#forgetting curve theory

[microlearningplatform]

The Science of Forgetting: Why Trainers Must Rethink Learning Strategies

The Forgetting Curve and Its Relevance for Trainers: How to Ensure Long-Term Knowledge Retention

Introduction

Have you ever attended a training session, felt confident about what you learned, and then struggled to recall most of it just days later? This phenomenon is explained by the Forgetting Curve, a concept introduced by German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus in the late 19th century. His research showed that without reinforcement, people forget nearly 50% of newly learned information within an hour and up to 90% within a week.

For trainers, this presents a major challenge. No matter how well-designed a training program is, its effectiveness is limited if learners quickly forget the material. The good news? With the right strategies, trainers can combat the Forgetting Curve and ensure long-term knowledge retention.

This article explores the science behind the Forgetting Curve, its implications for trainers, and proven strategies to make learning stick.

Understanding the Forgetting Curve

What is the Forgetting Curve?

The Forgetting Curve describes how memory retention declines over time without reinforcement. Ebbinghaus conducted experiments where he memorized nonsense syllables and tested his recall over varying time intervals. His results formed a steep, downward-sloping curve, demonstrating rapid forgetting unless information is reviewed periodically.

Key Insights from the Forgetting Curve

Forgetting Happens Fast – Learners forget up to 70% of information within 24 hours of learning if there’s no reinforcement.

Repetition Strengthens Memory – Regular review interrupts forgetting and moves knowledge into long-term memory.

Meaningful Learning Improves Retention – Information that is relevant, contextual, and engaging is remembered better.

Active Recall is More Effective – Actively retrieving information (e.g., quizzes, teaching others) improves memory more than passive review.

These findings highlight the urgent need for trainers to implement strategies that reinforce learning over time.

Why the Forgetting Curve Matters for Trainers

For corporate trainers, L&D professionals, and educators, understanding the Forgetting Curve is critical. If trainees forget most of what they learn, then training programs are failing to create lasting impact.

Common Training Pitfalls That Lead to Forgetting

One-and-Done Training – Single-session workshops without follow-up lead to rapid information loss.

Overloading Learners – Dumping too much content at once overwhelms learners, making retention difficult.

Lack of Reinforcement – Without periodic reviews, knowledge fades quickly from memory.

Passive Learning Methods – Traditional lectures and static e-learning do not engage learners enough for deep retention.

The Cost of Forgetting in Organizations

Reduced Employee Performance – Employees forget essential skills, leading to mistakes and inefficiency.

Compliance Risks – Forgetting critical compliance regulations can result in legal consequences.

Wasted Training Investments – Organizations spend millions on training programs, but without reinforcement, much of that investment is lost to forgetting.

To overcome these challenges, trainers must design learning experiences that actively combat the Forgetting Curve.

How Trainers Can Overcome the Forgetting Curve

1. Use Spaced Repetition

Spaced repetition involves reviewing information at increasing intervals to strengthen memory. Instead of cramming, learners revisit key concepts multiple times over days, weeks, or months.

How to Implement Spaced Repetition

Microlearning Modules – Deliver bite-sized lessons with follow-up reinforcement.

Automated Learning Reminders – Use AI-powered learning platforms to schedule personalized review sessions.

Reinforcement Emails & Notifications – Send learners periodic reminders or quizzes.

Example: Instead of a one-time compliance training session, provide weekly microlearning refreshers on key policies.

2. Leverage Microlearning

Microlearning platform delivers small, focused lessons that are easier to digest and remember. Studies show that microlearning can increase retention by up to 50% compared to traditional training.

How Microlearning Helps Combat Forgetting

✅ Short & Focused – Learners absorb one concept at a time, improving retention. ✅ Flexible & On-Demand – Employees can access learning when they need it, reinforcing knowledge in real time. ✅ Engaging Formats – Videos, infographics, quizzes, and interactive lessons enhance engagement.

Example: Instead of a 3-hour training session, break it into 10-minute modules with real-world applications.

3. Implement Active Learning Techniques

Passive learning (reading, watching videos) leads to high forgetting rates. Active learning, which requires learners to engage, recall, and apply knowledge, significantly boosts retention.

Active Learning Strategies for Trainers

Quizzes & Retrieval Practice – Asking learners to recall information improves memory retention.

Scenario-Based Learning – Present real-world problems that require critical thinking and decision-making.

Peer Teaching – Encourage employees to teach concepts to others, reinforcing their understanding.

Gamification – Use leaderboards, challenges, and rewards to make learning engaging.

Example: After a training module on data security, give learners a real-world phishing attack scenario to solve.

4. Use AI-Powered Adaptive Learning

Artificial intelligence (AI) can personalize learning paths, ensuring that employees receive reinforcement exactly when they need it. AI analyzes learner performance and automatically adjusts training schedules to prevent forgetting.

How AI Helps Combat Forgetting

🚀 Personalized Reminders – AI identifies knowledge gaps and pushes targeted microlearning content. 🚀 Smart Adaptive Quizzes – AI-driven assessments help learners actively recall weak areas. 🚀 Just-in-Time Learning – Employees can access training at the moment of need for maximum retention.

Example: If an employee struggles with safety protocols, AI sends personalized refresher lessons.

5. Reinforce Learning with Real-World Application

Retention improves when learners apply knowledge in real-world scenarios. Trainers should create opportunities for hands-on practice and real-life implementation.

Ways to Reinforce Learning

On-the-Job Training Assignments – Give employees tasks that require applying new skills.

Role-Playing Exercises – Simulate real situations to deepen understanding.

Follow-Up Discussions & Coaching – Encourage knowledge sharing among peers.

Example: After a leadership training session, assign managers real coaching tasks to apply new skills.

Final Thoughts

The Forgetting Curve poses a significant challenge for trainers, but strategic learning reinforcement can dramatically improve retention. By incorporating spaced repetition, microlearning, active learning, AI-powered tools, and real-world application, trainers can ensure knowledge sticks—leading to more effective training programs and improved workforce performance.

🔹 Key Takeaways for Trainers: ✅ Combat forgetting with spaced learning & microlearning. ✅ Use active learning techniques like quizzes and real-world practice. ✅ Leverage AI-powered learning for personalized reinforcement. ✅ Reinforce learning with on-the-job application.

By shifting from one-time training events to continuous, reinforced learning, trainers can defeat the Forgetting Curve and maximize learning impact.

🚀 Want to improve your training programs? Explore how AI-powered microlearning solutions like MaxLearn can help!

[mggslover]

SWEETER THAN DREAMS — spencer reid

In which Spencer helps you make your wet dream come true.

genre smut (18+) cw established relationship, consensual somnophilia, groping, grinding, male masturbation, kinda perv!spence, tit play, oral (f receiving), p in v wc 3,2k a/n this turned out a lot sweeter and cuter than i expected it to be (still hot though) (hopefully) let me know if you enjoyed it! kinkfest: somnophilia

Spencer wasn’t made for summer weather. He hated how stuffy and thick the air felt. How it seemed to cling onto him, warming his skin like his sweater vests used to do during winter. 

Getting through the day was difficult enough, but the nights? Those were horrendous. 

You had bought him a cooling pillow, knowing how much he struggled in bed. In theory, it should work. They were made of a phase changing material, similar to the ones NASA invented for the temperature fluctuations of astronauts, but it seemed like the one you bought was a total scam. Or maybe he was so hot that he burned right through the fabric. 

He turned his pillow over for the millionth time that night. He kept still as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the peaceful sounds of your sleeping in an attempt to find rest again. 

For a minute, it seemed to work. He even closed his eyes, ready to drift off, but then his eyes shot open when he heard a small noise coming from you.

He tilted his head on the pillow, eyes adjusting to the dark room as your figure slowly materialized. 

“You okay?” He whispered, carefully reaching out to brush a sticky strand of hair from your forehead. 

You responded with another soft whine, followed by a small moan.

Spencer sat up straighter, slightly hovering over your form. “Having a nightmare, baby?”

He leaned in to press a kiss to your face, and that’s when he noticed it: you were burning up. You hadn’t mentioned being bothered by the heat before, probably seeing no use to it after his endless complaints. His stomach churned in guilt. 

“Let’s get these blankets off of you, okay? It’ll help,” he speaks to you, although he doubted you heard him. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb you, he pulls the thick material away. His hand stops mid-motion, swallowing when he reveals your naked upper body. It’s then that he notices your top and pajama pants are thrown in a heap on the floor, probably having taken them off in the middle of the night. 

Enticed by curiosity, he pulls the blanket further down, and indeed, he finds you to be completely naked. The curve of your ass and the length of your legs are bare, covered only in a light layer of sweat. 

For a moment he doesn’t know what to do. He just takes you in, counting every freckle on your skin. It’s not the first time he’s seen you naked, far from it, but he usually sees you naked when having sex. And with sex comes him being too horny to take his time. Sure, he worships you and pays attention to your body. But it’s not like this. Now he has all the time in the world to just look at you. 

Or, well, that was his plan before his cock started stirring in his pants. 

Morning wood isn’t a rare occasion for Spencer. When he’s on his own, he’s a restless sleeper. It’s inevitable that all his moving and turning around leads to the stimulation of rubbing himself against the mattress. Not forgetting to mention the dreams of you. When he’s with you, though, there are other things plaguing him, like the warmth of your body, the sweet scent of your hair. He’s pulled in like a moth to the flame, and it’s only natural that his length stiffens when it’s pressed against the plush curve of your ass.

He’d often wake with your plump lips wrapped around his cock. Tongue swirling around the head before pulling back with a giggle. It was his favorite way to wake up, but he had never returned the favor. You’re so lucky, you know that? I spoil you too much, you had commented after one of your morning sessions. Your tone was playful, but he could tell there was a hidden annoyance. 

It’s not like he didn’t want to return the favor. Jesus, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to wake you by making you come all over his tongue. His cock, even. But his mornings were either a rush to get to Quantico, or he was so fast asleep in your arms that you awoke before him. 

But a situation like this has never occurred. Maybe he could—

Another small sound left your lips. “Spence.”

No. 

You having a nightmare is not the moment.

Still, he could touch himself. Right?

There was not a lot of time to ponder over the decision, his hand already having made its way under his loose pajama pants, gripping his shaft tightly. 

He hissed at the touch, his cock feeling hot and heavy in his fist as he tightened his hold around himself. 

His head fell back onto the pillow, tilting his face to take you in. Your lips parted as you breathed softly (a sound Spencer couldn’t hear because of how hard his heart was beating in his chest), your chest rose and fell in the same gentle manner, and Spencer’s gaze fell to your breasts. He let out a grunt, seeing how your nipples stood perfectly peaked despite the warmth of the room. 

With slow strokes, Spencer moved his hand along his length. All the tension and frustrations of the day melted away under his fingertips as he felt himself sink deeper into the mattress.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he muttered to the silence, swiping his thumb over his slit, coating the digit in precum. 

He grew into a rhythm, intently watching you while pumping his cock. Every time you moaned or let out a small whine, he groaned in response, closing his eyes and imagining your moans were ones out of pleasure. It felt like he was dreaming, a dream so real he could almost reach out and touch it. But the only person who was dreaming was you. 

Whatever fantasies were playing in your head, they led you closer to Spencer. He actually shuddered when the bare skin of your back made contact with the expanse of his chest. You hummed, wiggling your ass against his thighs and nudging further into him. Spencer gasped, fisting his hands to keep himself from pulling you flush against where he needed you most. He softly whined, cock aching in desperation now that he had removed his hand. A mirrored sound came from you, and he noticed the frown on your face and the pout on your lips. 

You always wanted to be held, and your body instantly notices when he doesn’t have his arms wrapped around you. In no universe would he be able to deny your needs, so with a small sigh — one that started as resignation but he breathed out in content — he pulled you in. A sweet hum left your chest as he pressed a kiss to your collarbone. 

Momentarily, he believed that he could forget about his situation. But you kept making those sweet, little sounds and rolling your hips into him.

“Baby,” he cried against your neck. “Can’t resist myself when you do that.”

He nipped at the curve of your neck, palm splayed flat across your stomach as he moved his thumb in soothing circles.

You wiggled in his grasp, legs moving around until you locked them around the covers. It was then that he noticed that your restlessness wasn’t a result of the heat, nor a result of needing his closeness, but a move you made out of pure desire. 

With your thighs wrapped around the sheets, you start grinding your pussy. Moans tumbled from your lips each time you rubbed your swollen clit against the fresh cotton.

Spencer watched, slack-jawed, as you got yourself off right in front of him.

“Mhm, Spence—“

His brain finally caught up, and he let out a deep sound of longing, tightening his hold around you. 

His hand trailed up from your stomach to your breast, firmly squeezing the skin. “My sweet girl, is this what you wanted?”

He watched the way you bucked your hips. A shiny, wet spot has formed on the cloth between your thighs. 

Spencer tested the waters, twisting your nipple with his thumb and pointer finger, enticing you to sweetly moan his name.

“That’s right,” he hummed, attaching his pink lips to your neck. “It’s me. Even in your dreams you know that it’s only me who can make you feel this good.”

Spencer rasps his light stubble against you as his kisses make their way down the slope of your neck. He darts his tongue out at your sensitive spots, applying a wet pressure and heightening your senses by blowing gently on the skin. 

You whined, arching your back into him. It was so easy to turn you around, pin you down on your stomach, and slide his throbbing cock into your warmth. But then he’d make the situation about him again, and today was all about pleasing you.

The bed creaked underneath you as Spencer hovered on top of you, placing a knee on each side of your body. He unlocked your legs that were wrapped tightly around the covers, groaning loudly seeing how your pussy glimmered in your wetness. It had dripped down your inner thighs, creating a reflection in the dark room, guiding Spencer precisely to where you needed him most.

Carefully — so not to wake you — he changed positions, lowering himself on his stomach in between your thighs while placing your legs on top of his shoulders. Your body easily obeyed, feeling light in his arms as he held you by your hips and scooted you forward.

He licked his lips, fighting the urge to attach them to your pussy and not stop until you’ve come on his tongue. Twice.

Instead, he diligently trailed a finger over your folds. He watches you clench around nothing, lifting your hips in search of more. 

“Not yet, angel,” he teased. “Let’s warm you up first.”

His words were ironic due to the fact that it was the heat that had gotten you to this point. 

Spencer traced his lips over your inner thighs, mapping out a road and marking his favorite locations by leaving red and purple bites, until he eventually reached his destination.

“Jesus, baby,” he muttered as he spread your folds open with his pointer fingers, revealing your aching cunt. Your clit stood swollen, begging for attention, and your labia looked just as puffy from your earlier ministrations against the blanket. 

Driven by desire, Spencer stuck his tongue out and firmly lapped your clit. You twisted in the sheets, legs pulling up and a whine leaving your mouth.

“It’s okay,” Spencer cooed, placing a soft kiss on the bud. You moaned at that, a sweet, gentle sound, and he repeated the action until your body relaxed under his touch. Spencer drew lazy circles on your hips as his lips kissed you all over, coating his chin in your wetness as you got more and more excited.

Then, he tried again: tongue flicking out to tease your clit. This time a little whimper falls from your throat, and you keep your legs spread open. Spencer hums in satisfaction, circling the nub once more before closing his lips around it, gently sucking. 

There was no sweeter sound than the moans you made. No sweeter taste than the honey that dripped out of your needy hole. With a groan, Spencer curved his knee on the mattress, the other leg still lying flat as he found himself in the perfect position to get off: his cock rubbing against the sheets every time he pulled himself up to drag his tongue over your folds.

“Spencer,” you murmur, your feet locking over his back.

He looked up at your face with hooded eyes, catching the fluttering of your eyelashes. You were waking up.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he spoke ever so softly, as if he wasn’t ravishing your cunt just a second before.

Little by little, you gained consciousness. You blinked. Once. Then twice. And then your lips curved up in the most lovable smile Spencer had ever seen. 

“Good morning to me,” you breathed out in a pleased tone.

Spencer laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good morning, angel.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you groan playfully, your hands tangling into his brown locks and pulling him in as you lift your hips.

“Not gonna,” he whispered, his mouth finding your pussy again.

A warm sensation spreads through your body, the feeling igniting sparks in the places you’re most sensitive. Spencer was so, so good at this, and with your mind still feeling sleepy, there was nothing to overthink. You could just lie down, accept the pleasure, give yourself over to the feeling, and let go.

Your orgasm doesn’t come in one smooth, long wave but in several shakes of your body, each one pulling you under more. Your toes curl around his back, the back of your head presses into the pillow underneath you, and cries of his name leave your lips as you grab fistfuls of his hair. 

“Oh, that was so nice,” you giggle as you catch your breath.

Spencer returns your smile, sitting up on his knees and carefully taking your shaking legs off of his shoulders. Looking at his frame, you catch the length of his cock that’s proudly standing up. His tip shines an angry red, making you imagine how long he’s waited to take you.

With a firm grip, Spencer bends your knees and presses your legs toward your chest. The curve of your ass is slightly lifted off the mattress, and your pussy is on full display as your boyfriend hovers over you. 

“Not done with you yet,” he announces and takes hold of his cock before rubbing the thick head over your folds.

With your cunt still soaking wet, it didn’t surprise you when he accidentally slipped in.

“Oh, angel,” Spencer whined. He folded you double by pressing his hands harder on your knees, giving him access to smoothly thrust into you. 

In an instant, you had your hands on his face, pulling him in and roughly meeting his lips. Spencer didn’t waste any time, invading your mouth with his tongue, quickly dominating yours. Eagerly you returned the kiss. It was sloppy, not only the kiss, but the whole occurrence. Your whines matched the wet slaps of skin against skin, the rustling of the sheets sounded just as soft as the moans that tumbled from his lips, and the creaking of the bed frame added as a background noise to the melody that you created.

He slightly pulls back, his mouth attaching to your neck before a disappointed groan can leave your lips. 

His hot breath tickles your ear. “What did you dream of?” 

In hazy flashes, the memories in your mind returned, showing pictures of dreams where Spencer’s body was entangled with yours. “You.”

Spencer moaned, muffling his own longing sound by grazing his teeth against your ear. “And what did I do?”

Apparently it was possible to get more turned on than you already were. 

“You… hmpf… you woke me up like this. With your mouth on me.”

His eyes searched for yours, hazel irises turned dark. “Yeah?”

You nod your head into the pillow. “And then you fucked me,” you recalled, letting your nails roam over his back. “Fucked me so deep, Spence.”

“Fuck,” he breathed out, and you could feel his cock twitch inside of you. He swallowed, leaning back and adjusting your legs so that they were wrapped around his torso. Then he leaned back in, his cock sinking into you.

“Like this?”

A sharp cry escaped your throat, feeling Spencer fill you up to the hilt. His hot body pressed against yours, your soft breasts embracing his solid chest. 

“Y-yeah, like that. Fuck, that feels good.”  

His thrusts are minimal. He wants to stay inside of you. Can’t even handle the idea of pulling his hips back before he dives back in. Instead, he grinds himself into you, rubbing that sweet spot inside of your pussy over and over again. 

“I touched myself to you,” he admitted sheepishly, eyes locked onto yours as his curls fell over your face. 

“You just— you looked so beautiful. You look so beautiful,” he corrects. “Couldn’t help myself.”

It was easy to picture: his large hand wrapped around his cock, thumb stroking the head in the way he likes so much. Hips bucking into the air. His teeth biting down on his bottom lip, turned pink and plump, trying to swallow his sounds of pleasure. Next time you’ll pretend to be asleep just so you can catch a glimpse of that.

“Did you know you moaned my name?” He asked in a groan, heart fluttering at the memory. 

“Studies proved that dreams show a subconscious reflection of how you feel about a person.” He pressed his forehead to yours, looking at you in full awe. “Means so much to me, angel. That you think so well of me.”

“You are good, Spence,” you affirm. Tears pricked in your eyes because of the intimacy. “You are so good to me.” 

He nodded, believing you, and then locked his lips with yours. You clenched around him in response, resulting in him pounding into you faster. He reached for your hands, intertwining your fingers, and then placed them above your hand, keeping the both of you grounded as you got lost in the heat of the moment.

At some point you had lost your ability to kiss him back, your lips too busy singing a melody of moans. That didn’t stop Spencer from kissing you, though. He had kissed the side of your mouth, his kisses then trailing to your chin and eventually ghosting over your neck. You felt him everywhere. He had enveloped all your senses, and besides that, your mind was fully consumed by him and the growing heat that flamed deep in your core.

Your nails dug into his skin, creating crescent moon indents as a reminder of tonight. 

“Coming,” you gasped. You arched into his grasp, feeling like you were levitating as your orgasm washed over you. 

Your vision was hazy, but you could make out the way Spencer’s mouth opened, the way his eyebrows scrunched. Your hearing was muffled, but you could understand his cries of your name. Your body felt numb, but you could feel his warm release filling you up. 

Spencer’s legs gave out, and he gently let his head fall onto your chest, covering you up with his messy, sweaty curls. 

You detached your fingers from his, wiggling them around to relax them from his tight grasp. When you got some feeling back in them, you used the back of your hand to gently caress his face. 

“Should’ve returned the favor sooner,” he murmured, placing a kiss to the side of your breast.

You let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. This really made up for it.”

He tilted his head to look up at you, his hair tickling your chest. “Oh, we’re not done yet, angel. Just catching my breath.”

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x fem!bsf!reader tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

imagine spencer reid getting a boner after looking down your shirt at work

it would start with you sitting next to him on the jet during a normal briefing, tablet in hand. his brain would short circuit for a whole minute ( longer if he'd gotten a glimpse at the lacy blue bra you'd had on ) scratch that, of course he noticed and due to his eidetic memory, he would never forget it

you, however, you had gone and done it on purpose. you would lie and say that you just wanted to show him something in a crime scene photo but you had specifically been wearing his favorite color lingerie and a strategically chosen a white button up with the first two buttons undone in the hopes that he would notice

his whole face would probably turn redder than a tomato and he would have to physically tear his eyes away from your cleavage. it wouldn't even cross his mind that you had wanted him to see it, so he would spiral in to guilt for looking. he would label himself a creep and flush red for a whole other reason

the other reason being that he could feel the his slacks tightening in the area of his groin. his body had betrayed him in a monumental way. and what was even worse is that you were still sitting next to him. your thigh touching his ( dare you say innocently )

he'd apologize to you in his head seventeen different ways. each starting with 'im so sorry, its biological' and ending with 'please, don't stop being my friend'. not that he'd ever have the courage to even begin to broach this subject with you and even if he could, he'd couldn't lie to you

yes, his body was having an uncontrollable reaction to you but he couldn't lie to your face and that that was the only reason

he'd start trying to think of anything else, anything but the color of your bra and what it might look like on the floor of his bedroom. or what you might look like sans the white shirt and deep blue bralette—

no! reid, get yourself together. this is your best friend you are thinking about and she definitely doesn't deserve your perverse thoughts. think about schrödinger’s cat, the fibonacci sequence—

he couldn't even look at you right now. would he ever be able to look at you again? he couldn't last more than two minute without thinking about your face, how would he survive never seeing it again once you decided he was a pervert for looking down your shirt?

his slack were beginning to feel uncomfortable and it was still growing. he reached for his water bottle, bringing it to his lip. when did he get to thirsty? oh my god—

string theory, think of the periodic table, anything other than the curve of her—

'spence, are you ok?' you had interrupted his spiral when you placed your hand on his upper thigh, suspiciously close to his raging boner. the mere touch alone made him grow even more in size. it had also made him choke on his water

he coughed violently and you moved your hand to his back as he leaned forward. but the action, while in attempt to help him, only made him cough harder

'i’m—fine—i just… water went down the wrong pipe.'

you smirked and then returned your hand to his thigh. only this time you placed your hand higher, your thumb rubbed the inseam of his pants. and spencer reid never wanted to die and live at the same time

he stood abruptly. your hand fell from his leg and he fumbled his way around you, desperately trying not to touch you as he tried to get to the aisle. in hindsight he probably should have faced away from you while shimming past as you got a full view of his bulge he tried to so hard to hide

'restroom!' he squeaked and gave you no time to protest

he'd stare at himself in the mirror, bead of sweat beginning to form in his hair line, his glasses slightly fogging

this is fine, just gotta wait it out, spence. five to seven minutes. blood redistribution. standard physiological response. this is science, not—

buzzzzz

he froze and slowly but robotically ( praying it wasn't morgan texting him to say he'd seen spence's little huge problem ) after seeing who it was from, he took back his praying

he'd wished it was morgan, or hotch telling him he was fired for borderline sexual harassment. but he would never be so lucky. no, the text was from you. with bated breath he opened the message

lmk if you need any help with your little problem, spencey

wait, what?!

he swore his heart stopped right then and there. not only had you known about . . . but you were offering to help. his first instinct was to hurl the phone, as if it burned him. the second was to drop dead and hope that if there was some kind of afterlife that it would be kind to him. neither sounded very productive to him.

he leaned against the door and mumbled, 'i'm gonna die in this bathroom.'

THE END

[dior-luxury]

𓂃 . 𐑞 "Get On The Bed" Prank On Them ⟡

ꔫ﹒genre﹒⟢ - romance/fluff/comedy. f!reader

⏆﹒⿻ ch . bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

﹙◞◟﹚﹒warnings ﹒Mild Suggestiveness . Romantic Themes . Mild-Language

Bang Chan (방찬)

It had been a cozy, quiet evening. Chan was sprawled out on the couch, laptop open, headphones slightly askew as he worked on a track, mouthing along to the beat. You’d been waiting for the right moment to test your little prank, and now—he looked so focused—it was perfect.

You walked over casually and leaned in just enough for him to notice. When he looked up at you with a smile, you tilted your head and, with a playful lilt, whispered, “Get on the bed.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“…W-what?” he stammered, pulling off his headphones so fast they nearly snapped back into place. “Did you just…?”

You nodded, keeping a straight face.

Chan’s ears flushed instantly. “Uhm—should I—uh—wait, are you serious?” He looked around like the walls were suddenly sentient witnesses to his confusion. “Like...now?”

You could see the gears in his head turning at high speed—wondering if this was a signal, a joke, or something more serious. He even stood up halfway, brushing invisible dust from his shirt, his face a mix of shock, amusement, and bashful hope.

But the moment you cracked a smile, he froze. “Wait a second...are you—are you pranking me?!”

You burst out laughing, and he groaned, hiding his red face behind both hands before collapsing back onto the couch. “You’re evil,” he muttered, a shy grin tugging at his lips. “You can’t say stuff like that so casually—do you want me to lose sleep tonight?”

But for the rest of the night, he kept sneaking glances at you, his smirk lingering—clearly, the prank had left an impression.

Lee Know (리노)

You knew Lee Know was sharp. Hard to fool. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t try.

He was in the kitchen finishing a snack when you leaned on the doorway, arms folded, and casually said, “Get on the bed.”

He turned slowly, a brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“Get on the bed,” you repeated coolly, giving nothing away.

He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did you change the sheets or something?”

You didn’t answer.

Lee Know took a step toward you, licking his lips in thought. “Wait…” he said slowly, eyes scanning your expression like a detective. “You never say stuff like that unless you’re up to something.”

You shrugged.

“Is this one of those TikTok pranks?” he asked, amused. “Are you recording me? Where’s the camera?”

Still, you held your poker face.

That’s when a sly smile curved his lips. “You know, if you want me in bed, all you have to do is ask nicely.” He winked, walking closer. “No need for vague commands.”

You burst out laughing, and he snorted. “Yeah, thought so. You’re a terrible liar.”

Then he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of your shoulders against the wall. “Just know…you’re playing a dangerous game, baby.”

You gulped—and realized you’d started the prank, but he might just finish it.

Changbin (창빈)

You found him in the studio corner of the apartment, scribbling lyrics and mouthing beats. His glasses were sliding down his nose slightly, and he looked deep in the zone. Perfect timing.

“Hey,” you said sweetly, leaning on the wall. “Get on the bed.”

He paused, pen midair. “Huh?”

You nodded. “Now.”

He blinked. “Wait. Why?” He stood slowly, frowning. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk about something? Did I forget something important? Is it—wait, did I mess up a date? Your birthday’s not today, right?!”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Wait—should I bring snacks? Or like…is this about a massage? Did you hurt your back?” He was now spiraling into a full-on theory board of reasons why you might want him on the bed. “Or—is this, like, code for something?”

You finally laughed, clutching your stomach.

He squinted. “No… Don’t tell me this was a prank. Are you serious?”

You nodded through your giggles.

“I WAS READY TO APOLOGIZE FOR STUFF I DIDN’T EVEN DO,” he yelled dramatically, throwing his hands up. But then he grinned, eyes twinkling. “You got me good… Next time, I’m turning the tables.”

Hyunjin (현진)

Hyunjin was mid-selfie when you waltzed in. You caught your reflection in the mirror behind him—him pouting, perfect angles, glowing skin. You loved how into himself he could get, and now you were about to ruin it (in the best way).

“Get on the bed,” you said, standing tall.

He dropped his phone like you’d just cast a spell.

“…Is this a dream?” he asked, placing a hand to his chest dramatically. “Did I just hear my beautiful girlfriend—the love of my life—tell me to get on the bed?”

You nodded solemnly.

“Oh my God,” he gasped, looking toward the ceiling. “Thank you, universe. My time has come.”

Then, without skipping a beat, he threw himself onto the bed in a theatrical flop, arms wide like he was in a telenovela. “I’m ready! Take me!”

You couldn’t contain your laughter. He peeked up, suspicious now. “Wait…are you laughing? Is this a joke?!”

You nodded through the laughter.

He sat up with an over-the-top glare. “You devil,” he hissed, pointing dramatically. “How dare you toy with my heart like that.”

But then he giggled and pulled you into bed with him anyway. “Fine. We’re both staying here now. Prank or not.”

Han (한)

It was a quiet, late afternoon in your shared apartment, rain tapping against the windows like a soft lullaby. You and Han had spent the day lounging in pajamas, binge-watching anime, stealing snacks, and laughing about nothing in particular. He was now sprawled out on the couch, hoodie half over his head, a bag of chips clutched to his chest.

You stood up, stretched, and glanced at him with a mischievous smirk. “Babe,” you called softly, your voice low and suggestive, “come get on the bed.”

Han’s head snapped up so fast you thought he might’ve hurt his neck. His wide eyes blinked at you in disbelief, a chip falling from his mouth mid-chew.

“Huh?? What?” he asked, half-gasping, clearly not trusting his ears.

You bit your lip to hold back your laughter. “You heard me. Bed. Now.”

A moment of silence. Then his brain combusted.

“Oh my god, wait, wait—hold up,” he stammered, practically throwing the chips aside and scrambling to his feet. “You’re serious?! Like serious serious?!"

You didn’t answer. Instead, you turned and sauntered toward the bedroom, giving him just enough reason to follow.

Han trailed behind, his hands in the air like he was surrendering to fate. “Wait, babe, I didn’t shower yet! Should I—? Should I light candles? Do I need to… should I bring water or something?!” His voice cracked in that signature Han-way, half-excited, half-overthinking.

The moment he stepped into the room, you turned to face him, a completely straight face. “Okay,” you said, nodding solemnly. “Now lie down. Face down. We’re doing... tax paperwork.”

The confusion on his face was pure art.

“What? Bro, WHAT?” he exclaimed, hands dramatically slapping his thighs. “I was mentally preparing for the Olympics! You’re telling me we’re doing taxes?!”

You broke into laughter as he dramatically flopped onto the bed like a starfish. “Unbelievable. My heart rate hit 130 for forms and deductions?!”

He pouted for a good five minutes, but later admitted it was a pretty good prank—especially after you kissed his cheek and promised to “make it up to him” with cuddles and a massage.

Felix (필릭스)

The golden hour sun poured into the apartment, casting warm hues across the walls. Felix had just finished baking cookies and the scent of chocolate still lingered in the air. He had that soft, relaxed look on his face—the kind that made your heart flutter.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through your phone when the idea popped into your head. “Lixie,” you called out sweetly.

He peeked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Yeah, baby?”

You locked eyes with him and tilted your head innocently. “Come here… get on the bed.”

For a second, he just stood there, blinking. Then his ears tinged pink, and he smiled—slow and slightly dazed. “You want me to… right now?” he asked, his voice dipping into that soft, deep register.

You nodded slowly. “Right now.”

He carefully placed the towel down and walked toward you, his movements graceful but slightly hesitant. You could see the wheels turning in his mind—Felix, ever the gentleman, was trying to read the room just in case he misinterpreted your tone.

“I mean… we can,” he said, voice low, “if you’re in the mood. You sure you’re okay?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing. He was just so tender about it.

When he finally got to the bed, he sat down beside you, waiting for your lead. And then you handed him… a Rubik’s Cube.

“Time me,” you said seriously. “I bet I can beat your record.”

Felix stared at the cube, then at you, then burst into a soft giggle. “Oh my god, you brat,” he laughed, burying his face into your shoulder. “You tricked me!”

You both ended up lying on the bed anyway—laughing, tangled in blankets, solving the Rubik’s Cube together and sharing stolen kisses between turns.

Seungmin (승민)

Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor, headphones on, editing a vlog for STAY. He had that slightly furrowed, focused look on his face, occasionally muttering to himself as he cut and trimmed footage.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him, then decided it was the perfect time to cause trouble.

“Seungminnie,” you purred. “Come get on the bed.”

He paused his music, pulled one earphone out, and turned slowly. His eyebrow lifted with suspicion. “Why?” he asked dryly, voice laced with his usual sarcasm. “Are you going to steal my hoodie again?”

You gave him your best doe eyes. “Just come here.”

He stood up slowly, stretching, arms raised over his head as he walked toward the bed with caution.

“I swear,” he muttered, “if this is another prank where you bury me in plushies again, I’m going to file a formal complaint.”

You patted the bed beside you. “Just lie down. Trust me.”

He lay down stiffly, his body language reading: I don’t trust you at all. “Now what?”

You sat on his stomach and dramatically opened a folder. “Time for a pop quiz. Seungmin Kim, please list the chronological order of every date we’ve ever been on.”

He stared at you like you had lost your mind.

“No,” he deadpanned.

“Yes.”

“No, I refuse.”

“Yes, and if you get one wrong, you owe me boba.”

Seungmin sighed so hard it could’ve moved furniture. “This is abuse,” he said, but there was a grin forming at the corners of his mouth.

You both ended up laughing so hard you couldn’t even get through the first few questions—and he did buy you boba later, grumbling the whole time about how you “play too much.”

I.N (아이엔)

It was late evening and you and Jeongin had just finished a casual home karaoke session. He was sprawled out on the floor, arms stretched out like a starfish, hair tousled, breath still slightly uneven from belting high notes.

You patted the bed gently. “Hey, Innie,” you said softly. “Get on the bed.”

His head whipped around like a deer caught in headlights.

“Huh?! Why?!” he asked, already blushing.

You kept your expression serious. “Just do it.”

He sat up slowly, his face suspicious but obedient. “Is this a trick? Are you going to throw a pillow at me?”

“No tricks,” you said. “Promise.”

Jeongin climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged, eyes fixed on you like he was waiting for some kind of jump scare.

You leaned in close. “Now lie down. Completely flat. Arms at your sides.”

“Okay…” he obeyed, stiff as a board. “Now what?”

You reached over and placed a slice of cold cucumber on his forehead.

“What the—?!” he sputtered, lifting his head. “What is this?!”

“It’s spa time,” you said calmly. “You’ve been working hard. Relax.”

He let out a high-pitched laugh and covered his face. “I thought you were trying to seduce me and it’s salad ingredients?!”

You both collapsed into giggles, and eventually, he did relax—laying with his head in your lap, cucumber slices now replaced by your fingers brushing through his hair.

[hy6erion]

hii! can i request a enemies viktor x busty!reader with viktor who simply can’t stop thinking about her and her curves despite how much he ‘dislikes’ her? It’s okay if u ignore dw!!

𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 ??? - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮...𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐝𝐤, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐦𝐠 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

Viktor hates you. His rival. His most infuriating, insufferable, arrogant competitor.

The one person in Piltover who dares to challenge him intellectually, who dares to match him, outthink him, beat him in debates, make him second-guess his own ideas.

You're brilliant, cunning, ambitious-and Viktor loathes you for it.

But worse than that? You're fucking gorgeous.

It would be easier if you were plain.

If he didn't have to sit across from you during research symposiums, watching the way your tight blouse strains against your tits, the soft swell of them pushed up so fucking perfectly that it makes his fingers twitch.

If he didn't have to endure your sharp, smug little smirk whenever you outwit him, those plush lips that he wants to bruise with his teeth.

If you didn't cross your arms while arguing, pushing your tits up just enough to make it impossible for him to focus on anything you're saying.

Viktor hates you.

And yet, every fucking night, he's in his room, his cock in his hand, desperately trying to rid himself of the thoughts that consume him.

He tells himself he shouldn't.

That he should be above this-above stroking himself raw to the thought of his most hated rival, above gritting his teeth as he spills onto his own stomach, panting your name like a desperate man.

But the moment he closes his eyes, it's over.

Because he's not imagining some theoretical victory over you, some intellectual triumph.

No, he's picturing you on your knees, tits spilling out of your blouse, your smug little smirk finally wiped away as you look up at him, your lips wet, waiting for his cock.

He's imagining gripping those thick thighs, spreading you open, dragging his tongue over your dripping cunt just to hear you gasp his name.

He's thinking about bending you over his desk, pushing that tight little skirt up around your waist, fucking you so hard you forget every single theory you've ever argued against him.

Of holding you down, making you take it, ruining you with slow, brutal thrusts until your thighs shake and your breathy moans turn into desperate, needy whimpers.

Of stuffing you full, watching his cum drip from your wrecked little hole, knowing that no one else will ever get to have you like this.

It's sick. He's sick.

But it doesn't stop him from groaning your name, his hips jerking as he comes into his own hand, his body shuddering with the force of it.

And then?

Then he curses you, because even after spilling his seed to the thought of you, he still fucking wants more.

He hates seeing other men look at you.

At the academy, he sees the way men stare at you.

How they let their eyes linger too long on your tits, your hips, the softness of your thighs.

And it makes his blood fucking boil.

Because those idiots don't deserve to look at you.

They don't know how badly you need to be put in your place, how easily he could break you, how quickly he could wipe that arrogance from your face with his hands on your body.

He hates them for looking.

But he hates himself more for the way his cock twitches in his trousers every time you throw him a smug little glance, completely oblivious to the depraved fucking things he's thinking about you.

One day, he's going to snap.

One day, he's going to stop holding back.

One day, he's going to pin you against the nearest surface, drag you onto his lap, and fuck you until the only words coming out of your perfect little mouth are pleas for more.

He's going to tear that blouse open, finally touch those perfect, soft tits, squeeze them, bite them, watch them bounce as he fucks into you.

He's going to make you come so many times you forget how to argue, so many times you finally understand that you were never actually his rival—

You were just his.

And when he finally buries himself inside you, when he finally watches you tremble beneath him, wrecked and breathless and begging for more?

Maybe then, he'll finally be satisfied.

Maybe.

But for now?

For now, he'll just grit his teeth, curl his fingers into fists beneath the table, and pray to the gods that you never figure out just how fucking badly he wants to ruin you.

[khuzena]

OPERATION: MAKE HIM SMILE!

𐙚 PAIRING: Anaxagoras/gn!reader

𐙚 SUMMARY: You’ve tried everything to make Anaxa smile genuinely, but he stays guarded—until he notices your disappointment and pushes back. You stay patient, telling him to smile for himself or for you. Slowly, he starts opening up, and after a teasing moment, he finally gives you a real, imperfect smile.

𐙚 C.W: fluff, 2% angst (no im not scamming you), comfort, good ending, hopefully not ooc. EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED ANAXA BUT ITS FINE HE'S CUTE ANYWAYS. Please forgiveme

𐙚 A/N: This is my first fluff and comfort for HSR. Be GRATEFUL (/j) I'M GOING TO DROP ANOTHER ANGST BOMB ON YOU PEOPLE. UGHHH…. I'm trying out my old format jssnkw

They say that geniuses are often fated to tread the line of knowledge alone. That the sharpest minds burn the hottest in solitude, curled in on themselves like dying stars—brilliant, collapsing, quiet.

They say that brilliance demands isolation, that the mind sharpens best when no hand dares to hold it.

You’ve heard the quote—etched in old tomes, stitched into the margins of ancient Grove sermons: “Those who gaze too long at the stars forget how to look people in the eyes.”

Which is the problem for your boyfriend, really.

Because Anaxa, one of the Seven Sages of the Grove of Epiphany, founder of the Nousporists, and self-proclaimed “only truth in a world full of lies,” —smirks whenever he's right. Which is always.

You’ve been dating Anaxa for a year now. Long enough to learn his rhythms, his routines, his silences. Long enough to tell the difference between his lecture voice and his real voice. Long enough to know that when he says, “I’m fine,” he means, “I’m unraveling, but I’m too proud to admit it.”

Long enough to know that his smiles aren’t real. Not really.

He smirks when he’s right—which is often. It’s a habitual, sharp little thing, a half-smile curved like a blade. He wears it like armor. You’ve seen him flash it at philosophers three times his age, slicing through arguments with surgical cruelty. You’ve seen it appear when he explains a theory no one else understands, as if daring the world to catch up.

But you’ve never seen him smile for joy. Not the kind that escapes before he can hide it. Not the kind that softens him, or lights him from within. Not the kind that belongs to a young man who deserves to feel more than cold victory.

You’re not sure he knows how.

There’s a strange stillness to his happiness, when it shows. A quiet awe that never reaches his lips. He looks at the stars like he’s trying to read their secrets, not admire their light. He holds your hand sometimes, but it always feels like a negotiation of comfort, not instinct. He’s careful. Always thinking. Always calculating how much of himself he’s allowed to show before it becomes dangerous.

And still, he’s trying. You know that. You feel it, in the small ways. In the way he always memorizes the temperature of your tea. In the way he adjusts his pace to match yours without comment. In the way he lets you call him Anaxa, even though he told you not to.

“Rule number one,” he said when you met, voice crisp with boredom. “Do not call me Anaxa.”

You broke that rule within the week. He narrowed his eyes at you like you were a glitch in a formula. But he didn’t correct you. Never has.

Tonight, he’s curled over a scroll-strewn desk in the observatory, lamplight pooling gold across his shoulders. His long hair is swept over one side, slightly tangled. He hasn’t noticed. Or doesn’t care. One sleeve of his coat hangs off, the black and teal fabric slipping past his elbow. His eyepatch glints faintly in the low light as he leans into a diagram, muttering to himself.

He’s been like this all week. Distant. Frayed. And you know better than to interrupt him mid-thought—but something aches inside your chest when you see the untouched cup of tea beside him, cold.

You settle beside him, quiet. You don’t touch him yet. You just sit, close enough for him to notice, close enough to listen. The silence stretches, and still he doesn’t look up.

“…You’ve stopped smiling again,” you murmur, finally.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just shifts his ink-stained hand an inch to the right, still scribbling. The red tattoo on his knuckles flexes faintly as he writes. For a moment, you think he’s going to ignore you entirely.

Then, softly—deadpan, “Smiling is an inefficient use of facial muscle control. You should know this.”

There’s no venom in it. But no warmth, either.

You glance at his notes, at the way his handwriting has gotten messier. The way the same phrase has been rewritten three times. Your fingers brush his hand lightly, just at the edge where skin meets glove.

“And yet you smirk every time you’re proven right.”

That earns you something—a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting a sigh. Or maybe the urge to explain you away like a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet. But he says nothing.

And that silence—that quiet refusal to deflect or push you away—feels like a crack in something deeper.

A small crack. But a crack, nonetheless.

The next time it happens, it’s almost midnight. You find him in the observatory again, this time with the windows fully open to the stars. He doesn’t hear you at first—too focused, too still. The kind of stillness you’ve learned to recognize. Not peace. Not quiet concentration. Just the absence of motion, like the pause between one breath and the next.

His journal lies open beside him. Not his academic one—the personal one, the one he writes in when he thinks no one is looking. The one you’ve only glimpsed once, and never asked about again.

You sit beside him without a word.

Above, the cosmos yawns open. Starlight coats the domed ceiling, cold and brilliant. Anaxa leans forward, elbows on the sill, gloved fingers laced beneath his chin. His eyepatch catches the starlight and turns it to gold.

“They’re quiet tonight,” he murmurs. “The dromases used to get restless under constellations like this.”

You glance at him, surprised by the mention. He rarely brings up his childhood—too rooted in a past he doesn’t like to name.

“I used to lie on the roof with my sister,” he says, voice even. “We made up names for the stars. She liked to say they were watching, like scouts for the gods or something. If you were bad, they'd snitch.”

You smile faintly. “And were you bad?”

He scoffs lightly under his breath. “Statistically? Yes. Repeatedly.”

Silence settles between you, but not uncomfortably. He doesn’t seem tense anymore—just... elsewhere. Distant in the way people get when the past drags too close. His gaze stays locked on the sky.

After a while, his tone shifts. Flatter. Like he’s narrating someone else’s life.

“She died before I got the chance to do anything real. I was five. Maybe six. We didn’t have much, but she tried to give me… something”

You stay still. Breathing quiet. Listening.

“I was already halfway to the Grove when it happened. Black Tide reached our town while I was gone. No one made it out.” He says it plainly. Like a report. “I turned back the moment I heard. Ran the whole way. I kept thinking if I made it in time, if I prayed hard enough. Some divine power might fix it.”

His knuckles tighten. Just slightly. But his voice stays even. “They didn’t. Obviously. No divine rescue. No reversal. Nothing. Just ruins.”

You turn to him, quietly shaken—not by what he says, but by the way he says it. Like it’s a list he’s rehearsed too many times. Like a fact file he’s memorized to avoid feeling it too deeply.

He stares out the window again.

“The universe doesn’t care. You smile at it, and it just keeps moving. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t stop. Life goes on.”

He’s not angry. Not even bitter. Just tired. Like someone who’s seen too much of nothing.

You reach over, gently placing your hand over his. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

“…You still deserve to smile,” you whisper. “Not for them. Not for the universe. Just for you.”

He doesn’t answer.

But the next morning, the tea is gone again—and there’s a faint circle drawn around your quote in the margin: “Those who cannot weep with their whole heart, cannot laugh either.”

OPERATION: MAKE YOUR GENIUS SMILE!

You don’t tell him, of course. That would defeat the point. But somewhere between seeing that quote circled in ink and the way he stared at the stars like they’d abandoned him, you made a quiet decision.

You were going to make him smile. A real one. One that didn’t look like a smirk hiding behind logic. Not the dry curve of amusement he wore when correcting a student’s idiocy, or the sarcastic twitch when someone asked a redundant question. No. A smile that cracked the ice behind his eyes. A smile that meant he was here, alive and feeling, just for a second.

You start small.

Phase One: Strategic reinforcement.

You catch him between lectures, his hands full of disassembled drone parts. You wordlessly pass him a cup of sweet, hot tea—loose leaves brewed just the way he forgets he likes it. No one else knows how he takes it. He blinks at you, slightly suspicious. You just raise an eyebrow and walk off.

Later, you find the empty cup stacked beside your own in the wash bin.

Progress.

You slide tiny notes into the pages of his workbooks and lecture plans. Quotes. Dumb ones. Beautiful ones. One-liners with bite. Lines you know he’ll hate for being sentimental, but won’t stop thinking about.

“Stars are the scars of the sky—proof it’s survived worse.”

“If life means anything, maybe it means trying again.”

“You don’t have to be useful to be loved.”

He never mentions them. But once, you notice one taped to the inside of his desk drawer. It’s crooked. Poorly ripped. But taped.

Phase Three: Targeted emotional offensives. (is that even a word?...)

You bring in a Droma plushie one day—not his Droma plushie, because he’d combust on the spot—but a newer, fluffier one in teal with a slightly stupid face. You call it "Research assistant #2" and balance it on his shoulder when he’s reading.

He blinks at you like you’ve lost it.

“Is it sentient?” he asks flatly.

“It’s trying its best.” It’s googly eyes stare back at the both of you.

He says nothing. But he doesn’t throw it off.

Three days later, it’s sitting on his bookshelf. Facing outward. Googly eyes and all that.

Phase Four: Relentless exposure therapy.

You laugh around him more. Not loud or fake—just easy, natural. You invite him to small, cozy things: blanket forts in the library, night walks where the fog rolls in thick, clumsy attempts at baking.

He declines. Every time. (did you really expect him to easily agree?)

But you always leave the door open. You always save him a cookie. And once—just once—you find a slice missing before you ever arrive.

Phase Five: Sentimental ambush.

You catch him dozing off over his papers one night. He doesn’t notice you walk in. You could leave. You should. Instead, you find his old journal peeking from under a pile of notes. Just a corner.

You don’t open it. But you gently take the coat from his chair and drape it over his shoulders. He stirs slightly, but doesn’t wake. Just murmurs something in his sleep that sounds like a name.

You sit across from him and whisper, “You’re not alone anymore.”

The lights hum. The air smells faintly of tea and ink and solder. For a second, everything is still.

Then his brow furrows. And he mutters, groggy and irritable:

“...Is this part of some experiment?”

You bite back a laugh.

“No,” you say. “This one’s for free.”

You don’t stop.

Even when the days drag on with no change, you keep trying. You keep showing up. You keep loving him in the only ways he seems able to accept. Quiet gestures. Thoughtful notes. The kind of gentleness that doesn’t ask for anything back.

He doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t complain. He just takes everything in like it’s data. Observed, measured, absorbed into some internal archive—and then left there. Unspoken.

Still no smile.

Still no shift.

The tea disappears, but you don’t know if it’s gratitude or just habit. The quotes are sometimes underlined, sometimes not. Sometimes they vanish when he rewrites his notes altogether. You tell yourself it’s fine. He’s meticulous. He rewrites everything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But it feels like it does.

You start searching things online.

“How to make your emotionally closed-off partner happy”

“How to tell if someone appreciates you if they never say it”

“Do geniuses have emotions”

“How to date someone emotionally stunted but hot and brilliant”

The results are all the same. Talk to them. Encourage emotional vulnerability. Be patient.

You keep scrolling.

“Love languages of avoidant partners.”

“What if they just don’t feel things the way I do?”

“How to make him smile without forcing it.”

You try again.

“Simple ways to make your boyfriend happy.”

“Daily small acts of kindness.”

“Words of affirmation: examples.”

They all tell you things you’ve already done.

The tea. The notes. The jokes. The long walks. The shoulder touches. The quote about weeping and laughing. The photo of the grinning dromas with the little speech bubble. You’ve even tried singing around him—terribly, on purpose—just to see if it would break through his carefully composed neutrality.

Nothing.

You bookmark five different advice blogs anyway. Close them. Reopen them two days later. They all say the same thing: keep trying. You shorten your search queries.

“How to make him happy”

“Still won’t smile”

“Am I doing something wrong”

Each one leads to the same tired advice. The same bullet points. The same chirpy suggestions written by people who probably haven’t dated anyone like Anaxa. People who don’t know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t flinch when you hold their hand—but doesn’t squeeze back either.

There’s a night where you almost stop.

You’re curled up on your bed, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring at your dim screen. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You type:

“When is it okay to give up—”

You stop.

Delete it.

Shut the lid.

You don’t cry. You just… go still. That same kind of stillness Anaxa has. The kind that isn’t peace. Isn’t calm. Just a long pause where no feelings move, no hope breathes, no words reach you.

But the next morning, you wake up early anyway.

You steep the tea with honey this time. He mentioned once, vaguely, that it helped with his throat. You leave it where you always do. Next to his notes, just far enough not to smudge anything.

You don’t wait around.

You don’t say a word.

You just go.

Because what else is there to do?

You love him.

And you still want to see him smile.

Even if, right now, it’s the only thing he won’t give.

He notices. Not in some dramatic, flashing-neon way, but with the quiet precision of a scholar observing a subtle anomaly. The way your eyes flicker just a fraction too long on nothing. The slight pause before your usual warm greetings. The way your hands tremble slightly when you think no one is watching.

At first, he dismisses it. Maybe you’re tired. Overworked. But as the days pass, the pattern becomes undeniable, and he cannot ignore it.

You don’t realize you’re leaving a trail. You think you’re masking your frustration well, but your careful veneer cracks in small, revealing moments.

He watches, not out of nosiness but out of a habit ingrained over years of studying patterns, systems, and behavior.

It’s different with you, though. There’s no formula. No equation to solve. You’re not an experiment or a puzzle.He’s not used to this—being unsure, feeling uncertain.

And yet, it unsettles him more than he expected.

One evening, you sit by the window, your book forgotten on your lap. Your gaze is distant, your breath a little heavier. You’ve tried to hide it, but not from him.

He steps closer, the silence between you thick, almost fragile.

“Why do you look like you’re carrying something too heavy to hold?” His voice is quiet, edged with something new—a tentative softness.

You startle, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness.

“I’m not carrying anything,” you say, but the lie falls flat.

He doesn’t push, though. He simply lets the moment linger, letting the silence speak in place of words neither of you knows how to say.

Inside, his mind races.

Is it the tea he never drinks anymore? The careful notes he no longer reads? The efforts you make, that seem to dissolve before they reach him?

He understands logic, consequences, and outcomes. But this? This is unknown territory.

A gnawing realization takes root—he can see your exhaustion, but he doesn’t know how to ease it.

And that scares him.

Because for all his brilliance, for all his sharp wit and unshakable confidence, he has no map for navigating feelings like this. No instructions for letting down his walls, or for showing you the vulnerability he keeps locked away.

The night you almost give up, the air between you is thick with unspoken tension. You’ve been pushing, gently, persistently, trying to crack through the walls Anaxa’s built around his emotions. But the effort feels like banging your head against stone. The tiredness in your bones weighs heavier each day, the smiles you want to see from him still stubbornly out of reach.

He’s been quieter than usual, eyes sharper, gaze more distant. And then one evening, the dam breaks—not in fury, but in a sharpness that cuts.

“You’re trying to fix me,” he says, voice low but edged with something sharp enough to sting. “Like I’m some problem to be solved, an equation with a missing variable. I’m not something you can calibrate or correct. You want me to smile, but you don’t want me. You want the idea of me.”

The words hit harder than you expect. You don’t answer immediately. You want to say so much—how you love all of him, not just the smiles, not just the easy moments. But instead, you do the only thing that feels right.

You sit beside him, close enough to feel the quiet rhythm of his breath. “Then don’t smile for the universe,” you say softly, looking him in the eyes. “Smile for yourself. Or me.”

A pause stretches, heavy and fragile. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t push you away either. Just lets the silence settle like dust between you.

You’re sure he won’t move past this—he’s never been one to open doors just because you knock. But something shifts. Just a little.

The next day, you find it on your desk: a heavy research book, its spine cracked, pages thick with his handwriting. Notes margin-to-margin, underlines, arrows looping back on themselves like a complicated map. It’s a study on emotional behavioral patterns—awkward, clinical, but unmistakably a reaching-out.

It’s not a grand gesture. No sweeping words, no sudden softness.

Just a book.

But to you, it means everything.

You catch him in the dim light of his study, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book sprawled open before him—the same one he left you days ago, its pages covered in sharp, almost frantic annotations. He’s reading aloud under his breath, words about emotional patterns and human behavior tumbling from his lips like a reluctant confession. You don’t say anything at first, just watch him. The way his fingers absentmindedly trace the edges of the pages, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth that tugs upward when he hits something he finds quietly amusing or absurd.

It’s not a smile, not really, but the tiniest curve—the hint of a softness that wasn’t there before. He notices you then, his pale aqua eyes lifting with a flicker of something close to surprise, but he quickly masks it with that usual guarded expression.

“Don’t look so pleased,” he snaps, though his voice lacks its usual sharpness. “That wasn’t a smile. Just an involuntary tic. I’m not about to let you fool yourself.” There’s a dry humor beneath the words, and for a moment, the walls he’s built around himself seem to tremble just a little.

You inch closer, heart hammering, daring to reach out and brush a loose strand of his light green hair away from his face. His skin is cool beneath your fingertips, but his eyes hold yours longer than usual, unguarded. “Maybe smiling isn’t your nature,” you whisper, “and that’s okay. I just want you to feel safe enough to try.”

He swallows, lips parting as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, the corner of his mouth lifts again—this time slower, quieter, almost reluctant, as if the very idea of smiling is both foreign and frightening. He glances down at the book again, then back at you, voice low and hesitant. “Don’t mistake it for weakness. It’s... just a twitch. Nothing more.”

You smile softly, willing him to believe you when you say, “It’s closer than before.”

For a moment, the air between you is thick with something unsaid. You don’t need a full smile yet. Just this—a flicker, a crack in the armor—is enough to keep you trying. Because even the smallest curvature of his lips feels like a fragile victory.

You keep your hand lightly resting on his arm, the warmth bridging the quiet between you. “I care,” you say softly, voice steady but full of feeling. “More than I probably should. And if you’re not ready—if you never want to smile like that—then that’s okay. I’ll stay anyway.” You can’t help but grin a little, the kind of goofy, hopeful grin that makes you look a bit foolish, but you don’t care. “Honestly, I probably look stupid right now. Trying so hard to make you smile, like it’s some kind of math problem I can solve.”

Anaxa’s eyes flicker, the faintest shadow of amusement breaking through his usual composed mask. He lets out a low chuckle, that rare sound rolling out like a secret kept too long. It’s not loud or booming, but it’s genuine, and it warms the space between you in a way words never could.

“You do look stupid,” he says with a teasing edge, but his gaze softens. “But... in a good way.” His fingers twitch again, the corner of his mouth betraying the smallest upturn before he looks away, hiding it with a breath.

You feel something bloom inside—a quiet happiness that lingers in your chest like a secret song. This moment isn’t a victory or a full smile, but it’s better. It’s real. It’s him.

You grin, feeling the warmth spread through you after that rare chuckle. “See? You do smile,” you tease, nudging him gently. “But now I want the full thing. Come on, smile for me—just once more.”

Anaxa rolls his eyes, turning away with a sigh like you’re the biggest nuisance. “You really don’t give up, do you?” His voice is low, but there’s no bite in it—only the quiet acknowledgment of your stubbornness.

You laugh softly, stepping closer, “I care. A lot. And if you’re not ready for the big smile, that’s okay. But sometimes, you look so stupid trying not to laugh… and I kind of love it.”

He pauses, the tension in his shoulders easing as his gaze flickers back to you. Then, before you can blink, a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. Not the sharp, knowing smirk you’re used to, but something softer. Something that feels like a crack in his armor just for you.

Your chest tightens in that beautiful, hopeful way. “There it is,” you whisper.

Anaxa shakes his head, still smiling just a little, and mutters, “Don’t get used to it.”

But you know better. This one’s real.

Notes: ARGH HHH FIRST FLUFF FIRST FLUFF I REPEAT FIRST FLUFF FOR HSR. UGH. Was this okay? Do you guys want headcanons + fics? I won't take requests rn but suggestions would do. I just cant think of what to write...

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡ 

[hivemuthur]

Hi!!! Everything you write is so beautiful and so fun to read, and it never fails to make my day <3

I don’t know if you would want to do my request, maybe it’s a little bit too specific… Anyway, since I’m struggling with my PhD (it’s in literature, and I have no clue what I’m doing), I was thinking if Viktor, being an academic weapon and also the sweetest boyfriend ever, would be so kind as to give the reader some advice, or at least some consolation

Hiya! I never got to PhD so I admire you insanely. Here's some hype man Viktor for you to get you back on track!

Persistently Holding Dearest

viktorxgn!reader general - fluff! Viktor supports Reader through the PhD struggle by being a pookie.

word count: 0,6K

author’s note: art by @petitesieste of course!

—

Despair might be a touch overdramatic, but you are inching toward something adjacent. Lodged somewhere between exasperation and resignation, you feel like a complete fraud—staring at words you don’t even remember writing, with no idea what should come next.

The table is strewn with books: annotated margins, half-finished thoughts, too many tabs, too many highlighted lines that used to make sense. Your laptop hums beside a mug of tea long gone cold, a dark ring of residue clinging to the rim. The cursor blinks, maddeningly, on a sentence that refuses to finish itself.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I think I’m going to die before this chapter is done.” A soft shuffle behind you. Then a hand, warm and familiar, lands gently on your shoulder.

“Statistically unlikely,” Viktor says, tone far too calm for your unravelled nerves. He leans down to press a kiss to your temple, the corner of his mouth curving. “Though I suppose we could dramatize it for effect.”

“I’m serious,” you murmur. “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I read one sentence and immediately forget the previous one. What if I’ve lost the thread entirely? I’m losing my mind,” you whine, flattening your face in your palms.

His arms come around you from behind, folding you into the kind of embrace that steadies things without asking them to stop spinning. “Then we find it again.” A chuckle, then—“Both the thread and the mind,” he explains.

You laugh, quiet and bitter. “It’s not that easy.”

“No,” he agrees. “But it’s not impossible either.”

You turn slightly in his arms, meeting his eyes. “How do you do it? All the theory and analysis and structure—and not feel like a fraud every time you put something down?”

Viktor tilts his head, considering. “I do feel like a fraud. Often.” He brushes a knuckle over your cheek. “But then I remember—doubt is not a weakness, it’s proof that you care. That you’re thinking deeply. It’s the arrogant who stop questioning.”

You breathe out, slow. Something in your chest unknots. “You really believe that?”

“I believe in you,” he says, firm now, no softness in that conviction. “And that’s not blind faith. I’ve seen the way you work. How your mind builds connections no one else sees. It’s beautiful.”

Your eyes sting, and you lean into him fully. “I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

“That’s alright,” he murmurs. “Let’s figure it out together.”

He nudges the chair beside you with his cane. “Show me what’s giving you trouble. We’ll wrestle the sentence into submission. Like real academics.”

You huff a laugh and reach for your laptop. He settles beside you, eyes bright, posture relaxed, like he has all the time in the world just to help you find your words.

It gets better, then worse again. Then better for a while as you find your rhythm, empty cups mounting around the both of you. Then, inevitably, worse again as exhaustion sets in, and you slump against the chair, groaning.

“PhD,” you scoff. “More like perpetually heading downwards.”

Viktor hums, nudging your foot with his. “Perhaps, holding determination?”

You snort. “Perishing horribly, daily.”

A soft chuckle escapes him as he leans forward, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder, breath fanning your cheek. “How about,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, “persistently holding dearest?”

“Persistently holding dearest, preventing perishing horribly, daily?” you offer, downright sold on his option.

Viktor hums a soft laugh and mutters somewhere into the space between your ear and mouth, “I can accept such a compromise.”

[mr-yuugo]

Sight

[Thorfinn X F!Reader]

Words: 938

Summary: Thorfinn finds out the reader is indeed a girl. While doing so he ends up witnessing a pleasant sight.

You didn't know how and why you ended up this way. Well, you did, though you believed it was Thorfinn's fault as he was the one that started it.

Currently, you were above him, his eyes focused on you. His chest rose and fell quickly, any slight movement of yours made him exhale sharply. His eyes do not dare to look down any further.

The water droplets that fell from your hair landed on him, He didn't mind the action and began to look away as seeing you this way began to be too much for him. Forcefully, you put your hands on his face making him face you.

"Why are you looking away now, Thorfinn? I swear, your eyes were all over me earlier. Is it because I caught you that you are embarrassed? You thought I would let it slide huh?"

He didn't say anything to your comment. Oh, how he wanted to push you away, but he simply couldn't, not that he really wanted to anyways.

He remembered how you had walked away earlier to who knows where. He had become bored as he was guarding the ships alone as the others left for a village nearby. He had made a split decision to go look for you, getting up from his seat he began to look for you.

He remembered how you wanted to go have a bath when you could, earlier when scouting the area, you two had found a stream. Going over to where the stream was, he assumed you would be there. As he got closer, he began to hesitate, he had his theories.

In all honesty, you looked like a girl. What if his thoughts were correct and you were? He told himself he wouldn't care; he didn't feel any attraction towards you. Well, that's what he would like to tell himself.

You were....different? There were certain times when he believed you were a girl. At times you acted like one, not to forget that one time you screamed at some random bug. Pushing those thoughts aside he made it, the only thing covering his vision were a few trees and bushes.

Peaking his head through a bush his eyes wandered throughout the area as his eyes finally landed on you. His eyes widened; his palms sweaty as his thoughts had become reality.

There you were your body wet from the water as you slicked your hair back away from your face. Thorfinn thought his eyes would have popped out of his sockets if he hadn't looked away. His face flushed as he looked away. Slowly his eyes trailed back to your body, he saw every curve and scar that littered your body.

His breathing became irregular as his mind wandered. He thought of how soft you would be, would you be mad if you found him staring?

He saw how any slight movement made your breasts move. He looked away, only to look at you again. He just couldn't tear his eyes off of you, he knew you were beautiful even before now. His newfound discovery only encouraged his heart to fall for you.

His mind was so far gone; he hadn't realized you had finished your bath. You began to dry yourself, looking up you realized someone was staring at you.

Thorfinn snapping out of it quickly ducked out of your vision lane. Cursing at himself for being such an idiot. He wondered if you had seen him.

"Who is there? I'll beat the shit out of you if you don't show yourself." You threatened

Covering yourself with the thin towel, you prepared yourself for any upcoming attack. Noticing slight movement from the bush in front of you. You quietly made your way towards it.

Thorfinn on the other hand began to choke on his spit as he began to sweat in nervousness. "Shit," He thought

Quickly he began to crawl away, making a note to not make too much noise. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten far when he felt a foot press down on his back.

"Ha! Didn't expect to find you, Thorfinn."

You had managed to turn him on his back, straddling him so he wouldn't move. He tried to push you off, but you grabbed his hands and put them above him. Your still-wet hair dripped water onto him.

You noticed how he began to look away, making him face you, you spoke.

"Why are you looking away now, Thorfinn? I swear, your eyes were all over me earlier. Is it because I caught you that you are embarrassed? You thought I would let it slide huh?"

"....."

"Fine don't speak." Moving into a slightly more comfortable position, you noticed how his blush spread. "Hm? Does the sick pervert like this?" Moving again he groaned

"Get off me you bitch." He growled

"Really? You aren't even making an effort to move me off of you anymore. Admit it, you're enjoying this."

"Tsk, I told you to get off of me." Using his strength, he pushed you onto your back. As a result, he was now on top.

Realizing your current position, he closed his eyes as he let the moment sink in. His face showed how flustered he was. His body had moved on its own, grabbing your chin roughly he had smashed your lips with his.

His heart sped up as he felt you kiss him back, groaning into your mouth he began to whine as he couldn't get enough of you. As you opened your mouth, he pushed his tongue in. Savoring every inch of you he soon pulled away as he ran out of breath.

[noneorother]

As a film person, this is the most f*cked up thing that happened in all of Good Omens

Forget about the final 15. If there's anything that should convince you that there's something really wack going on in season 2 of Good Omens it should be this cut. I literally gasped when I saw it for the first time. It's SO BAD from a technical perspective. Because you've probably been watching TV and movies your whole life, you might instinctively feel there's something weird happening with this cut, but not be able to put your finger on what it is.

I am here to tell you: they sacrificed continuity of action to *change the main character of the shot in the middle of the scene*. I won't do a full theory course on filmmaking here, but basically, when you want a fluid-feeling sequence of shots, especially when there's quite a lot of movement on screen, you have to conserve the direction and intention of that action to feel like it's all one take, and time is moving forward like we're used to in real life. Here, Crowley, Maggie and Nina all leave the Bookshop together, with Crowley and Maggie flanking Nina, who is centred in the shot. They are moving towards the camera as the camera is walking backwards, but at a slight curve camera-left. Crowley even turns his head and swings his arm left, making us feel like the camera will keep Nina center, and pan left or even cut wider to see more of the left of the street to watch them cross.

Well SURPRISE, idiots!

Forget everything you learned in film school because we're cutting immediately to a second medium length shot of the 3 characters from a slightly more camera-right perspective for no reason whatsoever, in the *opposite* direction of where the action is going, WHILE THAT ACTOR IS SPEAKING A LINE. This is so counterintuitive to the blocking of the scene that Maggie literally gets shoved out of frame while we're supposed to be reading her reaction to Crowley's dialogue. I can't stress enough how weird it is on a fundamental level. When a camera is moving and a character is talking, conserving continuity of action is THE ONE thing you don't sacrifice. It pulls people out of the moment, and makes it extra obvious that multiple takes have been stitched together. Which leads me to think that this is intentional, and sets up what I hinted to at the beginning of this whole "The More You Know" moment : Nina is the main character of the scene we're watching, until, suddenly, Crowley is. If you separated those two moments before and after the cut and watch them as two different scenes, you can see the camera following Nina and keeping her center before, but directly following Crowley and keeping him center *after* the cut. We've switched narrators in this moment. And to top it all off, they're making it pretty obvious that, while Nina is listening and reacting to both Crowley and Maggie, Crowley does not give a rat's ass about the two humans (not either not really in frame, or cut off behind him).

[microlearningplatform]

The Forgetting Curve in Action: Why Traditional Training Fails and How to Fix It

The Forgetting Curve and Its Relevance for Trainers: How to Maximize Knowledge Retention

Introduction

One of the biggest challenges trainers and learning professionals face is ensuring that employees retain and apply what they learn. The Forgetting Curve, a concept introduced by German psychologist Hermann Ebbinghaus, highlights a harsh reality: people forget nearly 50% of newly learned information within an hour and up to 90% within a week if the learning is not reinforced.

This article explores the impact of the Forgetting Curve on corporate training and presents science-backed strategies to help trainers design programs that enhance retention and performance.

Understanding the Forgetting Curve

The Forgetting Curve visually represents the decline of memory retention over time. The steep drop in recall occurs because the brain prioritizes information it deems useful and discards the rest.

Why Does the Forgetting Curve Happen?

🔹 Lack of reinforcement – Without reviewing or applying knowledge, learners forget it quickly. 🔹 Information overload – Employees often receive too much content in a short time, making it difficult to retain. 🔹 Passive learning methods – Traditional lecture-based training lacks engagement, leading to lower retention. 🔹 No real-world application – If employees don’t apply what they learn, the brain doesn’t encode it as important.

The Impact of the Forgetting Curve on Training Programs

For trainers and L&D teams, the Forgetting Curve has serious implications:

🚨 Wasted Training Investment – Organizations spend millions on training programs, but if learners forget most of the content, ROI plummets. 🚨 Decreased Employee Performance – When employees can’t retain critical information, errors increase, and productivity suffers. 🚨 Compliance & Safety Risks – Forgetting key policies and procedures can lead to regulatory violations and safety hazards.

So, How Can Trainers Combat the Forgetting Curve?

To ensure long-term knowledge retention, trainers need to rethink how they deliver learning. The key lies in reinforcement, engagement, and personalization.

5 Proven Strategies to Overcome the Forgetting Curve

1. Implement Microlearning for Continuous Reinforcement

Microlearning—delivering short, focused learning modules—perfectly aligns with how the brain retains information. Instead of overwhelming employees with long training sessions, microlearning delivers content in small, digestible chunks over time.

✅ Why it works: Spaced, bite-sized learning strengthens memory recall and helps employees retain knowledge better. ✅ How to implement:

Use AI-powered microlearning platforms like MaxLearn to break down training into 2-5 minute lessons.

Deliver content in multiple formats, such as short videos, interactive quizzes, and infographics.

Ensure learners revisit key concepts at spaced intervals to reinforce knowledge.

2. Use Spaced Repetition to Strengthen Retention

Spaced repetition is a scientifically proven technique that involves reviewing learning material at increasing intervals over time. This resets the Forgetting Curve, reinforcing memory before it declines.

✅ Why it works: Helps the brain move information from short-term to long-term memory. ✅ How to implement:

Schedule follow-up quizzes at 1 day, 7 days, and 30 days after the initial training.

Use AI-driven adaptive learning to personalize review schedules based on individual performance.

Send automated knowledge reinforcement nudges via mobile apps or email.

3. Make Learning Interactive & Engaging

Active learning significantly improves retention compared to passive learning. Gamification, interactive content, and real-world scenarios keep learners engaged and improve recall.

✅ Why it works: Active participation improves focus, motivation, and knowledge application. ✅ How to implement:

Use gamified learning platforms with quizzes, badges, and leaderboards.

Create scenario-based simulations where employees practice real-world situations.

Encourage peer learning and collaboration through discussion forums or group challenges.

4. Leverage AI-Powered Adaptive Learning

AI-driven learning platforms can analyze learner behavior and deliver personalized reinforcement based on knowledge gaps.

✅ Why it works: AI ensures learners receive targeted support exactly when they need it. ✅ How to implement:

Use an AI-powered LMS like MaxLearn to track learner progress and adjust content dynamically.

Deliver automated quizzes that adapt in difficulty based on the learner’s performance.

Provide AI-driven content recommendations to strengthen weak areas.

5. Integrate Learning into the Flow of Work

Employees learn best when training is embedded into their daily workflow rather than being a separate event.

✅ Why it works: Learning in context ensures immediate application, reinforcing memory. ✅ How to implement:

Provide on-demand microlearning resources accessible via mobile devices.

Integrate learning reminders into collaboration tools like Slack or Microsoft Teams.

Offer real-time performance support tools, such as chatbots and digital job aids.

Case Study: Beating the Forgetting Curve with MaxLearn

Companies using MaxLearn’s AI-powered microlearning platform have reported higher knowledge retention and training effectiveness. By leveraging spaced repetition, adaptive learning, and gamification, organizations have:

✔ Increased retention rates by up to 80% ✔ Reduced training time by 50% while improving results ✔ Boosted employee engagement and performance

Conclusion: Training That Sticks

The Forgetting Curve presents a significant challenge for trainers, but with the right strategies, it can be overcome. By implementing microlearning, spaced repetition, AI-driven personalization, and in-the-flow learning, trainers can ensure that knowledge sticks—leading to better performance, higher ROI, and long-term success.

Ready to Defeat the Forgetting Curve?

Explore MaxLearn’s AI-powered microlearning platform and transform your training today! 🚀

[luveline]

i love the kbd universe so so much! could you please do one where sweet little bethie (☹️) has been getting a hard time from other kids at school/nursery for being ‘weird’/‘different’ and how steve and reader would handle it?? sorry if that’s too specific my lovely! hope you’re having a good day!! 🫶

thank you!! kbd au —steve employs your help when your daughter needs a pep talk. 1.5k

“Why’s my girl so sad?” 

“I’m not sad.” 

Steve raises his brows at Beth. She looks especially like you when she’s down. It’s sort of sad, thinking about it, how her lips turn like yours would, how she won’t meet his gaze or hold his hand when he tries to intertwine their fingers. 

“Aw, honey, don’t tell me tall tales,” he says, no actual scolding in his tone. He sees the shimmer of tears aligned on her bottom lashes and can’t abide her fibs anymore, scooping her off of the couch and into his arms. “Bethieeeee,” he whines, “tell me what’s wrong! You know I hate not knowing everything about you.” 

“Dad,” she says, letting her head loll in the curve of his neck, “nothing is wrong.” 

Liar, he thinks. From the kitchen he can hear you and Dove and baby Wren singing. Avery potters around in the downstairs bathroom, humming. Steve knows Beth is sad, because Beth is quiet, but she still has as much energy as the rest of her sisters when she’s home. She isn’t introverted when she’s with him, or her mother, and especially not the best big sister in the world. 

“Okay,” he says. He should poke and prod. Instead, he lifts her up as high as he can, which, not to brag, is quite high. “Hi up there. How’s the weather?” 

She jabs him in the chest with her foot. “It’s windy.” 

Steve laughs like an idiot and brings her down for some adoring kisses. “Super windy. Babe, you get funnier and funnier everyday.”

She wraps her arms behind his head. “Thank you.” 

“Ooh, you’re welcome. Should we go and sing some songs with mommy?” 

Beth shakes her head. “No.” 

“No?” 

“No.” She sounds like a baby. 

Steve sits down with an arm behind her back. He’d quite like a bit of peace and quiet. He doesn’t mind if she needs some too. “Then let’s stay right here, bub, jus’ me and you.” 

Dustin once said that Steve was about as much use as a paper cup in a hurricane when it came to comforting people, but that was nearly a decade ago, and it was before he met you. You rushed into Steve’s life (by accident on both sides) and showed him how it felt to be properly looked after for the first time ever. He can’t forget how that felt. Robin loves him but she couldn’t love him like that, couldn’t kiss a bruise and fix it whole, couldn’t ease a migraine with her fingers in his hair. You touch Steve’s arm and he can lift a ten tonner. 

He’s more equipped than ever to comfort someone now. He had a good teacher. 

“You have a long day today, huh?” he asks. 

“Not much.” 

He smiles. “Not much long?” he asks. 

“Dad,” she grumbles. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do… so you didn’t find it too long?” 

“I guess.” Beth touches under his chin. “You have sharpies.” 

“My stubble? Should I shave tonight?” 

“Yes,” she says emphatically. “Don’t like scratchy kisses.” 

“Oh, so you wanted more kisses?” he asks. “Would that help you feel better? How about we meet in the middle and get mom to kiss you? She’s not so sharp.” 

She sighs, her nose shoved into his collar. “Dad, can you rub my back?” 

Steve rubs her back immediately. She makes no other request, lips firmly shut and secret upset sealed away, feeling at his stubble with gentle fingers. She loves foreign sensations like this. It’s why she likes having her back rubbed, Steve theories; the pressure of his hand on her spine is dragging, and grounding. 

He shifts against the grain of a cushion behind his back. 

“I want to tell you,” Bethie says finally. 

“I always want to listen,” he promises. 

She doesn’t sound teary, more uncomfortable as she finally forces it out, “Nobody at school likes me.” 

“Babe, that’s not true at all.” 

“It is true. They all think I’m weird.” 

“I bet they don’t, babe.” 

“Dad, they all say it.” 

Steve bites his cheek as his mouth snaps shut. “Well,” he says quietly, cupping the side of her face, encouraging her head back to meet her eyes. They’re big in her little face, pupils like pearls, “that’s not very nice.” 

“It’s true.” 

“Not true.” 

“It is true,” she says angrily. 

“It’s not true, Beth, you’re not weird, and if you are weird then I’m weird, and that’s not a bad thing after all. Is it?” 

Internally, it breaks his heart. Beth has been different than the other kids for a long time and in lots of ways. She’s picky, peculiar. She eats things in her own fashion, and has interests outside of her peers. Steve didn’t know she was ‘abnormal’ until people started telling him —she’s his second baby. He didn’t think they were all the same, and so didn’t question her differences, and still doesn’t care to beyond wondering what he can do to make her happy. Who cares if Beth eats two bites of sandwich for every celery stick? 

The other kids. Some parents. 

“I don’t want to be weird,” she says, hanging her head. 

You arrive like a well-timed miracle, shimmying past the half open door with a smile. “Hi, guys. I want you to come and do karaoke, what do you think? I’m making everybody mocktails! We’re having pineapple juice and–” You lean back, hand on your hip, a slip of your stomach peaking out of your tank top, total picture of a cool mom as you cross your naked arms over your stomach. “Oh, no. What’s wrong?” you ask teasingly. 

Steve squeezes Beth to his neck. “Hey, none of your business!” 

“No, tell me,” you say, crossing the room to sit beside them on the couch. 

“You wanna tell her?” Steve asks. 

Beth shakes her head. “Didn’t want to tell you, dad.” 

“You did, lovely,” he says, all sympathy as you cuddle up to Steve’s side and wrap an arm around them both. “You said you wanted to tell me. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell us again, though. Mommy just wants to make you feel better, right?” 

“Right,” you say. When you smile at her, it’s with all the love in the world. 

She’s quicker to cry in her mother’s lap. She wiggles closer to your shoulder, her voice fraught as she confesses, “Everybody at school says I’m weird,” and erupts into breathless sobbing, like she’s terrified of the idea. 

Your eyes wrinkle as you close them tight, frowning into the top of her head. “Oh, my poor girl. My baby. Please don’t cry, because that’s not true. You’re not weird.” 

“Everybody says I am!” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, pushing Steve away accidentally as you wrap her into a proper hug. “Who says that?” 

“Mom, it’s everyone. Even my friends.” 

Kids can be so mean, when they aren’t trying and when they are. You mumble sweet placatives, fingers running up and down the length of Beth’s shuddering back. She cries like she’s hurting. Steve’s reminded of the time she fell down the stairs and hit her face on the baby gate, she was shocked but more urgently in pain, and she couldn’t work out why she’d fallen. 

“That’s not nice, Beth,” you’re saying, “I’m so sorry they’re saying mean things about you, but you’re not weird, I don’t know why they’d say something like that. They’re just not as nice as my girl.” 

“I’m different,“ she says. 

“That’s not a bad thing, Beth. You’re perfect. I wouldn’t want you any other way, and neither would your dad.”

Steve jumps in. “Right! We like you like this, babe. I don’t want you to change, I don’t care what all the meanies at school say, me and mom think you’re awesome. Avery and Dove and Wren all think you’re the best sister and best friend ever. Avery’s your best friend. Has she ever called you weird?” 

The baby talk is sinking in. If you used your bubbly voices on Avery it might not work anymore, but Beth is just about young enough for it to take. “No… You really think I’m not weird?” Beth asks sadly. 

No kid wants to think they’re weird, even if they are, and even if that’s okay. 

You sink down into your seat, taking Beth with you. Steve has to fight to cuddle you both. “I know you’re not,” you say. 

For a good five minutes, you just hug her. Steve ends up laying his cheek against your temple, hand on Beth’s back so she knows he’s there. When the baby starts babbling loudly for you to come back, Steve takes the short straw and leaves you both for cuddling. 

“What’s up, dad?” Avery asks, standing on a chair by the baby’s high chair, feeding her youngest sister cut up strawberries on a spoon. Dove eats her own strawberries with sliced bananas and peanut butter, the evidence of the latter staining her blue t-shirt.

Steve pats the top of Avery’s head. “Nothing much, baby. I’ve come to make you your mocktail.” 

“Oh, yes! With sugar? Bethie loves the sugar.” 

She doesn’t know how glad he is that she’s Beth’s big sister. “With the sugar.” 

[bbywhitefox123]

summary: rafe can’t resist catherine on the drive to his sister's baby shower—their stolen touches and secret kisses heat up the car until he can barely hold back.

warnings: public sex, dirty talk, getting caught, p in v.

Rafe was gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him.

Behind them, Mason and Bradley were bickering over the iPad—again—and Maisie was standing on Mason’s thighs, one hand tangled in his hair for balance, the other waving around a half-eaten cracker.

“You’re crushing my legs, Maisie!” Mason shouted.

“Well maybe don’t let her stand on you, genius,” Bradley snapped.

“Both of you,” Catherine said without even turning around, voice calm, clipped, “will lose screen time for the entire week if I hear one more word about ‘Ninja Go’ or whatever it is you’re screaming about.”

They both went dead silent

Maisie yawned.

Rafe glanced over at Catherine, and holy fuck, she was unreal. Soft dress hugging her curves. Little yellow cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her hair behind her shoulder, neck on full display, lips shiny from the gloss she put on in the driveway.

She looked like spring. Like a picnic. Like something to ruin.

He reached over, hand sliding along her thigh just under the hem of her dress. Just a little.

Just to touch.

She shot him a warning look.

“You are not starting something in the car.”

“I’m just appreciating my wife,” he said, innocent as sin. His fingers crept higher, barely grazing the edge of her panties. “Sue me.”

“You want me to kill you before Sarah’s baby shower?” she asked sweetly.

“She’ll understand,” he muttered, palm now flat over the heat between her legs. “We’re just getting in the baby mood.”

She swatted his hand away with a blush blooming on her cheeks.

“I’m not showing up to a baby shower dripping, Rafe.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She turned her head slowly to look at him, lips parted, eyes heavy. “You’re not slick. I saw you staring when I bent over to zip Maisie’s little shoes.”

“You weren’t wearing underwear.”

“I never wear underwear around the house.”

“Which is why I’m always hard around you.”

“Daddy, what’s a slime skin?” Mason shouted from the back.

Catherine laughed, hand coming down over her mouth.

Rafe groaned and banged his head lightly against the steering wheel.

“I hate this car,” he muttered. “And I hate Ninja Go.”

“Ninjago,” Bradley corrected.

“Whatever.”

Catherine leaned over, kissed his cheek with her glossy mouth. Whispered: “Keep that thought in your head until tonight. I’ll make you forget all about cartoon ninjas.”

He gripped the wheel tighter. “God, I fucking love my wife.”

The Range Rover hadn’t even stopped before Bradley threw a juice box at Mason’s head.

“OW! Dad—!”

“He started it!” Bradley shrieked.

“Did not!”

“You literally bit my arm!”

“I was testing a theory!”

Maisie let out a delighted scream, clapping from her booster seat.

Rafe exhaled through his nose like a man on the brink of divine judgment.

“Get. Out. Of. The car.” Catherine said, each word clipped with motherly wrath.

And just like that, they spilled out onto Sarah and Topper’s driveway—bickering, stomping, muttering under their breath like little old men who hated each other but also couldn’t survive without sharing a bunk bed.

Sarah met them at the porch, round and glowing, her bump hugged by a green satin dress. Topper followed with a cooler in one hand and a wide grin like they weren’t about to let feral children into their backyard.

“Catherine!” Sarah squealed. “God, you look hot, I’m gonna punch you.”

Catherine laughed and hugged her. “Shut up, you’re the one glowing.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, helping Maisie out of the car seat and resting her on his hip. She buried her face in his neck, already bored with the adult world.

They made their way inside, the house smelling like candles and cupcakes and too many women in floral dresses. Catherine chatted with Kie and a few of Sarah’s coworkers. Rafe kept one eye on the boys, who were already arguing about who got the last cookie off the snack table.

“Don’t you dare eat that,” Bradley growled at Mason.

“I touched it first!”

“You breathed on it, that’s not the same thing!”

Rafe sipped from his beer and whispered under his breath, “Should’ve pulled out.”

Catherine shot him a look.

“Love you,” he added with a smirk.

—

A while later, Sarah was calling for a group picture. “Topper! Rafe! Cathy ! Come take a photo with me—I want a memory of when we were all still hot and only I was pregnant!”

Catherine blinked. “Wait—shit. I left my phone in the car.”

She turned, already stepping off the deck and onto the driveway in her sandals, breeze catching the hem of her sundress. Her hips swayed like they knew what they were doing.

What she didn’t know?

Rafe was already trailing behind her, beer bottle still in hand, mouth twitching at the thought of cornering her in the car.

She was at the passenger side when she opened the door, leaning in slightly to grab her phone from the seat.

He took a second—just one—to admire her ass from behind, how the light fabric of her dress clung to the swell of her thighs. No shorts underneath. Just a lacy thing, soft skin and trouble.

He shut the car door quietly behind him.

Catherine froze, straightening up.

“Jesus, Rafe—you scared me.”

“You forgot your phone.”

“I know, that’s why I—” she turned, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Why did you follow me?”

He was already stepping in close.

“You are just too hot,” he said, voice low, his hand sliding to the small of her back. “Wearing that little dress, bending over like that.”

“I was just grabbing my phone,” she whispered, but her lips were already parting.

He leaned down, mouth brushing hers. “You think you’re slick. Teasing me in front of all our friends.”

“I wasn’t teasing.”

He pressed closer, pinning her lightly against the Range Rover. “Then explain why my cock’s been hard since mile three of that car ride.”

She shivered, glancing back toward the house, voices floating through the breeze. “We can’t. Sarah’s waiting for the picture. Everyone’s gonna notice.”

“They’re all distracted. And you owe me for the car ride.”

Her breath hitched.

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked. “Yeah. So come make me forget I’m a dad for ten minutes.”

She kissed him hard, and for a second, nothing else mattered—not the kids, not the party, not the photo.

Just them.

And the car they never quite manage to keep clean.

Rafe pressed Catherine firmly against the car door, his lips crashing onto hers with that rough hunger only he had. Her breath hitched, fingers tangling in the thick hair at his neck as he deepened the kiss, like he was trying to swallow her whole.

Then, without breaking contact, he swept her up effortlessly and settled her onto the hood of the Range Rover, her legs parting beneath him.

His eyes dropped, dark and calculating, to the delicate lace barely covering her slick heat. The yellow sundress had ridden up just enough to reveal the intricate pattern of her panties — sheer, teasing, impossibly fragile-looking.

A slow, wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, fingertips tracing the lace, memorizing every thread.

Catherine shivered, pulse pounding in her throat.

Rafe’s hands gripped her thighs, spreading her wider as he leaned down, lips ghosting over her.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re dripping before we even get back inside.”

She bit her lip, eyes locked on his.

Rafe pushed Catherine back against the windshield, his hands gripping her hips firmly as he leaned in close. His breath was hot against her skin, fingers tracing the curves of her body through the thin fabric of the sundress. He nipped gently at her neck, moving lower, his mouth exploring the smooth skin just above the lace of her panties.

His hands slipped beneath the dress, sliding the delicate fabric over her hips and thighs. Catherine’s breath hitched, but she pressed her lips together, biting back the moans threatening to escape. Rafe’s fingers found her slick heat, teasing her through the lace, his touch both firm and maddeningly gentle.

“Shh,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and rough. “Gotta keep quiet… don’t want the kids or anyone else hearing how good daddy makes mommy feel.”

Her hands tangled in his hair as he kissed a trail between her breasts, his fingers parting her folds slowly, expertly. She trembled beneath him, desperate for more but forced to hold back.

“You’re so wet for me,” Rafe whispered, sliding a finger inside her, curling it slowly. “I want to make you come right here on my hood… but you’re gonna wait.”

Catherine gasped softly, the sensation overwhelming, but she nodded, willing herself to hold still. Rafe’s mouth found her clit next, his tongue flicking and swirling, building a delicious tension that had her arching into him despite the need to stay silent.

“Such a good wife,” he praised, fingers moving inside her, slow and teasing. “You’re gonna beg for it soon, aren’t you? But not yet.”

Her breath hitched again, muffled against his neck, every nerve on fire. Rafe’s hands gripped her hips tighter, grounding her as he kept pushing her right to the edge — edging her on the hood, right there in the open.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous.

“I want you,” Catherine whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Rafe smirked against her skin, finger still teasing inside her. He didn’t stop moving, even as his breath hitched with need. Slowly, he unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself. His cock sprang free, hard and heavy, already aching for her slick heat.

He pressed himself against Catherine, the heat of him pressing into her through the thin fabric of her dress and lace panties. “You’re mine right here,” he growled low, voice thick with desire, “gonna fuck you so good everyone will know what we’re doing.”

Catherine swallowed the moan rising in her throat, but the need was too much—her hips bucked into him, desperate for friction.

“Shhh,” Rafe warned, hand cupping her jaw, thumb brushing her lips. “We gotta be quiet. Kids are just inside.”

Her teeth found his shoulder in a sharp bite, muffling the sound she couldn’t hold back. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her closer, lips crashing onto hers in a frantic kiss.

Without hesitation, he pushed inside her, slow at first, savoring the tight heat that wrapped around him like a glove. She clenched around him, gasping into the kiss, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe breathed against her lips, hips beginning a steady, deep rhythm. “You’re gonna be soaked for me all day, baby.”

Catherine trembled, the pleasure building fast, her hands gripping his arms as he fucked her with controlled intensity, desperate to keep quiet but failing every time his hips slammed against hers.

She bit his shoulder again, harder this time, and he groaned, head falling back as he spilled inside her with a shuddering growl.

But even after he came, Rafe didn’t stop—his thrusts slowed but didn’t cease, milking every last bit of tightness, praising her with every dirty word whispered against her skin. “Such a good girl… mine… always mine.”

“Where did you get lost gu—ah!”

Sarah stood on the porch, eyes wide as she caught the scene. Catherine and Rafe scrambled instantly—Catherine pushing him away, cheeks burning hot, while Rafe yanked her panties back up, not even caring that she was still dripping with his cum.

He cursed under his breath. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. He hated that he had a sister who’d show up at the worst possible moment.

Sarah cleared her throat, pretending she hadn’t just caught a live porn production. “Uh… everything okay out here?”

“Just peachy,” Rafe said, voice a little too casual as he squeezed his wife's ass.

Catherine nodded, trying to pull her dress down properly, cheeks flushed with heat and humiliation.

“Great,” Sarah said quickly, stepping back inside. “I'll just forget seeing baby number five in production”

[ryuusei-niu]

I want to talk about Leo and spanish, because I see a lot of "bilingual Leo" that doesn't make much sense.

Soooo, let me start with this: Leo was not born in a country that speaks Spanish. And only his family talked Spanish. Therefore he would know what the language is like.

But let's not forget that he lives in a place where people speak English.

Well, let me explain this theory based on my life:

I'm argentinian but my mother is Brasilian. Since I was little, Portuguese was spoken in my house. Portuguese was my first language because we were moving to Brazil and I spoke fluent Portuguese until I was 6 years old. But then we stayed at Argentina. So, I had a lot of problems because I did understand Spanish, but I had a lot of mispronunciation and I mixed words between Spanish and Portugues. Over time I had to adapt to speaking Spanish full time, almost completely forgetting Portuguese. Nowadays I'm almost 19 and I haven't spoken Portuguese for years, but there are a lot of words that I thought my whole life were Spanish and weren't.

Based on Leo's story, he might be similar to me in this stuff.

Having said this, let me tell you situations that happen to me with Portuguese that I think would happen to Leo with Spanish:

He forgot how to form complete sentences in Spanish. And even when he tries to relearn Spanish, it is difficult for him and he can't speak or write things in Spanish.

He almost completely understands if someone speaks Spanish to him, though. Maybe he would miss some words but he understands a lot reading or hearing.

He has Spanish words that he always thought were English.

"And then we went to the ferretería and... Why are you looking at me like that... I said something in Spanish again, didn't I?" "Yeah, you did."

Piper and Jason got used to it and know the words he always gets confused.

And there are other words that he refuses to say in English, probably the most common ones, just because he likes how it sound at Spanish.

So whenever he needs to talk about it, he asks Jason or Piper to do it for him.

"I want the... Jason, fresa" "Strawberry flavor, please" "Thank u so much, man"

There are a lot of words that sound funny in English because they resemble words in Spanish

"I'm embarrassed." "You're embarazaste?" "...Yes?" "Wow, Frank, what are you going to name the baby?" "I hate you very much."

Mispronunciations everywhere. But it's something that happens some days. But when it happens it is horribly noticeable.

I mean, he does speak English very well. But sometimes...

SOME LETTERS ARE REALLY DIFFICULT TO HIM SOMETIMES.

People bullied him when he started school because he mispronounced some letters. Like R.

(I think he would have the opposite problem than me, since I was pronouncing the r very soft or as a j without meaning to because in some Portuguese words it sounds like that. So I guess he would have a very strong R.)

Sometimes he would get angry with his mother for instilling Spanish in him so much and that's why the kids make fun of him for talk like that.

Now he miss that his mother speak in Spanish to him.

"DIOS MÍO.", "POR DIOS, JASON", "CHIN", "CARAJO", "JESÚS, MARÍA Y TODOS LOS SANTOS".

Sometimes he says a lot of things in Spanish and makes it seem like he knows how to say them but in reality he used the translator.

"is that a Spanish dictionary...?" "*Kick it under the bed* No, of course not, why would I have one? I know Spanish, muy bueno. Mucho."

"It's very plane." "What? It is not a plane, Leo." "Yeah it is? Like, It is not curved, it has no disturbances. Plane surface." "FLAT, LEO." "NO WAY IT IS THAT. THEN WHAT DOES PLANE MEAN?!#@+$-1(?!"

Now he understands why people looked weirdly at him when he said plane.

He also forget words in Spanish and remember them in English. When this happens he stares at the space and feels his whole soul had lost its essence.

'espanish'

As Spanish speaker, it's very difficult to say 'isn't'. #Team It is not.

"Taired. Terid. Teerid. Tarid. Tæ—" "Tired." "That thing."

"you know, the— the thing. El coso. The coso of the cosito of the cosa—" "You forgot in Spanish too, right?" "Shut up."

SONGS. MEXICAN SONGS THAT HIS MOTHER LISTENED BECAUSE HIS GRANDFATHER LISTENED BECAUSE THEM MAKE HIM REMEMBER HIS HOME.

He doesn't know most of this song, he never listen to this song like, wanting to. They were on the radio, or a CD that his mother was playing while working. But he has those songs on his soul and he recognizes most of them. He even knows how to sing them even if he didn't read the lyrics.

(I'm not Mexican, so please I want Mexican people to make a playlist of which songs he would know. Please I need to know)

He sometimes hears Nico speaking in Italian and for a moment he is there processing because he thought it was Spanish.

(also, this whole thing could apply to Nico and Italian).

[hannie-berrie]

TXT as love languages

havent mentioned it yet on here but I’m a MOA 🫶 Here’s what I think TXT would be as love languages and why.

Soobin acts of service

this man would go out of his way to make sure you‘re always healthy and doing well. There isn’t such a thing as services, to him it’s natural.

He’d run you a bath when he knows you have stomach cramps, he’d run to a near by pharmacy when you need medication.

He’d worry and check up on you all the time. If you play a game like soccer and get hit with the ball, he’ll check up on your right away.

“baby you okay?” As he cleans up a very small wound you got from falling off your bike. “Here o it some ice on your ankle, be careful next time”

He never lectures you when you do somewhat dangerous things that could get you injured, but his heart is always a few beats away from jumping out of his chest.

Yeonjun words of affirmation

This man would SHOWER you in compliments, you could argue he’s also a bit gifted, he’d spend all of his pay checks on you.

He just wants you to know how precious you are to him, how perfect you look, how cute you are in his sweaters.

He’d be the first to give you encouraging words when you’re feeling down. He also loves discussions random ideas, theories and deeper conversations with you. He loves the way your brain works and wants to know all of it.

His lips would curve into a smile “I can’t belive it..” he says biting his lip like he’s bottling up so much joy he’s about to jump everywhere “belive what?” “That I got a girlfriend like you”

Beomgyu quality time

He would take you out everywhere. He can’t leave home without you, if he could he would push you in his pocket and never let you out.

He’s also very romantic, so the dates he takes you on, are never ordinary. He makes them special.

“love, there’s something I want to show you” Beomgyu whispers as he uncovers your eyes.

Before you is the beautiful view over the city, you’re on top of a hill at the border and you can see the city lights shine from every corner.

“Beomgyu.. that’s beautiful!”

Taehyun physical touch

I don’t care what others say. This man CRAVES your touch. Some people see him as cold, I belive he’s very warm.

He’d constantly have a hand on your thigh when driving, an arm around your shoulder or resting on your hip when sitting by your side. And arms crossed when you walk together.

He doesn’t speak with words often, but his body tells a lot. He feels his heart ache a little everytime you push his hugs away or forget his morning kiss before work.

“Babe…” Taehyun’s eyes are big and round, almost like he was shocked and hurt from betrayal

“What?” You say, grabbing your coat in a rush. Taehyun doesn’t move.

“Oh” you giggle “I almost forgot” you give him a peck on the lips and his expression softens

Huening Kai gifts

Huening in love would probably lead to dept. Your room is filled with a bunch of look-up figures and silly couple matching gadgets.

Huening will find any occasion to gift you. And when there isn’t a reason, he’ll make one.

“Today’s our 536th day of being together, so I got you something!” “Do you count how many days we’ve dated???” You ask

“No I just made that up” you both laugh and practically fall on one another

“Here’s your gift!”

[morverenmaybewrites]

Masterlist of My Works

Morveren | AO3

This is a personal blog, but I do take the occasional ask/requests. SFW asks only, please.

Genshin Impact

Stories:

✸ Someday, Somewhere (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

You meet Adeptus Xiao under strange new skies.

✸ Speak (Xiao x Reader) (AO3)

Learning to love him is like learning a different language.

✸ Silk Flowers (Xiao x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

It was the silk flowers.

In summer time, they are practically given away: to seamstresses, to scribes, or perhaps, woven into the hair of a well-known customer. The token of a bargain well-struck.

Xiao claims not to be bothered by them, that adepti are above petty mortal concerns like jealousy.

Perhaps he is right, and you are reading too much into it.

But perhaps, as you are slowly learning, adepti are closer to humans than they’d like to admit.

You decide to test this theory.

"Xiao, if you hate the flowers so much," you say, smiling. "Why not take them off?"

✸ A Crown of Bone (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr | AO3)

Imagine being a changeling child and living your life in quiet yearning.

You had been found in the dead of winter, or so your mother tells you, a half-fey child abandoned in a snowbank.

Imagine a lifetime of secrets: your first memories are of a spring that does not belong to the mortal realm. You dream of golden eyes gleaming at you from the darkness as your mother picked you up and carried you away.

Imagine keeping these things to yourself, tucked away against the curve of your ribs, right next to your slow-beating heart. Secrets that are half-yearning and half-memory: someone had left you there in that snowbank, and there are days that you think that they did not do so willingly.

And you hope that one day, they will find you again

Headcanons:

✶Imagine Zhongli as Your Reincarnated Lover (Zhongli x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Being Kaeya's Childhood Friend (Kaeya Alberich x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Diluc x Fatui Reader (Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine sliding your fingers underneath Dilucs glove (Diluc Ragnvindr x Reader) (Tumblr)

Batman: Arkham and DC

Stories:

✸ The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

✸ His Father's Son (Jason Todd x Reader, Dark Fantasy!AU) (AO3)

Gotham City: the world’s last and greatest bastion of magic. A city made out of spells and twisting steel.

And the only place where the dead can be brought back to life.

After Jason Todd had been forcibly resurrected by his father, he left Gotham City in search of a new life. One where he did not have to be constantly reminded that he now sits on the border between the monstrous and the miraculous. One where he could forget that no longer quite belongs in the world of the living.

But when a strange new curse surfaces, one that causes plants to take root inside of living people and leaving flowering corpses in its wake, Jason finds that he must come back and help solve the case before it devours the city whole.

✸ Rules of Vanishing (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

Here are the rules to survive as a civilian in Gotham City:

The first rule is to keep your head down. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't make eye contact. Walk briskly and with purpose. Don't wear anything flashy that can be stolen and most certainly do not walk down that dark alley.

The second rule is don't be a hero. Avoid confrontations. Walk the other way when you see a standoff. Don't try to help that man getting beat up in the alley, because odds are you'll get killed right along with him. Gotham City has Batman for a reason.

The third and most important rule is this: Don't get involved with superheroes.

Or in your case, gun-toting vigilantes.

✸ Next to Last (Jason Todd x Reader) (AO3)

After Batman’s death, Jason is left to pick up the pieces.

✸ Revenant (Creature!Jason x Reader) (Tumblr)

✸ The Precious Details of You (Yandere!Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr) (AO3)

You ask him the same question, the way you always do.

“When are you going to let me go?”

And Jason replies, the way he always has: “Soon.”

✸ Imagine Early Mornings with Bruce Wayne (Bruce Wayne x Reader) (Tumblr)

Headcanons:

✶ Imagine Dark Fantasy!Gotham City (Tumblr)

✶How would Jason react to having his face traced (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Domestic Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Eurydice! Jason Todd and Orpheus! Reader (Jason Todd x Reader (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's life outside of work (Gen) (Tumblr)

✶ Jason Todd's day to day life (Gen, mild Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Imagine Wayne Manor as a Haunted House (Bruce Wayne x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Sleeping Arrangements (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What kind of praise/compliments Jason would be fine with? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What freaks him out most in a relationship? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ Jealousy and Insecurity Headcanons (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ What lesson about love are they still trying to learn? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

✶ How has their understanding of love changed? (Jason Todd x Reader) (Tumblr)

Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

✸ Stolen (Hawks | Keigo Takami x Reader) (AO3)

He is five years old when he decides to be a hero. It is not as simple learning to fly nor is it as easy as saving people.

But he does not know that yet.

Snapshots of Hawks’ life from child to hero to something else in between.

Jujutsu Kaisen

✸ Made New (Kento Nanami x Reader) (Tumblr) (AO3)

Your husband, Kento Nanami, comes back home after Shibuya. Only he isn't quite the same.

[winterrain-11]

some gravity falls hcs :3

- The twins love divorced dad rock. they didn’t really even listen to it growing up but they will listen to it unironically (dipper cries to second chance by shinedown)

- soos names his kids after mabel, dipper, and stan of course, but he tried to name his fourth stanley jr before melody explained that juniors don’t work like that. his next suggestion was waddles which was also turned down

- along with this, soos was DEVASTATED when he found out that dipper wasn’t his legal name. he refused to let dipper tell him what his legal name was for years until melody said that they couldn’t put dipper as a first name

- mabel’s cat and waddles are mortal enemies it’s giving dipper and robbie wanting to k!ll each other when wendy isn’t looking. dipper knows but will NEVER tell mabel

- soos and melody basically took pacifica in after her parents sold the manor and subsequently got more abu$!ve. she takes over for wendy as cashier at the mystery shack after wendy leaves for college

- as soon as mabel gets her braces off, dipper has to get his own. he gets clear bracket bands and mabel (who originally didn’t want to make fun of him for braces bc she knows how much they suck) bullies him relentlessly for looking like a dork.

- mabel eventually publishes children’s books with her scrapbook-style drawings and they’re a hit.

- when dipper first came out as trans, he wanted to be called tyrone. mabel supported him wholeheartedly and was so excited to have a bother, but had to sit him down and BEG his white ass not to use tyrone.

- Mabel had a lot ocs that she writes fanfiction about when she’s bored. she has a hella wattpad following and everyone loves the absurdity of her plotlines

- stan and ford very quickly realize they know NOTHING about actually maintaining and sailing a boat. it was a hell of a learning curve and they almost capsized multiple times

- ford loves the big bang theory and also minion memes. he periodically discovers new memes from 2010 and tries to incorporate them into his convos. he once walked in a room and said “here come dat boi” and mabel gagged

- stan still has significant memory gaps from time to time along with relapses in forgetting. when the twins finally got used to it, dipper started telling stan fake shit that he did over the summer to seem cooler, but mabel would just privately tell stan much lamer, embarassing fake stories about dipper to counteract it

- ford was devestated to find out that doctor who ended a few years after he got sucked into the portal but ten times more excited when he learned about modern who. he loves 10 so much (he kind of looks like young fiddleford. only mabel has made this connection)

- wendy takes a liking to pacifica after she becomes close with soos and melody. she eventually gets her own place on the outskirts of gravity falls and they regularly hang out and watch movies, wendy gives her advice about independence and moving away from the toxicity of her family