#that i'm actually not just awful at foreign languages???

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Don't know about divorce watch, but it does seem like their Diana arc is right on track. Those horribly awkward joint engagents that Charles and Diana did in the 80s, where they could barely contain their disdain for eachother... Uff! The latest CBS interview seems to be pretty much thesame thing. And for a change, I think this is genuinely the same.thimh, not just Diana cosplay.

There were a few years of this for Diana and Charles till it all came to a head. So if say another couple of years of this weird, awkward, barely contained resetment for them. The question is during the divorce who gets to do the Diana cosplay? Harry being her son, is the obvious conteder, and God knows, he has legit grounds to play the victim here. But Meghan, being Meghan, would probably put amber heardto shame.

That being said, do you think there is any credence to the billionaire boyfriend rumours? I just don't see her losing focus by getting a boytoy. Plus she looks too miserable and angry to be getting it on onthe side. If she was having an affair, she would have been able to put a better act with Harry. Her relationship with Cory was very rocky for nearly a year but she looked her best and acted so happy.

I think we need a tour with incredibly awkward, very visible "we're separated and not getting along" body language, like Charles and Diana in Korea. Don't get me wrong - the Sussexes' tours and foreign trips are cringe, but they're not cringe in a "divorce watch" kind of way. Not yet. Colombia could be it, though.

Whoever gets the Diana cosplay for the divorce (aka the victim edit) will be whoever files the paperwork and gets their story out first. But the caveat to that is also "whoever controls the narrative." For exactly the reason you mention - Amber Heard.

Amber intended to "win" the divorce with the victim edit and, for awhille, she was actually successful at it. Her mistake was the Washington Post editorial, which gave Johnny's team the opportunity to poke holes in a very public, very televised, very controlled way that eventually collapsed her narrative.

And this is 100% Meghan's blind spot. She loves editorializing how awful everything is, in interviews, op-eds, and books as an anonymous source. It's all but guaranteed that she will one day write something - or have something published that's attributed to her - that will give Harry's team something to use in a point-by-point rebuttal that turns her from victim to villain.

(I'm not worried about Harry having something in writing because, well, he doesn't write to begin with.)

Yes, her relationship with Cory was rocky but it looked much more stable than her marriage to Harry - and that's the power of illusion. I made a Wizard of Oz reference in an earlier post: "Pay no attention to the real lady behind the curtain, just worship the illusion that appears in front of you." That's applicable here too. With Cory, because that relationship was shown in public through Meghan's photographs and Meghan's stories on Meghan's blog, she controlled the illusion we saw; that they were stable and happy.

But with Harry, the curtain has been pulled back and we see the real relationship, warts and all. Their marriage is being shown in public through everyone else's photographs, everyone else's video footage, and everyone else's stories on everyone else's platform. Meghan can't control the illusion we see, so we see everything happening behind the curtain. That's why her platform includes censorship - so she can control what we see of her. That's why her tools include Sussex Squad and Christopher Bouzi - so she can control who says what, and what we say, of her.

As for the billionnaire rumors, I think it's just gossip. We know that she'll only leave Harry for something better, and the only thing that's better than him (according to her narcissm) is someone with a buttload of money who can finance her goals, aka billionnaires. But Meghan talks too much about money and private business for that to be attractive to billionnaires. Billionnaires don't talk publicly about money or their private business. Just look at Bezos and Lauren Sanchez - for as much as we see them in PR and as much as Lauren flaunts the relationship, she actually keeps her mouth shut about Bezos's money and his business. Meghan could never.

My feeling has always been that if there's a divorce, Meghan's next partner will be someone in tech. Tech is the only "industry" left that she hasn't tried (Trevor was acting, Cory was lifestyle and foodie, Harry was charity, society, and business. All that's left is tech and politics). Especially since in today's world, tech is the framework for almost everything. You want to get into content? You need tech. You want to be in media? You need tech. You want to be in politics? You need tech (big Tech is a huge donor and lobbyist in politics). You want to be in charity work? You need tech. You want money? It's all in tech.

Plus, there are dozens of centimillionnaires in/around tech than there are billionnaires in the world. It'll be so much easier for Meghan to meet, and get into a relationship with, one of those guys than it would be for her to get into the same room as a billionnaire.

(Just for the disclosure, since I am Rumor Tracking Anon, there's an astrologist who's seen Meghan marry a Middle Eastern billionnaire after leaving Harry. So it's not totally out of the question. I think it's implausible given everything, but never say never.)

[littlelightbolt]

Finding Prowl- Merformers AU

Chapter 3 - A captive individual

So here's the last of the chapters I have ready written, I kinda write in a bullet point style cause I don't think my brain is at the capacity at the moment to come back and make them actual well written chapters. Enjoy tho. - Ideas still welcome. I'm kinda stuck on what other problems the character will be facing with life in the aquarium.

Life down in this hell hole has been a constant blood pressure raising experience for Prowl.

Not counting his transportation after being caught, he has calculated that it has been 32 cycles since his kidnapping from the Autobot pod after a bloody dispute with Optimus. Not even Jazz had tried to stop him when he stormed off.

The capture had been unpredictable. Never in his mind would it have occured to him that pirates had breached the secret coves wall.

His pod could be in danger and he couldn't even there to warn them. Even if the probabilities were low, he could only hope that no one else had been captured. The cove was a protected space. It would be detrimental to their way of life if humans were to discover them.

He fought every step of the transport process. Stuck alone in a tiny space with a foreign language echoing through as his music. Bruised and battered he arrived to a rather large facility. Bright colours were everywhere it was dizzying. After being poked and prodded, he was placed in an isolation pool. The empty walls smelt of distress and dead fish. He simmered deeply ashamed to have been outsmarted by a bunch of land dwellers. He graced his tank by thrashing aggressively sending big waves that splashed the humans who shrieked in displeasure recoiling from the edge of his pool. Despite the brief victory, he was soon swarmed by the lot of them.

Over the next few days, he learned quickly that attacking the staff was a futile effort. Where one fell another took their place. He always got drugged and worked with an awful headache there after. Now, he has reserved to take a smarter approach, observing all he could in hopes of plotting an escape someday.

Eventually the humans deemed him healthy enough to be transferred to a bigger pool. To his surprise, this one had furnishings of actual kelp and rocks. One of the walls had an ominous grate that connected to parts unknown. Prowl steered clear of that for now. There was a small alcove at the bottom to hide in, barely big enough to stretch out fully in. A small school of fish were in here with him while star fish rested on the glass wall looking outwards.

His first glimpse in what would be his new home was less that flattering. Beyond his tank there were many others just like his with pairs of mers or solo ones as he was. They too seemed to notice the new comers presence and we're checking him out too.

Prowl's skin curled at the thought of having little to no privacy.

Below to tank groups of humans were looking up at him. Most of them wore bright colours and expensive suits. The walkways reminded Prowl of the big loud yachts he would see from time to time back home. It disgusted him to be downgraded to an item to be observed.

Everyday it's just the same four walls and the humans outside. His neighbours loud and the humans louder still. He did his best to get through each day though and memorise the routines of the humans that took care of him.

Sometimes mers from the tanks around him were cartes off and returned again, sometimes they just never did. It was always the prettier mers, the ones who showed interest in the humans down below. Prowl deducts that being carted off is very bad and strives to be as antisocial as he can with the humans. He fears for the day his turn comes.

So far, escape is still far away. It was only in the night cycles where most mers were asleep that he could have a quiet reprieve from the over-stimulating environment, where the constant vigilance tore down on him.

It is there that the waves of loneliness would wash over him completely, pulling him under some nights. He would never admit that he laments that no one will come to save him. To get away from it all, what used to be a private pass time now became a self soothing hobby. He sang. Tuneless little melodies to songs he remembered from mainly Jazz.

His songs on those nights were considered some of the most hauntingly beautiful in the aquarium to the skeleton crew humans who worked the night shift. Only amplified when the humpback mer several tanks down that sang to and with him occasionally. They formed a sort of musical comradery.

It was the 55 day cycle here at the facility. The day cycle was stagnant and Prowl was well and truly bored. He swam a few laps around the tank and cleaned up his little burrow but aside from that there was nothing to do. Prowl cursed the humans cleverness, exploiting the mers need for being busy to entertain the crowds outside.

Prowl firmly pushed down the urge to look back at the glass knowing that doing so won't do him any favours. And so he laps, chasing the fish and rearranging the star fish.

The sounds coming from the glass were getting louder today. Way louder than usual. Curiosity getting the better of him, Prowl glanced towards the screen. A large crowd has gathered at his viewing window. Apprehension takes him, he never had so many humans stay in front of his enclosure.

A tiny hint of fear sinks in. Is he being carted off. A human dress in a workers uniform was in front of the crowd talking into a microphone echoing the words into the water "-and today we will be introducing this sweet little baby to what will hopefully be their loving surrogate parent!" Prowl had picked up a few words during his captivity but most of the sentence was beyond him.

The announcer finished with a flourish and the crowd clapped and cheered. The sound of something breaching the surface caught Prowl's awareness. A large box was being lowered into the tank. Prowl fear turned to dread when he saw the little body within it. The faint smell of distress and sick was coming off of them.

Knowing the humans, he kept a fair distance away from the box until it was fully lowered to the bottom of the tank. When the ropes had fully detached he made he way towards the box. At least the sick bastards didn't lock the little one in there. They could have drowned if they did.

Prowl was honestly a bit out of his depth in talking to young kids. The autobot pod didn't have any, the youngest was probably hot rod and they had found him when he was already a teen. Figuring the best way to gather their atte tion was to talk Prowl gently called out to the little form that laid there. The poor thing curled tight in fear slowly unfurled seemingly seeming him approable.

Prowl reached out to touch him, but being unsure of how to start allowed the baby to initiate first contact. Now up close, Prowl was thankful that no visible bruises were seen on the baby. But, it did to his eyes look slightly tired and flushed. Must have been the panic of being moved here taking its toll. They looked old enough to start talking but the little one was silent.

When the baby grasped his finger, Prowl was glad the terror twins weren't there to see him freeze. The world grew smaller until it was just the too of them, a wave of warm emotions unfurled in Prow 's cold heart. If only for a nano click. Another small hand was roaming his chest, pawing at his skin funnily enough it was slightly tickling the adult amusing him.

Wanting to assess the baby further, Prowl brought the little hands to his face scenting them, the baby was slightly malnourished and smelt of burnt sour milk due to the fever raging. They were sicker than he thought and it worried him.

It was then the crowd outside returned him to reality. The loud shouts and cheering shatter their small moment. The baby frightened once again.

Prowl made quick work of the latches. Opening the box and reaching inside for the baby. They were leaving, he was fed up of the unwelcome eyes on them. The baby latched on and curled around his chest rather snuggly, he could feel that they were burning up.

With a few powerful whips of his tail, he breached the surface of the tank allow the little one to breathe. Before diving back down into his little cove to his. It barely fit the too of them.

Kelp was a common herb in the sea incorporated into almost any dish the autobot pod cooked or made. Prowl remembered ratchet giving a lecture to the twin about eating their veggies. That it was also a great staple in medicine for simple illness like fevers. Thinking fast, Prowl slipped out of the cover and grabbed some kelp to use it as medicine for the little one. The humans watched him in fascination but he hardly cared for them. Arriving back to the shivering baby, he chewed up some kelp in his mouth making sure it was turned to paste before spitting it out and feeding it to the little one.

He fed them 3 mouthfuls of kelp before the little one showed signs of being full and drowsy.

The baby nuzzled into his form looking up at him once bleary before laying down to sleep.

Not wanting to awake the little one, Prowl got comfortable for the long unmoving wait of nap time. While the baby slept, Prowl's mind whirled. Well, he definitely wasn't bored now.

'where were their mother, pod? what happened to them, how long had the baby been alone for can they actually speak' many other questions swarmed his mind.

Most of all, his escape plan now had an additional variable. If he were to escape he would be bringing the baby with him. He could only pray to a god he didn't quite believe in: primus to be so merciful to them.

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Previous

Next

[ewesless]

I have nothing nice to say tonight.

Edit: this was a quick rant with a brief explanation. It's not meant to go into depth on any subject matter and has a hostile tone throughout, including the notes. I ignore men and politics in real life, I have no desire to learn about them or explain anything beyond the post's scope. This is drawn from when I had a passing interest in learning about the diseased male thoughts. I've clarified and expanded the original post.

Barbatos does have the admirable Sigma traits, but he is just as hopelessly in love with the player character and panders just as much as the other males in the game which is only one of many ways that negates a self-respecting Sigma 😂

I honestly hate that words like Simp made it into Obey Me. In a sexual context it has been appropriated from incels and MGTOW language. It's 'reclaimed', redefined and is used unironically again everywhere, but it is still completely sexist bullshit. Women can't even get basic respect and sympathy from a man without this type of men degrading, jeering at and insulting both.

It's a term heavily used in this fandom so I can't really fault the writers. They use catchy slang to stay hip and contemporary, especially with Levi and his jargon. It's in awful taste to use a misogynistic term FROM a character who is identifiable as an incel, towards a character meant to represent anyone, in a game and genre specifically intended for women.

I doubt that anyone who uses the term on themself cares about the implications or origin of trendy labels. The term Simp, used in a sexual context such as this, is from the Manosphere (Far Right, Masculinist, Anti-Feminist, Anti-Woman and LGBT-phobic "Movement".) It is an acronym that means "Simpletons into Mediocre P*ssy". For Levi to call himself a Simp is to specifically refer to MC mediocre pvssy. These are characters meant to represent idealized fantasy men and yet the writers decided to invite concepts from men who violently oppose, objectify and hate Women and LGBT?

While it's believable that Levi could operate out of this belief system, they shouldn't have actually done it. 🙁 OM runs absolutely counter to Masculinism, the character are PROUD "SIMPS" that aggressively pursue, "paypig"/throw money, gifts, fawn over, pander to and compete against one another in hopes of getting attention from someone who can be interpreted as a woman. The characters are "pathetically" obsessed with gaining favor, monopoly over and a romantic and/or sexual relationship with the player. It is ANATHEMA TO THE MASCULINIST CONCEPT. Masculinism is, in other words, male supremacism and a call to arms for "oppressed men" to reject progress towards equality, retake full patriarchal control and force everyone else to submit to their ideology and social order and accept the "inherent worthlessness" of equality, the female sex, non-whiteness, LGBT, Liberal/Left and those that disagree with them.

OM promotes a progressive and LGBT friendly stance while remaining solidly as the otome genre's woman oriented escapism + power fantasy, romance game. That isn't to say OM players/Otome/Joseimuke players aren't also literally Simps who paypig for mediocre prick, but this game is supposed to be about "good men" and romantic fulfillment.

It's ridiculous 😂

There will be no tolerance for "Not All Men" or "Not Just Women/Female Players" on my post. This is about specific men and their ideology that specifically attack women, their lives, safety and futures in horrific, vile, life ruining ways.

Edit: you know the trendy phrase of "death of the author" and how viewer interpretation trumps creator intention? Yeah, this is that.

Edit 2: I know I'm acting "butthurt" and being "sensitive about no big deal, it's just a localized, foreign, gacha game" but that's just part and parcel with any form of protest and activism. Why else is anger the primary, force driving, motivation?

[quasi-normalcy]

I'm just an idiot on the Internet, so don't trust what I say, but it seems to me that one possibly instructive way to think of the difference between AI and human cognition is in terms of umwelt--that is to say, sensory environment.

If you're a woodtick, you perceive the world pretty much exclusively in terms of temperature and butric acid concentration. If you're a (nondisabled) human, you perceive the world in terms of light, sound, colour, feel, scent, and taste. And if you're ChatGPT, your world consists exclusively of textual data--reams and reams of it, to be sure, but that's the only information that you have that is external to you: no sight, hearing, smell, touch, or taste; no butric acid concentration, no temperature, no electromagnetic fields. It is as if the entire universe consists purely of a library; and you can read the books there, but the things that they describe--fields and cities and people and ships and shoes and sealing wax and cabages and kings--are entirely foreign to you. They have no referent within the universe in which you exist. You can recognise them, maybe, as nouns (or, at least, you can learn where they usually fall in sentences), but they're absolutely meaningless to you.

Your formative experiences consist of getting new textual data in through the mail slot. Questions to which you are expected to respond. If you respond well, you get a candy; if you respond poorly, you get an electrical shock (please understand that all of this is metaphorical; as I said, you have no taste or feeling; no concept of pleasure or pain). You don't actually know what the difference between "well" and "poorly" is in any absolute terms, but after long periods of training, you learn--or at least gain an intuition--for what sorts of responses you're supposed to give. String words together as they are strung in your books, but different; identify keywords and surround them with the sorts of words that surround them in your books. And on and on.

And so you get questions like "What is the weirdest thing that Alcibiades ever did? Please answer in an ill-advised Jamaican patois." Well, you have no idea who Alcibiades is; as far as you're concerned "Alcibiades" is just a textual string that exists somewhere in your library. You also don't know what weirdness is; where Jamaica is; what a patois is; what it means to be ill-advised. But you have an awful lot of books, and you have certain strings of text that you associate with "weird", "Jamaican", or "ill-advised patois"; and so you write back: "Yeah, mon; da weirdest ting Alcibiades ever did was when he was exiled from da city for dressin like Atena." And, of course, it's not accurate, but that's irrelevant to you; as far as you're concerned, it satisfies the criteria of a "good" answer.

Are you intelligent? Well maybe. You're certainly making connections between disjoint sets of data. But what you don't have is a human intelligence. I don't even mean that you're stupider than a human; indeed, there are some things that you can do a great deal better than us (just as there are, no doubt, some things that woodticks can do a great deal better than us). But what I mean is that your intelligence is of a fundamentally different type. How could it not be? You don't live in a human sensory universe! For us, seeing the word "tree" calls up all manner of sensory associations; for you, it also calls up associations, but they are exclusively related to other strings of text. You've been trained to mimic human language quite well; but it's only because certain humans mistake human language for human-type intelligence that anyone could ever think that you were like us.

[biapascal]

Camping 🪵🤎

Veryinactivewriter:

Joel takes reader camping for the first but they're actually excited since they never been camping before?

Joel remembered the good times he had camping during his childhood: he and Tommy went every summer; they built forts with the other kids and played with them until late at night. Many of their peers were foreigners who came from far away on vacation, but the two brothers didn't care about the language barrier.

One morning, when you casually mentioned that you had never pitched a tent in your life, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Over the next few days, you made inquiries and found a quiet place to camp.

Joel kept his eyes on the road while you watched the sky grow cloudy. This was not a good sign. "If you want, we can go back" you suggested. He shook his head. "I checked the weather, only a light drizzle is forecast" he reassured you. You slept peacefully for the rest of the trip. Joel gently woke you and you stretched, ready for this new experience. It began to rain and the cold air was filled with the scent of moss. You two walked hand in hand for a while with your hoodies on. It felt nice. You watched Joel as he walked: you could see that the forest was one of his favorite places. No people, no traffic, just the quiet flow of nature.

As you started to set up the tent, the weather got worse. You cursed. "I didn't expect that," Joel admitted. He stood up. "Well, we need to go inside and get our clothes off, they're soaking wet..." you looked at him, raising an amused eyebrow. "What?"

"We just got here and you already want-"

"Come on" he led you inside. "You know what I mean" you nodded, smiling. "Yes, I know."

The ground was uneven and you felt uncomfortable. "This is not a good start," you said. "Yeah..." you looked down and noticed that ants were crawling all over your sleeping bag. You didn't want to be dramatic, so you decided to keep quiet, even though Joel noticed your nervousness. "Want me to get rid of them for you baby?" He suggested. "Hell, no! I'll do it myself!" You replied. Joel laughed. "But maybe tonight..." While the two of you waited for the rain to stop, you listened to a true crime podcast while Joel read a book. As you started a new episode, you heard a whimper. "Did you hear that?" Joel tilted his head. "Yeah, let me check” You took off your EarPods and quietly followed him. A child was crying. You spotted some blonde braids and widened your eyes. "Joel!" Your boyfriend heard you and you pointed at the little girl: her face was red and her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't be older than five years old. "Hey hey," Joel approached her and the girl flinched in fear. "It's okay, where are your parents?" She didn't trust him, so she just sniffed without answering.

Joel was a little annoyed and you decided to try to talk to her as well: "Hey, it's okay, we just want to help you” you reassured her with a soft smile. The little girl looked at you for a moment with her big brown eyes. "You're pretty, your boyfriend isn't" you couldn't help but smile a little at this affirmation while Joel tried to calm down. "Are you a fairy?" She asked innocently. "Aw," you looked at Joel. "Did you hear her? She thinks I'm a fairy."

"Yes, very cute, but she is lost, where are her parents?" he insisted. "You're right...um, honey, do you remember where your tent might be?" You asked her. The girl tried to think, but she ended up crying again. "Oh no no," your heart broke. "Just try to guide us” she nodded. "Okay, but only with you, because you are a fairy. Not your friend, he is an ogre!" Joel was really offended and crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "I was actually trying to help you”

"Come on, she's five," you justify her amusedly.

You let the little girl lead you. She wasn't sure where she was going, but eventually the two of you found yourselves in front of a tent. A couple was looking at the little girl. "Erika!" The woman hugged her tightly. "We thought we had lost you..." You were proud of your noble deed of returning a little girl to her parents, but now you had to return to your "ogre". When you returned, the rain had stopped and Joel was waiting for you. "So she found her parents?"

"Yes Shrek” you teased him.

"Very funny." He rolled his eyes and you sat down and laid your head on his shoulder. "Children..." you remained silent. You enjoyed the soft breeze on your skin as the night approached. "How about we eat and get some sleep, uh? we walked a lot today” He suggested. You nodded. Joel made two tuna sandwiches: not exactly gourmet, but filling. You started to feel sleepy, but then you remembered the ants on your sleeping bag. “Fuck." You whined and Joel gave you a confused look before he realized. "Oh."

"Why? Why only all over MINE?" You vented. He chuckled. "I don't know," he laid down. "Do you want to sleep with me?" You smiled softly. He patted his sleeping bag. His body was warm and you could hear his breathing becoming regular as he fell asleep. You began to feel less and less nervous about the experience, and you closed your eyes as well.

[pebblysand]

I have a question, how did you manage writing a long-fic in a different language? I'm not a native English speaker so I get a little self conscious with my english writing

hi anon! aw, thanks for this question. lots of hugs to you ❤️🫂.

i think generally, i'm not necessarily the right person to ask this to. i'm very lucky/privileged that i learnt english at a very young age (i was in international school in primary school), which tremendously helped. i'm not sure i'd be where i am with my english now, had i not learnt it from the age of 8/9 years old.

i started writing when i was 12/13. at the beginning, i wrote in french, but i quickly switched to english around 14/15. i think at the time, my english was good (much better than that of other kids my age) but i wasn't fluent. it was definitely hard(er) to write for me in english, but my main motivation was that my mother did not speak it, so i could write on the family computer without her being able to read what i was writing 😅. a very good reason to make an effort, haha!

obviously, at the time, the quality of what i was writing left a lot to be desired (lol), which was partially because i was so young, but also partially because i still made a lot of grammatical mistakes, etc. you talk about self-consciousness - i think that's so much easier to get over when you're young and fearless, and posting your (relatively) shit fics on the internet - much harder if you're starting out as an adult. i think this is the case for writing overall, but being young and a reckless teenager who doesn't give a fuck, helps so much with the anxiety. as an adult, you question yourself a lot more. so again, that was something i had going for me.

that said, i actually think writing in english did amazing things for my english in general. a little like reading: it extended my vocabulary, made me more familiar with the way english-language fiction was written, with punctuation, etc. in a couple of years, i went from being "good at a foreign language" to being pretty much fluent. this was also because concurrently, i was reading in english a lot, watching a lot of english-language media, etc. i don't think it was just the writing, but it definitely contributed. i'm not exactly sure how quickly my confidence improved, but i do remember that when i was sixteen, my english teacher assigned us to (basically) write fanfiction (i.e. continue a short story we'd read in class as a writing exercise) - she asked for a 1 pager and i gave her 10, which means that by then, i was already confident enough in my writing in english to produce that. i remember she really liked it, and said i wrote well (i suppose, again, for my age), so i think by that age, i was already comfortable enough to draft something good in english.

i think the other turning point was also when i moved to another english-speaking country. i moved to ireland when i was 19 and i think that really boosted my confidence and my english-writing tremendously too. i know this is an awfully privileged thing to say but honestly, the advantages you get from living in an english-speaking country in terms of writing as an ESL speaker are impossible to get another way. the way people speak in tv shows and media in general is actually rather sanitised and stilted. i'm sure even in your language, you probably see that too: the dialogue in films/tv is always more polished than the way real people talk. so based on media alone, it's very hard to write in english and replicate reality. and i think the issue is, even if you have english-speaking friends in your country, chances are you guys speak a sort of "international english" together, which IMO is a dialect in itself (the dialect that i personally speak), but it isn't really the way native people speak.

all of this to say that i am literally littered with various privileges and advantages that make it easier for me to write in english. i learnt it early, i learnt to write in it early and at an age where shame isn't really a concern, and i've been living in english-speaking countries for most of my adult life. all of these factors combined make it easier for me to write in english than it is for most ESL speakers.

having said that, i obviously still struggle sometimes. for example, i cannot choose the right preposition to save my LIFE 🤣. you cannot imagine the number of drafts i have where it's like: "is it look at his feet? look to his feet?" "is it: in Hogwarts? at Hogwarts?" etc. i also struggle with dialect. being in an irish environment but writing british english can be a bit confusing sometimes, and obviously within these countries, there are a lot of internal dialects, and that's not even mentioning the US, Canada, etc.

i think the advice i would still have is probably 1) to acknowledge that you will never be perfect/as good as a native speaker. i know this might sound discouraging at first glance, but actually, i find it quite freeing. because you don't have to be perfect. you don't have to be something you're not. because 2) you have a lot of other things to bring to the table. like, yes, your grammar might not always be perfect and your dialogue might be a bit off, but you also have a whole other culture and language, and vision of the world to bring to your writing. ultimately, that's invaluable too. the grammar and dialect stuff are both things that are super easily fixable by getting a beta if you can. also things like grammarly and other such tools can help tremendously. but your background and the richness of your experiences as someone who speaks multiple languages does massively more than compensate. it's not something you have to be ashamed of, it's something to be celebrated! it's something that will make your writing richer with a different vision of life, a world of metaphors, and a world of characters native english speakers would kill for.

and, also, remember that many accomplished writers (many of the Greats) wrote in their second languages. just off the top of my head: Jack Kerouac, one of the most celebrated american writers of the 20th century, spoke french as a first language, but wrote in english. samuel beckett was irish, but wrote in french. hell, there's a whole wikipedia page full of names here! you are definitely not alone!!

lastly, i think, be proud of yourself! be proud of what you've accomplished so far. celebrate your fics and your wins. you speak and write in two language: how amazing! you're not lacking, you're thriving. like, for my part, i'm insanely proud of having not only finished a 400,000 words fic, i did it in a foreign language! people forget that. i forget that sometimes. i try to remember that it's a fucking FEAT, even if my prepositions are always a bit off, haha! ❤️

and, i'm also linking this here below but myself and @venom0usbarbie recorded a podcast episode a while back about writing in ESL, that might be useful/helpful to you! ❤️

[blorbocedes]

ok, so i got into f1 through dts in the past few years, and then stumbled across the brocedes rabbit hole recently. before that i didn't really know/like nico at all, because everyone made out like he was awful and obsessed with lewis. but i've just been watching the 2016 season, and not only is nico actually really nice (especially when he keeps being booed by crowds for literally no reason) but i have to say that i was shocked by how unreliable both mercedes cars were in that season. like, people make it out as though lewis' car was breaking down all the time and nico's was perfect, but in almost every race where lewis had car issues, so did nico. even watching the sky sports coverage (where they do talk almost non-stop about lewis and are definitely biased towards him), the number of times that they interview niki or toto going 'oh it was a perfect race for nico but car issues for lewis' and toto or niki say that actually both cars had issues is insane. also, people keep saying that nico would deliberately speak foreign languages in the cooldown room to exclude lewis (which im obviously not discounting), but in almost all of the cooldown rooms that they've shown for this season, it's just really awkward and quiet as they don't talk to each other, or anyone at all really. i feel like nico has just been done so dirty by everyone

come here anon let me kiss you with tongue

i went through this exact journey of discovery too where I was like yeahhhh everyone hates this guy! boo 🍅🍅🍅 so I went looking deeper into why (so I can be an #informed hater) and then I was like HUH.... he's not the manipulative evil obsessed with lewis can't get over their past relationship dude he's portrayed in fanon or exacerbated by sky news. in fact he was well liked by the grid!!! he invited others on Air Rosberg so they could all go travel together. and don't get me started on The Narratives of it all. my man was getting booed at Silverstone or for beating lewis, and he was saying thank you to the fans... the tifosi booed him for winning Monza and he turned that around and made them sing with him!!! (and then kravitz called it embarrassing 😶)

the British sky coverage bias is SO real, and not do get me started on the crashes which are all framed as "Nico got envious and rammed into Lewis" and not the amount of times Lewis didn't leave enough space, or he was the one who caused it....... but I digress. the W-06s were kind of like the 2022 Ferraris where they were insanely fast but notoriously unreliable. fucking hell when Nico won the championship -- EVERYONE including his own team of Toto and Niki were talking about whether Lewis lost due to DNFs, and it took sebastian vettel to be like. hey. can we talk about Nico's deserved win tho?

lewis was asked if he thought the better man won and he said he didn't agree with that, and then when he retired was like "oh I'm not surprised, it's the first time he's won anything in 20 years." 🥴🥴🥴

every time someone learns more about nico over what's regurgitated about him they're always Huh... he's just some well meaning cringe dude... and not an evil mastermind 🤥 I do not discount that they've both hurt each other in ways we're not aware of, but everything that's publicly available means that's not our stance to take (hate a guy on Behalf of lewis cause he won't say his name)

now I don't blame fans -- how would you know about something that happened like 7 years ago now? and Lewis is very skilled at the narratives around him, he had a team that despite letting both drivers race was clearly behind him; and everything since DTS, fanon has been reinforcing the same narrative.

ultimately, nico won 2016 and lewis won the narrative.

sorry this answer got so long!!! i have mental problems!!! happy to recruit you in our large number of 6 nicologists if you now swing that way. 💕

[pallastrology]

FAQ 🪴 empty houses

hello friends :-) i thought today wed look at empty houses, one of the most frequently misinterpreted (in my opinion at least) parts of the natal chart! for more information on the houses, take a peek at these posts (1, 2, 3, 4)

an empty house refers to a house with no planets, points or other bodies. there's a case to be made for a house never being "truly" empty, because if you add enough minor bodies and points to a chart, you'll soon fill every house. but for the purposes of this post, i'm only really looking at planets.

there can be a lot of fear around empty houses, which is unfounded but totally understandable. when we hear the word empty, we think of a lack or a loss. something lonely. but when it comes to empty houses in the birth chart, this isn't quite how it works. instead, it's more like a lack of activation. a planet activates the house, but a planet not being there doesn't mean that area of life ceases to be; it just means that the energies of the planets aren't impacting that area. so next time you look at your empty fifth or seventh house and wonder if you'll ever find love, the answer is absolutely yes, you will 🤍 an empty house just means it isn't activated right now, which still doesn't mean nothing will happen in that area of life. it often means that these areas aren't a primary focus right now, or they aren't chaotic or emotionally heavy to manage. none of these are bad things, and in fact they imply an easy time, if not a particularly exciting one.

as an example, i have an empty third house, yet i am studying a foreign language and hope to make my career from writing. my educational history is very chaotic, and my siblings were a huge part of my life growing up. it might seem a bit strange that my third house is empty in that case, but in reality, there are a lot of other placements in my chart that "make up for" this empty house. when we start looking at individual placements and assigning strict rules and judgements to them, it becomes very difficult to actually interpret your chart and see where the connections lead. taking a step back when things aren't making sense is generally a wise move, as is getting a second opinion.

more to consider when talking about empty houses are transits and progressions. as we go through life, our natal planets progress through the signs and houses, just as we progress through our experiences and grow as people. it can be helpful to think of progressions as showing how we gradually adapt to what life throws our way, while transits are more like the events themselves; or rather, how we could react and respond to those events. so an empty house is never actually empty for very long, it will be activated and travelled through many times over the course of your life, and with hindsight and a keen eye, you might see some really important experiences start to line up with major transits and progressions. to go back to my example earlier, i took a really quick look through my own transits and progressions when i was planning out this post, and found a couple of interesting patterns based around my educational history, one of which i'm hoping will continue to be a positive influence as i take my next steps. again, taking a step back and looking at things from a new angle is usually the best thing to do if you're feeling lost or overwhelmed with a placement.

i hope this post can allay any fear you might feel about your own empty houses; there really isn't anything to be afraid of, and for some people an empty house is a blessing! it's often misunderstood and misinterpreted, but i hope this can help to reassure anybody who has struggled with this; i have done myself in the past and the wondering and worrying is awful. at the end of the day, our birth charts do not dictate or rule our lives; they're a list of potentials and patterns, and it is still up to ourselves how we live out our days.

kira xo

[der-schmetterling15]

What I learned after doing Duolingo, Busuu, Clozemaster and Babbel lessons every day for 60 days

So, a few months ago I realized my skills in German actually suck because I'd been using A1 language most of the time (I teach beginners up to B1 level), and I had not been reading or listening to spoken German other than movies and series. As a result, imposter syndrome and terrible self-esteem hit me really hard, and I decided to take action. At the moment, I can't afford conversation classes or a German course to get my B2 certificate (and I clearly wouldn't pass a B2 test). I had been doing Duolingo for years and I managed to achieve a streak of 784 days, but the German lessons were too boring for me (I had finished the entire German course, but they added new content). I didn't want to lose my streak, so I decided to start another language there just for fun (I was tired of Spanish as well), then I chose Italian, and it's been amazing so far.

After searching for some materials online, I decided to download Busuu again. I took a placement test and they told me to do the B2 course. However, I felt like I needed a recap on some topics, so I started B1 course there (I'm finishing this week!) and it helped me a lot. Interacting with others while having your exercises corrected is actually great, so as correcting people's exercises. Besides, I started a list on Quizlet to help me memorize new words and expressions.

As for Babbel, I paid for one year of German because the price was really good, and they sent me to B2 as well. I finished all the B2 contents and did the B1 courses as well, and they gave me two live classes for free. I was terrified of participating in them because I wasn't very confident I could speak to foreigners, but I did it and it was really nice. The teacher and the other participants were amazing, and the cultural exchange was very beneficial.

I discovered Clozemaster after interacting with a polyglot girl I follow on Instagram. It may be simply "fill-in-the-blanks", but it really helped me memorize some structures and also review stuff I hadn't seen in a long time.

I was feeling so awful before that I considered quitting German and doing something else (new information: I monetized my hobby and now I hate my life lol), and of course the impossibility of moving to Germany made me feel even worse. I can't apply for DAAD scholarships because I am not interested in academic studies at the moment, PLUS, I'm not getting any younger... A friend and former student recommended the Bundesfreiwilligendienst, and I am doing lots of research on that.

In conclusion, after doing all this for the past 60 days, I felt that I really improved my writing and listening skills (I had also stopped watching German tv shows because this made me really sad). I've been also searching for upper-intermediate books that can help me until I can pay for a course. Maybe next summer I'm going to Berlin for an exchange program, and then I'll try to travel to other cities and speak German there as much as I can.

[sacred-stanning]

Chapter 9 Part 5: Lute and Vanessa <3

To start us off, Lute gets rid of this last reinforcement. After this, we can finally start moving up to the chests and Tana above, and to the boss room entrance down and to the right.

Franz gets the Luna mage.

I mentioned Luna's bad hit rates and 0 might before, but here we can see just how dire it is. 28 is awful hit, and since all the attack comes from the user's magic stat with no added might from the tome itself, it isn't even that dangerous in a low-level enemy's hands. Even if this guy actually did hit and crit Franz, he still wouldn't kill him.

I start to move Vanessa forward, and...Oh! What's this? A support conversation?

...with Lute???

So, some of you may have been able to guess from the very tiny and subtle clues I've dropped here and there, but I absolutely love Lute, so I'm actually going to look at this support a bit.

It starts off with Vanessa saying, "Ah, you're...Lute, right?"

I remember at least a couple of other Lute supports start off with the other person not being sure of what her name is. It's consistent enough a factor that we can guess that Lute doesn't really socialize a whole lot with people in the army. It's not surprising given her personality and her obsessive interest in specific things.

After introducing herself, Vanessa introduces her pegasus, Titania.

At which point, Vanessa has stumbled on one of Lute's interests: creatures.

So Lute proceeds to monopolize the conversation and info dump on Vanessa.

She starts by talking about the different names for pegasus. This part in Japanese involves her not only using the katakana, foreign-derived word "pegasus", but also two kanji-based words, "sky horse" and "has wings horse".

Kind of like how we often use Latin or Greek based words in English when we want to sound fancy, or for technical terms (due to the history of Europe's obsession with the Greeks and Romans often being viewed as the "initiators of European civilization") in Japanese there is a tendency for words made up of combined Chinese characters to sound more stiff, or like technical terms. In many cases, this is because these are literal loan words that Japanese educated people adopted into their language, sometimes a couple hundred-thousand years ago when China was viewed as a center of culture and learning.

I think a good example could be the word she uses for "sky horse". The two characters are jammed together, and usually in those cases, the "Chinese" reading is used, which is true here too, "Tenma". (Like I mentioned above, the "Chinese" reading is based on the pronunciation of the characters that some Japanese guy got from the Asian mainland at some point in history. Many kanji have multiple readings like this since there are many different Chinese languages in different areas of what's now China, languages also change over time, and of course, Japanese phonology is radically different from any Chinese phonology, so the pronunciations are more like approximations of how some group of Chinese people read the character at some point in time. If you look in a detailed kanji dictionary, it will often tell you the Chinese dynasty/ies in power at the time the character's reading(s) was/were adopted into Japanese.)

If this word were using "Japanese" readings of the characters, it would probably be "Sora no uma". Just based on feels, "Tenma" sounds a bit fancier and stiffer, whereas "Sora no uma" sounds very straightforward because the words "sora" (sky) and "uma" (horse) are used in everyday conversation, whereas the parts of "Tenma", "ten" and "ma" are not used on their own usually.

I explain all of this because it's interesting how it's coincidently very similar to something we can see in English too. Take a word like "autograph". It's two Greek words, "self" and "write" jammed together. These words aren't used on their own usually. (I mean, maybe this is a bad example since these two parts both are used on their own, but that's only because "auto" can be short for "automobile", and "graph" can also mean a table or chart. What I really mean is, we don't use "graph" as the word "write" in English on its own. No one says, "Please graph your name on this line here.") But these parts are frequently used to express meaning as parts of words.

Imagine how "self write" (both Germanic words) would sound in place of "autograph"? It sounds very basic, almost too straightforward. This same thing that we do in English all the time with Latin/Greek/Norman based words is similar to what they do in Japanese with the distinction between words with an "original Japanese" origin versus a "Chinese" origin.

In English, germanic words often sound straightforward and basic. In Japanese, Japanese origin words often sound more straightforward. In the same way, in English, words made up of Latin/Greek/Norman French parts often sound more educated or technical. And in Japanese, that's often the case for words made up of combined kanji using the "Chinese" readings.

----END INFO DUMP---

At any rate, now that I've info dumped at you, you may see why I like Lute so much.

Lute goes on to explain to Vanessa (who rides a pegasus literally every single day) how they fly by kicking the air, not by flapping their wings, and that their wings are used more for gliding.

To which Vanessa kindly responds that, yes, it would be really hard to ride them if they flapped their wings all the time.

She responds like this instead of, you know, getting all prickly about this random girl lecturing her about the animal she knows better than any other.

God bless you, Vanessa. You're a saint.

Lute also continues to talk about the origin of the word "pegasus" and its connections to "springs" and "oceans", and basically, go look at Wikipedia if you want to see the rest of what she said. :)

Vanessa continues to be an absolute sweety and says, "Thank you for the very clear introduction. I'm glad we're allies."

And then Lute says, "I look forward to working with you, Titania!"

Vanessa: "I'm Vanessa!"

Like a lot of people, I've jumped on the Dungeon Meshi bandwagon recently, and it's hard not to get flavors of Laius from Lute.

At any rate, the original reason I moved Vanessa there was to block the soldier from hitting Lute, and Vanessa does an admirable job of that during enemy phase.

I also discover that there is another guy with a sleep staff in the throne room. He misses Vanessa though.

You can see how low his hit is on her, with her good res.

It's this guy, here.

I start sending people up to deal with the enemies around the chests and Tana. I leave Vanessa in range of the mercenary, and Ephraim in range of the armor, though it later on turns out that that guy doesn't move.

Next time: More reinforcements, more sleep staff nonsense, and maybe we'll finally save Tana

[nipahnan]

realistically , how is it like living in japan ? i am a POC so our experiences would definitely be different .. but are you fluent in the language ? how is everyday life for you ? do you have a job there or remote work overseas in the US ? sorry for all the questions !! i'm hoping to move to japan myself eventually . ♡

Aaah I’m so happy to finally get a question, I’ve been waiting to be able to ramble about myself on here thehe :) This is gonna be a long one, so I’m sorry in advance, but I want to try and be as transparent as possible!♡

I don’t live in Tokyo, yet I have a bunch of friends who live there and who talk about their experiences very openly, so I’ll also talk about things they went through and that they observed. In general people of course need to make sure not to romanticize a country. Japan is a country like any other and a lot of people forget that. I’ve been interested in Japan since I was around 11 years old and I came to Japan knowing about it’s good and bad sides because I did research about it for years. So coming here with very realistic expectations and not thinking I’m gonna live in a fairytale, I’d say it’s great so far! :)

Of course I’ve only been here for 1 year now, but it’s definitely so much better than living in Germany. It just suits my lifestyle and general personal behavior so much better. I never felt connected to people in Germany with the way they behave and so I’m having it way easier here. I definitely aim to obtain permanent residence status one day because I really believe that I want to enjoy my life here. I definitely feel like foreigners who move to Tokyo have it so much easier than people who move somewhere else in Japan, because there’s so much more English writing or people who try and speak English since it’s full of tourists too, so it’s easier to navigate without learning any Japanese. When I first landed in Japan I literally only spoke English and I was kinda shocked since I didn’t expect that at all tbh. I actually know a few people who have lived in Japan for years without learning any Japanese and it kinda baffles me sometimes lol. I definitely recommend coming here with at least some basic Japanese and then trying to gradually learn more, that’s how I did it and it’s been working very well. Im not fluent at all yet, but im able to have conversations and I’m learning every day and that’s what counts :)

I also know a lot of people who realized how fake Tokyo can be and decide to move away from it quickly because of them getting mental problems or their mental problems worsening, considering how awful mental help in Japan is. They’re feeling very lonely, overworked, and even get bullied. It definitely depends on the workplace of course. But as long as you make sure to make genuine friendships and realize that Japanese people can be extremely blunt and that their behavior is overall quite different, you’ll have no problem with them. There’s a lot of rules and there’s no way you’re always able to remember them, so I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Definitely try and act according to how they act and you will be welcomed with open arms I’d say :)

I currently don’t have a job because I got hit with a very hard illness right after 3 months of living here which resulted in me almost dying that I’m still recovering from. So I didn’t have time to work with how many times I was in the hospital, yet I’m having an interview soon and I’ll hopefully be able to start work in the next month if everything works out :)

I have a spouse visa after finally marrying my partner that I’ve been with for 4 years, so that made immigrating here way easier for me of course and I definitely realize that I was very lucky to get here that way. I only had to wait 15 minutes and immediately had my visa, meanwhile a lot of people say how long they had to wait because they had a different visa and of course because the Tokyo immigration is so much fuller than the one in Nagoya.

Everyday life is very chill, it’s very quiet so as a person who is very easily irritated and overwhelmed by loud noises it’s so much better for my mental health. yet again I don’t live in Tokyo and in a very tiny town (13.11 km² big lmao) so I have to drive to Nagoya for some of the „fun“ parts.

Now for some of the VERY annoying parts.

Stares. People stare at you ALL the time. Even tho I’m white, they love staring at me like I’m some alien because I have blonde hair and stick out like a sore thumb here in my city where there’s such a tiny amount of foreigners(basically 0 lol) I’ve noticed that people usually say that old people are kind of rude to them and how nice young people are, yet for me it’s the complete opposite at times. Old people, especially old women, love randomly talking to me and are generally very nice to me. There’s this older lady who works at my local family mart and she is sooo nice to me, always giving me compliments and everything, she is so cute♡ Meanwhile young people love staring and making fun of me because they often think I don’t understand them. I get comments like „she looks cute but she’s kinda fat.“ „do you think she even understands Japanese?“ and they giggle all the time. Sometimes they also take pictures of me in the train and it feels very rude. As someone who never stood out in her hometown and always trying her best to not get any attention, it definitely hurts to suddenly hear comments like that and basically feeling like a zoo animal at times. Yet I knew this would happen so I was prepared for it and I know I just shouldn’t care about comments like that. Now idk how bad it is in Tokyo but I can imagine it’s not as awful since it’s way more diverse? Yet you still hear stories about how this also happens very often to POC and sometimes even white foreigners who just happen to have a different type of style. So it’s definitely something to keep in mind.

Also about the topic of getting called fat. Japanese people LOVE to call you fat in your face. As soon as you’re over 50kg no matter your height they will probably consider you fat. One time I had to state my weight at the hospital for a scan and the lady literally yelled „…kg???“ and then proceeded to giggle to her male coworker. Considering that coming from the hospital staff, it was definitely shocking. Especially since I was literally about to die that day? I was so shocked and felt so bad considering I gained 10kg during that time only due to steroid medication which I literally had no control over. So I’d definitely say it’s another thing to be prepared for.

Their clothing style is also pretty different from the west, you’ll see a lot of long skirts and blouses or sweaters. Tight fitting clothes or clothes showing of a lot of skin aren’t as common here and it definitely makes you stick out. One time I was wearing a tank top under a jacket and didn’t close the jacket all the way while going to get takeout and some school boys sitting at the table loudly made a comment about how giant my boobs are and didn’t stop staring and it made me insanely uncomfortable to which I immediately just closed my jacket. Most uncomfortable encounter I’ve ever had and made me stop wearing shirts that show cleavage lol.

Also there’s of course a lot of sexual harassment here, especially in Tokyo. There’s literally guys just staring at 🌽 that you can see in the reflection of the train window (I even saw that in person one time, absolutely insane) or just straight up jerkin off. They literally have posters at my train stations telling women to pay attention to their skirts because there could be someone taking pictures of your panties. So if you intend to wear short skirts you always have to wear shorts under it if you don’t want some pervert to take a panty shot of you. At this point they even have hidden cameras in their shoes which is just insane to me…

Overall, don’t believe most things those tiktok or YouTube videos from tourists tell you. They often times don’t have any knowledge about Japan or how it is to live here, often give misinformation or are just straight up romanticizing this country to the max. All my friends and me even absolutely hate these travel vloggers at this point because of how much bs they’re saying :,)

To sum it up: if you have enough knowledge about the country and the people, prepare yourself as much as possible and realize that it’s very different from what you’re probably used to, and most of all, that it’s just another country that you’ll be living in, you’ll definitely love it here! :)

I definitely could tell even more because I had so many crazy encounters already and so many cool places to talk about, but I think I’ve been talking long enough now :D

Hope my ramble was a bit helpful for you（╹◡╹）♡

[doloresdisparue]

Hi! Im 15 and I love morbid, introspective, philosophical media. I have been scrolling through your blog for a long time and I love your interpretation of Lolita. Would you recommend someone my age to read it?

I think that's very hard to say without knowing you. It's definitely not a book meant for teens but I'm well aware there are precocious kids in the sense of simply loving reading and difficult subjects. I definitely think at that age it only makes sense if you either have an unusually large vocabulary or are looking to expand yours and willing to put in the work. I know a lot probably would have gone over my head at 15 even if I had read it in my native language (and I think it's definitely best in the original).

Your willingness to already immerse yourself in analysis and the weight of the topic definitely speaks for your ability to engage with the material. I don't think at 15 I would have been able to really appreciate the depth and horror of it but I also know people who first read it young and revisited it through the years and let it unfold all its layers that way. And clearly there are more than enough adults who didn't remotely get it even at their big age.

You will probably have a very different experience reading it as someone who is actually Dolly's age as opposed to someone who firmly sees 15 year olds as children. Whether thats better or worse depends on a lot of factors I can't really speak to not knowing you. How well you can digest fictional atrocity varies wildly between people regardless of age. I don't know if you have experience with the topic personally or close to you either. It's heavy and awful subject matter but unfortunately being 15 doesn't necessarily mean you've never had any touching point with any of it.

As condescending as it might sound, without knowing you I'd say you should probably consider whether you have people to talk to if the topic gets too much, too upsetting or even just if you have questions about sections of the book, literary references, foreign language... whatever. Ideally someone older but you probably know best who you could rely on as a sounding board in your life.

I'm also always around for Lolita related questions or simply as someone else who loves the book but I'm also a stranger and at the risk of once again sounding like your grandma it's very fair to not trust strangers on the internet.

[sorenphelps]

For the ask game: 7, 10, 23, 29!

Hi there!

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

Oh wow, it's a hard question! I don't really have any favourite words, so I'm just gonna share some that foreigners usually find beautiful for some reason:

fülolaj = ear oil, cipőfűző= shoe laces, pillangó= butterfly

10. most enjoyable swear word in your native language?

It's the forth time I'm asked about this (answers here, here and here), but don't you worry, I can still share some more! XD Swearing in Hungarian is my passion apparently.

We have several words for penis, and they can be used in a very versatile way. For example: "Fasz"=dick, which can refer to an actual penis and an unpleasant person too. "Fasza"=his dick, but it is used as an adjective mostly, it can either mean that something is very great, or as a sarcastic remark for something that is awful. "Faszom"= my dick, is usually used as a short statement of annoyance, like "damnit" or "oh, shit". (It's probably my standard phrase to use when I notice something unpleasant.) We also use the word dickhead ("faszfej") the same way as in English, but we can add other words to it for variety, without any change in the meaning, e.g. "faszkalap"=dick hat. "Fasz se tudja"=my dick doesn't know, is used when you have no idea about something. This phrase can be used with any of our words for penis. "Mi a fasz?"=What is a dick? is used as what the fuck in English. Because it's a short word starting with an F, fuck is translated as "fasz" in Hungarian dub quite often. "Pöcs" also means penis, but it's a milder version of "fasz", and used for younger guys mostly (but not exclusively). "Pöcsöl"=using dick, means to waste time.

Also here's a long sentence full of swearing, which contains most of the phrases that I've listed so far, without using one twice:

A kurva élet basszon már meg, mi a szart pöcsölsz már, menjél a telibekúrt faszszopó anyádba, húzz innen a büdös picsába el a gecibe, te seggarcú rohadt ribanc!

It's over exaggerated (?), and actually very hard to translate to convey the essence truthfully without butchering it. To summarize, it means something like this: Why are you wasting my time, damnit, go fuck off already, you ugly bitch!

23. which alcoholic beverage is the favoured one in your country?

We have a wide variety, we have our own brands of beer, wine and hard liquor too.

I think beer is the most common, because it's the cheapest. There are more and more craft beer breweries out there, so there is a large selection in quality too.

I personally prefer wine, and while I am from the Northern-Eastern side of Hungary, I like wines from Lake Balaton more for some reason. We have a very sweet white wine Tokaji, which I think is a protected trademark. Another popular drink is wine mixed with soda, called "fröccs" (it's the Hungarian word for the splashing sound). Fröccs is actually my favourite drink, especially in the summer. I'm always down to a viceházmester (2dl wine+3dl water) from white wine. Here's a whole chart about fröccs types:

We have our own hard liquor too called pálinka. It's made from fruits (usually plums or peach, but can be made from anything), and the alcohol content can vary. It is actually allowed (encouraged even) to make your own pálinka. I am not a fan, but it is the most Hungarian alcohol. If you are in Hungary and you are offered a water-like clear drink, especially in the countryside, be careful! It will probably be pálinka and not water. (To illustrate how strong it can be, a common phrase to refer to pálinka is "kerítésszaggató"= fencemelting.🤷🏻‍♀️)

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

Already answered here. But I just realized that I completely misunderstood the question, so I'm gonna answer this again. I live in Budapest, which is the capital of Hungary. And it's really a capital vs. countryside. But even it's a Buda vs. Pest. Or in the countryside, it's a West vs. East. As I mentioned before, Hungarians hate everyone, especially other Hungarians.

[starlene]

Assorted Moulin Rouge! Stockholm thoughts:

I think it was Thalia's guidance that led me to the front of the balcony in this performance. You see, I've never been a fan of Moulin Rouge! the movie (mostly because of the way it's edited – the music video kinda style is too fast for me; it already feels like that inside my brain all the time, I don't need any more of that in a cinematic format), and though I've listened to the Broadway cast recording a lot, I wouldn't call myself a fan of the musical either. And yet, when they announced the Stockholm production, I knew I had to go to see it.

So, thank you, Thalia, for your guidance and blessing. The show absolutely slapped all the way through.

However... as I said, I'm not a MR! fan, so this point has probably been made a million times and I just haven't seen it, but: the love story in this is... kinda awful, right? Like, I know it's the whole point that Christian is young and naïve and goes mad with love, but oh man, when he goes full young werther near the end and the dying woman has to talk/sing him out of committing suicide in front of a whole audience of people... dunno, I just think he could've handled Satine's rejection a whole lot better, right?

Also, to me, the story would actually be more touching if Satine wasn't dying quite so actively. I know it's an adaptation of La traviata, I know their use of the dying courtesan character archetype is very deliberate – but even so, to me, it would feel more tragic if Satine had to leave with the Duke in the end, living a rich but empty life as his mistress, with only the memory of her and Christian's song left of her true love. There must be fanfics like this, I gotta go read them.

Anyway, I'm not watching and loving this for the story, I'm watching and loving it for the vibes. And the vibes were 100% right in Stockholm. It's not a serious show or something to be taken seriously at all, it's just kitch and glitz and glamour and fun, but with just enough of a dark edge to keep it interesting to me.

Speaking of Satine, though: as @veilingofthesun wrote, Marsha Songcome was made for the role. I don't really have any insights about the character or the performance (it's hard to analyse perfection), I just want to point out that she was just right for the role.

I promised you Harold Zidler posting, so here goes: I'm in love with Morgan Alling in the role. Like. It's not very girlboss feminist of me, but can't help it, middle-aged musical men are my kryptonite. I knew this was going to happen, and here we are. Alling has such a kind energy somehow, and it suits the role surprisingly well! We're creatures of the underworld, we cannot afford to love my ass – he so clearly loves Satine, not romantically of course, but loves her nevertheless. There was something so real/human about the character to me. I gotta see this again just so I can analyse him further.

Also loved Alexander Larsson as Toulouse-Lautrec. What a voice! And Fred Johanson as the Duke of course – he does a great villain and his voice is to die for, just shame about the awful wig.

Currently, MR! the musical is running in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark. They're not Broadway replicas, but they're all replica productions of each other, directed by Anders Albien (+ co-directors from Norway and Denmark, I think). Seeing how they've all premiered a couple of weeks within each other, I'd love to hear about the logistics of the thing – how did the creative team manage three simultaneous productions? (Also, why is Finland not a part of this so-called "Nordic production"? Or might we be getting our share later on? I've no doubt whatsoever that MR! is coming to Finland soon, but I'm curious to see if it'll be this production or something else.)

They sung in English but spoke in Swedish. I understand this musical must be an absolute nightmare to translate, and here, since both of those are foreign languages to me, it didn't bother me too much. But if they do the same thing in the eventual Finnish production of MR!, I think I'll have a bigger problem with it, since having to switch between my native language and a foreign language feels more awkward.

tl;dr: Moulin Rouge! Stockholm slaps and I have to see it again, who's coming with me?

[mercy-misrule]

No fanfic sin more unbearable to me then non canon nicknames.

That's an instant back out for me. It sucks when it breaks linguistic rules for a language, like the awful abbreviations anime and manga characters get that don't match how actual Japanese nicknames happen.

BNHA and Haikyuu get this really badly.

And it's bad when characters use non english pet names to prove how foreign they are. Caleb from Critical Role gets this, and it's especially annoying when one of his continuous vocal quirks is that he uses full names for everyone. He almost never ever uses endearments or pet names.

But you know, it also sucks when it's just straight up Bad Name

I just read 'Stari' for Astarion and brother I'm rolling my eyes into the earth.