—sharp, poised, and with precise intent. His compliments are always double-edged, often sounding like critiques unless you listen closely. He loves to provoke a reaction, to make your cheeks warm without ever getting flustered himself. There’s a knowing gleam in his eye whenever you try to fire back with wit, and if you succeed? He’s silently impressed—and hopelessly intrigued.

“You’ve made remarkable progress. I was beginning to wonder if you were capable of refinement at all.”

G – Gifts

Gift-giving is almost a sacred act for Reiji. He never gives things just because—it must be relevant, needed, or symbolic. He notices things you don’t realize you reveal: the kind of pen you favor, the perfume you paused to smell at a shop window, or the way your eyes lit up at a piece of rare porcelain. The gifts he gives are always thoughtful and beautifully presented, often with a few meaningful words. Every gift from Reiji says: I see you. I understand you. I’ve planned for you.

“This is more suitable for someone of your grace.”

H – Honesty

Brutal honesty is both Reiji’s strength and flaw. He doesn’t lie to spare your feelings—he respects you too much for that. If you make a mistake, he’ll correct you. If you’re being irrational, he’ll call it out. And yet, this same honesty makes his praise feel like treasure. When he tells you he’s proud, or that you’ve impressed him, it feels earned. And in rare moments of vulnerability, when he admits to needing you, there’s nothing more sincere in the world.

I – Intimacy

Intimacy with Reiji is not rushed. It is built, brick by brick, through trust and loyalty. For him, allowing someone into his private world is far more intimate than any touch. If he invites you into his study while he works, or lets you see him disheveled after a long night—these are signs he trusts you beyond words. When you reach out to him in return, silently holding his hand while he reads or massaging his temples after stress, you’re strengthening that sacred connection he never thought he’d be allowed to have.

J – Jealousy

Reiji’s jealousy is a quiet, burning thing—simmering beneath the surface like a forge. He won’t shout or sulk, but the air will shift when he feels his position is being threatened. His tone sharpens. His words become colder, clipped. If someone dares flirt with you, he’ll step in with a polite but unmistakably intimidating presence, placing a gloved hand on your lower back as a clear claim. In private, he’ll confront you calmly—but with surgical precision. It’s not just possessiveness; it's pride. If you ease his doubts and reassure him, the fire cools. But never make the mistake of playing games—Reiji is not someone who tolerates being toyed with.

“Tell me… was their company more stimulating than mine?”

K – Kisses

Reiji’s kisses are intentional. He doesn’t kiss mindlessly—each one is delivered like a vow, a reward, or a form of control. He favors your hand, forehead, and occasionally your temple, especially in public. On rare, passionate occasions, he’ll cup your cheek or grasp your chin to kiss you fully, slowly, as if memorizing your taste. These are rare but profound moments when the mask slips and you feel just how deeply he cherishes you—even if his pride won’t let him say the words. He kisses like a man starved for affection but terrified of depending on it.

L – Love Language

Reiji’s love language is acts of service paired with words of affirmation—though the latter takes longer to surface. He’s the type to wake early and ensure everything in your day runs smoothly without telling you he was behind it. Did your favorite blend of tea arrive just when you ran out? Was your outfit perfectly tailored overnight? That’s Reiji. As for affirmations, when he finally says,

“I admire you,” or “You bring structure to my life in ways I never thought possible,” he means it with every fiber of his being.

M – Mornings

Reiji’s mornings begin before the sun rises. He thrives in silence, sipping tea while planning his day with military-like precision. If you’re still sleeping, he adjusts your blanket and watches you for a brief moment—his gaze soft, almost melancholic. If you’re up with him, he’ll engage you in quiet conversation over breakfast, subtly checking that you’re following proper etiquette. But if you surprise him with affection—like resting your head on his shoulder mid-meal—he may freeze, blush faintly, then clear his throat and resume his composure. You make his rigid mornings feel… warmer.

N – Nicknames

Reiji isn't the type for cutesy nicknames. He prefers refined titles like “my dear,” “beloved,” or “precious one”—always tinged with a formal elegance. If you’re particularly close, he may use your full name with a softness that makes it sound sacred. When he’s feeling especially vulnerable, he’ll whisper a personal nickname only you get to hear—something like “mein licht” (my light), said in quiet moments no one else witnesses.

O – Obsessions

Reiji obsesses over order—over making sure everything and everyone is in their rightful place. That includes you. He doesn’t want to control your every move, but he wants to understand them, predict them, keep you safe from the chaos he despises. The idea of you being hurt, corrupted, or drifting away unsettles him more than he will ever admit. He’ll observe your habits, routines, relationships—sometimes too closely. Not out of mistrust, but because your happiness and presence in his life have become the one variable he can’t afford to lose.

P – Protectiveness

Reiji’s protectiveness manifests through control and preparation. He’ll train you in self-defense, arm you with knowledge, and subtly steer you away from danger before you even know it's there. He rarely resorts to physical violence unless someone truly threatens you—then he becomes ice-cold and merciless. His protection is less about brute force and more about ensuring you never find yourself vulnerable.

“I won’t always be beside you. So, you must be prepared, my dear.” He sees protecting you not just as an act of love—but as his duty.

Q – Quirks

Reiji has a habit of pushing his glasses up precisely when making a point—usually right before correcting someone. He alphabetizes everything, from his books to his spices, and has an uncanny ability to notice when something is one millimeter out of place. He also tends to murmur classical composers' names while cleaning or working, and he has a secret stash of fine teas he doesn’t share with anyone… unless it’s you.

R – Romantic Gestures

Romance, for Reiji, is composed of grand subtlety. He’ll write you letters in beautiful calligraphy when he’s away, plan perfectly timed surprises like a candlelit bath after a stressful day, or take you on a midnight stroll under the stars with a lantern he prepared himself. He believes in timeless romance—the kind that leaves a lasting impression without needing words. And when you look at him like he’s the only person in the world, even his cold, calculated heart softens like wax in a flame.

S – Soft Moments

Every now and then, the layers peel back—just a little. Reiji sitting beside you while you sleep, brushing stray strands of hair away with a tenderness no one would believe. Reiji allowing you to fix his tie, watching your fingers with quiet wonder. Reiji leaning into your embrace for just a moment longer than he should. These rare glimpses into his vulnerability are never planned—but they are proof that beneath his rules and rigidity lies a soul that aches to be loved, gently and without fear.

T – Touch

He isn’t naturally touchy, but he’s deeply affected by it. A hand on his arm. Fingers lacing with his as he lectures. A kiss to his knuckles. He might act composed, but his heartbeat surges every time. Over time, he begins to crave it quietly—hovering near you so your hands brush or standing behind your chair with a hand resting lightly on your shoulder. Touch becomes an anchor, a wordless promise, I am here. You are safe.

U – Understanding

Reiji isn’t the easiest man to understand—but once you do, you realize he craves structure because his life was filled with chaos. He demands discipline because it’s how he protects what he loves. If you’re patient, if you see past the walls, you’ll find someone who is deeply self-aware, who wants to be good—but doesn’t quite know how. And if you accept him, flaws and all, you give him something he never knew he needed, the grace of unconditional love.

V – Voice

His voice is low, smooth, and refined—like a cello in a quiet room. He speaks deliberately, choosing each word with care, and never raises his voice unless truly provoked. When he’s being affectionate, his tone becomes softer, deeper, often dropping to a near-whisper when he says your name. And when he’s furious? He doesn’t shout. He slices through the room with words sharper than any blade.

W – Worries

Despite his calm exterior, Reiji worries more than he shows. He fears losing control—not just over situations, but over himself. He worries that one day, you’ll see the parts of him he can’t fix, his envy, his self-doubt, his buried resentment. Most of all, he fears that you’ll leave him behind once you realize how cold and broken he really feels beneath the perfection. But instead of sharing these fears, he channels them into actions—protecting you, preparing you, holding the world at bay so you’ll never have to see him fall apart.

X – (E)Xes

Reiji doesn’t speak of past lovers—if he’s had any, they were never close to his heart. He doesn’t believe in wasting time on shallow connections. If he is with you, it means you are the one he has chosen carefully, with full intent. The idea of you having an ex might irk him internally, but he would never confront you about it unless he suspects they still matter to you. And if they do? He will politely, strategically, and utterly destroy any chance they have of coming back into your life.

Y – Yearning

Reiji doesn’t allow himself to yearn often—but when he does, it’s all-consuming. He’ll stare at the seat you always occupy when you're away. He’ll reread letters you’ve written. He’ll polish your tea cup even though he already did it. He misses you with a longing that burns behind his eyes but never spills from his lips. When you return, he greets you with his usual calm tone—but holds your hand just a second longer, his thumb brushing your skin in silent relief.

Z – Zzz (Sleep Habits)

He’s a light sleeper, restless if he isn’t perfectly aligned in his bed or if the room isn’t in order. But when you’re there, it changes. You bring peace to his otherwise rigid nighttime routine. He’ll hold you close, one arm wrapped around you securely, as if shielding you from his own nightmares. If you fall asleep on his chest, he reads quietly until you drift deeper—then lets his own eyes close, for once feeling like everything is… safe.

[thelostgirl21]

I just wanted to point out that I personally always hesitate to call it "valid criticism", because I feel like most criticism aimed at how fast Radskier fell for each other is deeply rooted in heterocentism and queerphobia.

Geralt and Yennefer met, she healed his bard (while worrying out loud twice about Jaskier being more than "a friend" to Geralt) , he forever tied his destinity to hers, and they had wild "woohoo we survived a mansion floor collapse" sex in like... 24 hours?!

Radskier was a slow burn relationship on the show compared to this!

They met and felt a connection / became intrigued by each other, met again with a chaperone, met again and dropped any pretense with each other in private, Jaskier expressed surprise/wonder that Radovid seemed to feel like he knew him, despite having only met him like twice, while also swooning over his intelligence and insightfulness, and wondering about how there's something different about him (and the interest being called "a crush" by someone else that's very close to him)...

Only then, did they meet again, kiss, and have sex!

Yet, if you search for posts complaining about how fast Geralt and Yennefer became romantically / sexually involved with each other on the show, all you get is cricket noises!

Because the heteros™ are so used to seeing that instant soul/body connections between a man and woman in the narrative of their stories, that they've stopped paying attention or calling it "bad writing"!

A pansexual man and gay man viscerally connecting fast like they were meant to be and falling in love or something?!

*Gasp!* The relationship is moving too fast! It's not real, nor realistic!

Ah, hello?!?! I didn't see anyone complaining about how fast Yennefer took Geralt on the floor of that mansion?!?!

But suddenly, Jaskier taking that prince up the walls of that cabin is a problem?!?!

Get out!

Also, today marks the 19th anniversary of my meeting the love of my life. We're April 29th. By May 4th, we were kissing and declaring our love to each other. By May 6th, I had him in bed!

And I'm a freaking sapioromantic/sexual demisexual pansexual.

Yet, by the 2nd meeting I was deeply crushing on him, and by the 3rd meeting, I was smushing on him like there was no tomorrow!

Sometimes, that sense of deeper visceral emotional/intellectual connection takes your a-spec arse utterly by surprise, and you must answer the call of your heart and body alright?!

It's never happened with anyone else, but it happened with him, and I was smart enough to just roll with it!

19 years later with that wonderfully sensitive sexy nerd, I'm ridiculously glad that I did!

Did "I love you" carry the same depth and meaning back then as it carries today?! Hell no!

Back then, "I love you" meant "I feel this unique sense of instinctive connection and desire for deep intimacy with you that I'm curious to explore and see where it will take us. You make me feel safe and seen and effortlessly appreciated, and I want to be your safe, soft and loving place in the world, too."

Today, "I love you" means "that connection I initially felt is still there, but it has grown stronger, and wiser, and been tested, and I know I can trust it to holdz regardless of what life throws at us, because you've proven - over and over again - that you've got my back, I've got yours, we make an awesome team, keep each other safe, appreciate each other, and understand the beauty and value of what we have. I've seen the best and worst of you, and I've decided that I could love you as you are with all of your flaws and qualities. You're imperfect, but even those imperfections are perfect for me! I'd fight for you and gladly keep you forever if you'll let me!"

Every relationship needs to start somewhere.

And Radskier might be young love, but it's still love.

So, I wish people would stop pretending that they know better, and that queer people don't experience "love at first sight".

We do, and it's nice to see it represented on screen, too.

honestly with all the valid criticism about how rushed the radskier storyline is, I must say it keeps coming back to me that that‘s actually an aspect I love so much about radovid. he‘s been waiting for something all his life not knowing what it was, and when he saw it he just knew. he knew this is what he waited for and he knew exactly what to do. throwing his life away for someone he met three times, fuck it. and he was so hopelessly romantic about it, like yeah, he‘ll definitely find him wherever out there, he who knows nothing but the castle, and everything will be great. he‘s so insane for that and i love him so much.

and as for jaskier, the man who saw someone brooding in the corner of a tavern and immediately decided to adopt him and be adopted by him, well…

[kaurwreck]

Hello! I know a few people have said this already but I think you're a really cool blogger and I love reading your posts on classic lit and bsd (or even better when the two combined).

You have a really cohesive and wonderful way of speaking which drew me to your blog and has me feel more confident in writing more analytical posts myself- Please keep being yourself and enjoy your hobbies and interests.

If anyone starts being awful to you again for things you can't control remember that you don't owe them anything and that you are allowed to block people and look after yourself.

Thank you for being yourself and take care!

Thank you 🥺 It helps to hear, and I've been floored by the affirmation and sweet messages. I'm used to occasionally throwing little kitten hissy fits about the tension I have with fandom to close friends and moving on; this has been a very kind and compassionate change of pace.

Also, there is nothing I want more from my posts than to encourage others to write their own, explore the material, and feel confident in doing so. I started sharing my bsd thoughts outside of DMs because I wanted to see what others thought of the same things. But, mostly, I wanted to add to the wider fandom conversation about bsd's metatext after searching for conversations and finding fewer than I thought made sense for a work this expansive.

This isn't to say everyone has to or should do the same, or that I'm right about the metatext, or that anyone else is wrong. It's just to say that the playground Asagiri, Harukawa, et al. has built for us is so much wider than it seems, and I think so much of the space is underutilized or artificially homogenous.

In other words, I don't care nearly as much about whether you like the sandcastle I'm building, as I care that you know that it's your sandbox too, and neither me nor God nor the other kids on the playground can stop you from doing what you want with that.

[iphigeniacomplex]

breaking my silence on chess the musical to say that i would literally not give a fuck about this show if i thought it was good or fully successful at what it is saying. SORRY! i love how messy she is. i love how since 1984 and continuing to this very day people with entirely different perceptions of and opinions on the musical have attempted in their own ways to "make it good" by creating all these different versions with like notably different plots, characterization, and song order, and i love how fucking bad the vast majority of these are despite it all. i hope people keep trying to fix chess the musical forever and until the end of time. i hope no one ever figures it out. i want every currently living theatre director in existence to make their own version and for all these versions to come out on broadway at the same time, making that year's musical season entirely comprised of various different versions of the cold war chess musical by tim rice and half of abba. i want not only our greatest minds but also our middlest-of-the-road and worst minds to come up with their own conclusions as to why chess does not entirely work in its original form or any subsequent forms like to really think about it and yes i do want someone to dedicate their entire life to perfecting chess by releasing version after version after version until they die peacefully but still, as always, in the grips of obsession. i want marriages to be broken up. i want mental states to be shattered. i dream of this world

[infinitelyweary]

Has anyone endlessly dissected Armand's subtle Marius shade yet

[skopostheorie]

请你谈一谈对环境保护的看法。

Mario had never liked languages or, as they called them back in New York, LOTE. Which was ironic, for sure; the flurry of Japanese nonsense Toads would occasionally hurl at him had been a barrier he had spent far more time than he would openly admit hacking at. In childhood he knew as much English as any youngster who wanted to read action comics before they were translated would. And then, in adulthood, as much as any hungry-Sicilian-in-NYC archetype who wanted to say exactly as much, and not a bit more, as he needed, in order to get work where he did not need to say anything at all. That Peach knew enough English to create some level of mutual understanding, and that she was content to receive little drawings from him instead of letters with words on it, until he could catch up with Japanese, was the only thing that kept him afloat back in those days. As did his reputation that he was happy and a great friend who did not speak all that much.

But as he grew into his age and he started, not relating to children reading action comics, but rather chuckling fondly at them, it so happened that Mario no longer had the privilege of openly denigrating school subjects. Not to these children's faces, anyway.

For he fancied himself a good example to children, if only because Peach frequently said this to him. Whenever Peach provided Mario with insight as to what, if anything, she found remarkable about him, Mario would take it extremely seriously. Good to know what things to dial up, you know.

Therefore, when Mario had been walking with Peach on one of their routine walk-and-chats, and they'd passed a little Toad child muttering and sniffling, Mario had ensured the conversation had gone as follows:

"Aw, hello, little one! Are you hurt?"

"I... I... I have Chinese homework and I don't wanna do iiiiiiiiiiit! Booooohoohoohoohoo!"

"Oh! I see? It's'a hard one?"

A sniffle. "Yeah... But mummy said I ca-ca-can't play video games until I do m-my homework... and I hate languages..."

"Well! I'm'a think languageses are super duper fun! I'm'a help you do your homework, okey dokey? We'll'a be done in'a no time!"

Had Mario been a little smarter about it, a little less eager to prove just what a good example he was, he might have instead offered a far less committal version of things. For instance, "you can do it! Oh yeah! Mario's'a believe in you!". Or a more candid "yes! Languageses are so hard! Ugh!".

But the child had been thrilled, that "Mario! Super Mario! Yippee! wants to help me with my homework! My friends are gonna be so jealous!", and thus Mario had plunged himself into helping this little child write a piece in a language neither of them spoke.

Chinese? Since when did anybody on this side of the universe speak Chinese? Since when did schools decide that children needed to learn Chinese?

He stared at the instructions again, almost holding the paper up to the sun as he, Peach and this little child sat on the grass - as though the Chinese characters were a redacting marker and the meaning would be visible if Mario held it to the light.

请你谈一谈对环境保护的看法。

"Ar'a'ya know what the question's'a say?" Mario asked.

The child sniffled. "No."

"You'r'a not talk about it in class?"

"I play on my DS in Chinese class." The child grabbed her feet and rolled over as she said this.

Mario was clever enough to say "oh! You should try ta-pay attention in class, okey dokey?", and not "I used to play on my calculator in English class too!".

Peach spoke, "well, it looks like it's about the environment!"

Both Mario and the child looked at her. "Oh?"

"Mhm!" She giggled, a little bit. "See, this looks like it says "environmental protection".

She pointed towards the part of the page that said 环境保护, and continued to the little girl, "well, maybe you haven't learned these ones in school yet, but this actually looks a bit similar to how we write it in our own language! I bet that's what it means!"

Mario tried very hard to remember what the characters for "environmental protection" looked like. Look - Mario did not need to write much of anything, and when he did, he could just use the alphabet if he didn't know what the character was. How embarrassing was it if he didn't know this one?

Peach had never, ever even so much as implied she found Mario's foreignness cringeworthy, nor did she ever say anything to the effect of "I wish you were more academic", so Mario nodded instead of saying anything to suggest he knew that.

He looked back at the little girl - she was only half listening, in that way most children do, and recognition somewhat tugged at him.

"Let's'a look at the rest," Mario tapped her on the shoulder lightly. "Ar'a'you know any more of these wordses?"

The child glanced at the paper and pointed to the second character. "That says "you"."

"You... Environmental protececection..." Mario stuttered. "Maybe it's'a, "how'r'a you protect the environment"!".

Chinese lessons and protecting the environment? Just how much of his homeworld was creeping up here, anyway?

"Hm... well..." The child stared into space, turning her head in random, unclear directions, the very epitome of her age, "I don't litter."

"How'r'a ya say "litter" in Chinese?"

"I don't know."

"Well," Mario smiled. "when I'm'a first come here, and I'm'a not know the language, I'm'a always work with what I can say! Even if it's'a short, or not exactly what I'm'a mean. And then you get better and better!"

The child looked at Mario with little to no interest.

"So, ah," Mario continued, "what can you say?"

"Um... I can say, my name is Toadie, and I am, eight years old." She said some syllables and, since "Toadie" was in there, Mario could only assume it was its translation.

"Can you say "I like" something?"

"Hm..." The girl said another three Chinese syllables. "Yes. But I can't write it."

"Maybe it's the same as in our language, too," Peach smiled again. "Can you write "like" in Japanese yet?"

Toadie nodded. "Gimme that."

She wrote something and handed it back to Mario.

我　好き　环境

Then she looked at Mario and Peach with wide, self-important eyes. "It says "I like the environment" in Chinese now."

"Ar'a'ya know any other words?"

"No."

"Then," Mario offered, "you should draw a little picture! That way the teacher's'a know what you'r'a want to say."

At this, Toadie seemed rather thrilled. She hastily yanked the paper back out of Mario's hand and started to attack it with the weapons in her pencil case. It looked like good fun, actually. And then she held up her homework with a radiant smile.

Mario had learned over time that it was ill-advised, when faced with an indecipherable drawing from a child, to ask "what's that?", lest they say, "DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS?". Here, however, he wouldn't have needed to do so. It was - clumsily, but clearly - the three of them, lounging on the grass, with hearts between them all. It certainly explained more than he or Peach or Toadie knew how to say in Chinese - even if, when he thought about it, it did not have anything to do with protecting the environment.

Oh well. She was eight. If he were the teacher, he would have expected about this much and little else.

"So my homework's done now?" Toadie said.

"I'm'a think so!" Mario grinned.

Peach was oddly quiet, and when Mario turned to make sure she had not suddenly vanished (you would be surprised, at the moments Bowser has picked over the years), he found her not in the process of being kidnapped but in the process of laughing silently to herself.

"Oh?"

Peach looked up and said softly, "sorry, sorry! Hahaha. That just reminded me of something."

Another thing I was joking about yesterday is that drawing is easier because you can just draw anything. Like for example. I wanted Mario to do my Chinese essay so I just drew him doing my Chinese essay. It just happened. i don't need to explain why this is happening. With writing Id have to have like, a whole setup. About why he's doing this and how he feels about it and all that shit. That's a lot of work like what if I just want it to happen

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I spoke with my friend about loml and the ‘mr steal your girl then make her cry’ line and we both think mh is totally the guy that would brag about his ‘conquests’ which makes the line both ‘uuu she clocked him’ and also ouchie

he absolutely is that type. That's his whole vibe, as are all men of his profile. The whole point is to prove they can do it and humiliate the person. It happened the first time around when they had their fling and he went around afterwards saying it'd be emasculating to be her boyfriend.

And that's why I don't find it particularly interesting to talk about him beyond reinforcing the cruelty of what he's done (and not just to Taylor, she's just the most well-known because we saw it happen in real time) , and why that cruelty is also important for understanding what Taylor is saying in TTPD about the experience. It was not a grand love affair, it was a seduction scheme for sport by someone who specifically targeted someone who was extremely vulnerable and saw his "in" to try this again.

[moe-broey]

Why did I start like three other projects when I was already working on a big project when I just got hit with the autism exhaustion beam (requires. At least One Full Day just dead in bed, and then some more Taking It Easy time after)

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[sysig]

Someone’s looking out for you ♥ (Patreon)

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (Dilf!Simon, your next door neighbor, reader’s around early 20s, Simon’s around late 30s~early 40s) pt.2

Just retired and move into a new flat, Simon doesn’t expect someone to knock on his door when he’s unpacking his belongings. With slight annoyance, he opens the door and try to dismiss whoever is out there.

His annoyance vanishes quickly when he lays eyes on you, young, gorgeous, gazing up at him with a baggy shirts barely cover the sweat-shorts. The simple apron on the outside looks incredible on you, the fabric of it rises and taut around your chest. Greeting him with a grin and hand him a plate of biscuits. A welcome gift for the new neighbor, you explain to him before leaving with a wave, hips swaying tantalizingly as you saunter back to your flat and close the door behind you.

He becomes closer to you each day, helping you without a word when one day he hears noises from the staircase outside, swings open the door of his flat and discovers you struggling with the heavy groceries bags. When you sheepishly knock on his door again, holding a screwdriver and fidgeting it, telling him you have some issues with assembling the new bookshelf you bought, he already starts his steps and walks into your flat, finish the work in minutes while you circling around cutely and trying to help like a desperate puppy.

To express your thankfulness to him, you invite him to have dinner with you, become a habit of yours when he shoots you a glance with a ‘Not bad.” but devours your home cooked meal like a man starved for days.

Sweet, beautiful girl, a year before graduating from college, expressing your insecurity about your future when he hinted that you can share your worries with him—a person who has much more experience than you— a while ago, he provides some insight and rational advice, swallowing back the words he’s been thought about for months now: Slide the silver ring on your ring finger with his name name engraved on it, makes you his missus and away from all shites the society is boiling everyday. A man alone for years and has low material desires, he has the money to take care of and spoil you without any hesitation.

He’s been fisting his cock whenever he hears your moans coming from the other aide of the wall. Hell, you don’t know how shitty and thin the walls are, the soundproof ability of them is imperceptible when it comes to louder sounds. Simon listens closely to the sounds, closing his eyes, head leans back on the armchair, trying to imagine how you must be right now. Hands in sync of the squelchy sounds of you pumping your fingers in and out of that soaked pussy. His cock’s so huge, even his own palms are just big enough wrapped around the girth, and an obscene growl left his lips as your whimpers and moans turn higher and sultrier, definitely look like a goddess when you’re weeping tears, stuffing your cunny full and craving for the release. But when you finally tumble over the edge, he snaps his eyes open and groans the second his name comes out of your mouth with such honeyed tone, crying his name in need and suppressed desire.

Simon jumps up from the armchair, heavy cock forming an obvious tent when he shoves open his door and knocks on yours impatiently. “Wait-Wait me a second…!” your voice hits his ears with trembles that can’t be left unnoticed.

“ 'S what you want, love? getting bent over by a man older than you and fucked stupid? Is that so, princess?” He squeezes himself through the crack of your door, kicking it close and pinning your upper body on the shoe cabinet beside the door, your legs dangling in the air as he drives the fat tip into your entrance ferociously, tight cunt still spasming from your orgasm and makes him grunts out a curse, “Fucking screaming my name when you touch yourself, hmm? you know you can come to me anytime you need something, like I told you before.”

He gets you cry out in pleasure without any concern of receiving complaints from other neighbors, wrapping your legs back and standing between your wide-spread thighs, leaning his weight on your back while his hips rocks unrelentingly. “No more, no more…Simon!” You clenching down on his shaft so nice and hot, milking him loads after loads, the angry tip of his cock abusing every spots inside you, and your legs are shaking uncontrollably when he finally comes one last time, satiated both your needs for now, and you the last thing you feel before succumbing to slumber is a gentle kiss pressing on your twitching, overstimulated clit as his seeds flood out of your swollen pussy.

The relationship between you and him deepens since that night,and he doesn’t stop you or protest when you wear the low-cut top and cute skirt, semi-transparent thigh high stockings keeps attracting his attention to stare at the bare skin of your thighs between them and the skirt, and wave goodbye at him with an apologetic expression before heading off to a party with your college friends. He knows the importance of these social activities between youngsters, so he didn’t get mad or upset, just kiss your temple, reminded you to stay safe and call him whenever you need, then he’d be there in no time.

You sure will turn heads wherever you go tonight, and though there might be some troublesome wankers trying their luck on you, but he knows you won’t even spare them anything beside a polite nod of rejection. You’re all his, you won’t feel the same bliss and love from those young blokes of your age. No one can make you feel as good as he does, they can’t make you squirt all over the floor when he eats you out at the countertop, no one knows how to lower and disperse all your concerns and thoughts like him, with his tongue lapping your perked buds and that long cock massaging your cervix, coaxing countless orgasms out of you before you fall asleep in his embrace contently.

So when you ring him just about 2 hours later, asking if he can come pick you up at the club, he immediately hops in to his truck, pulls up at the location you texted him. He doubts how your breasts haven’t spilled out your low cut tops, but he’s definitely enjoying the view, your cheeks burning from the alcohol, pawing at his shirt and whining about how you missed him, how boring the party was and you just wanted to go home and bounce on his dick through your tipsy state.

Good that Simon parked his truck at a secluded spot, so you don’t need to wait any longer, let him bend you over the hood and kneel down behind you, tongue shoving deep inside, occasionally pulls out and prodding at your pussy to calm you down from keep pleading him to just fuck you already and rubbing his bulge when he just wants to drive you home first. “Will give you the cock you’ve been thinking all night when we’re home, sweetheart.” He speaks against your slick pussy lips before diving back to lick every drop of your sugary juices again.