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yo-yo-yeonkai · 3 months

Text

AND THEY WERE ROOMATES - KANG TAEHYUN - NSFW

Taehyun x AFAB!reader

Genre: smut

Warning list: Roomates!Taehyun, dom!taehyun, sub!Reader, fingering, degrading (bad girl, dumb, slut, whore), praise (good girl), use of rules, talk of punishment, deprived of the dick she deserves, use of "sir', not proof read yet,

Word count: 1,255

Summary: You only put on your roommates shirt (to tease him) and you were only minding your business (you were definitely showing your body off) and he got cocky and claimed you were doing it purposefully (you 100% were, you needed him)

A/N: Early post for Taehyun’s birthday because I’m too busy to post on the day. Happy birthday Taehyun!!!

"You sit around in my shirt all day, panties out, nipples hard, and expect me not to stare, doll?" Taehyun scoffed, easing closer and closer to you.

The situation you were currently in had only ever been a fleeting dream, a thought that would stain your mind a dirty red, you had never thought it would actually come true.

Currently, you were sandwiched between your sofa and Taehyun. This, of course, was entirely your intention when you put on his shirt, no trousers... but his words and actions still had your mind going blank and shivers racking through your body. When you'd imagined how this may go, you'd never expected Taehyun to be so dominant, or frustrated by just a top.

His hand teasingly ran up your leg, fingers barely grazing your skin, almost like a tickle. You were so sensitive, shaking for him already pathetic. Sparks igniting your skin with want, need.

"it's so baggy, but even then it doesn't cover you properly. Every time you bend over I see your perfect ass." He pauses, running his hand further and further up your soft leg, only just reaching you knee. He was taking his precious time with you, making you wait.

"It hangs off your shoulder you know...I think you'd look better all marked up for me" he finishes, hand reaching the plush of your thigh and squeezing. Not gently like you'd expected, no, he dug his fingers into your skin, he wanted to FEEL you.

You couldn’t think of much but him, but you knew this was strange, even for a flirty Taehyun. He'd rendered you essentially useless with his stupid touches, and sultry words. "Tae, what are you doing?" You whispered, lacking confidence to raise your voice at him when he was so very close to your body. Scared your voice might break and he’ll know how desperate you are for him.

He leant over you, pushing you further into the sofa. "What's it look like I’m gonna do doll... I'm gonna fuck you~" he chuckles. Your thighs act subconsciously and squeeze together, encasing his hand in the soft plush of your thighs. A sigh escaped him as he spoke, "oh? And that's exactly what you want isn't it? Such a bad girl" He draws closer, expectedly.

He was looking for an answer, but you didn't have one, you were wordless, such a dumb fucking slut. He had you wrapped around his finger, but you just couldn't figure out how to comply.

He tuts, pushing his hand higher up your legs until he reaches your clothed cunt, panties wet with arousal. "Answer me slut~" He ordered, seemingly unsurprised by how soaked you were. He just knew you've been walking around the flat all day just thinking about him fucking you, such a naughty little thing-

You chocked on your words, but you got them out like he wanted, "y-yes... I was hoping the s-shirt would catch your attention" you admitted, looking away from him in embarrassment.

He grabs your face roughly and forces you to look at him, his eyes were a deep black, no twinkle like normal. He was hungry, and you would be his meal.

“it's rude to look away from someone whilst they are speaking to you. You really have no manners, huh? First you tease me with this fucking shirt, next you can't even answer me, then you look away from me whilst I'm talking. I'm gonna have to teach you some manners huh? Teach you how to be a good girl?" He pushes his fingers past the brink of your panties, the tips of his fingers instantly coated in the pool of desire between your legs. A gasp instantly slipped from your lips when he circled your clit. "Not gonna answer me slut?" He groaned, eyes darker than you'd ever seen them.

"I'll be a good girl! Fuck me!" You whine, grinding down onto his hand. He leans back so he's sat in between your legs, gripping your hip to hold you in place "first lesson, stay still. I'll fuck you how I want, you’ll take it how I give it… understood slut?".

"Understood" you whimper, nodding pathetically as he begins to sped up. He hums in approval "if you break a rule I'll have to punish you, do you understand that?" He asks once again. You nod at him, once again but quickly remember you need to respond "yes Tae" you whine.

He hums in thought before quickening his pace with his fingers, brutally fucking you dumb. He leans back over you, hand resting next to your head to hold himself up as he whispers in your ear "from now on its yes sir, you got that whore?".

You whine at the sound of his demand and moan "yes s-sir". His lips quirk up so sinfully, god he loved the sound of you calling him sir. He couldn't take the distance anymore, he finally closed the space between your lips as he kisses you. Each move was calculated, mastered like a skill.

His tongue slipped into your mouth as you moaned, seizing the chance to further take control of you, to use you like a puppet. Your tongues twirled together, until he quickly pulled back and bit your lip. Droll slipping from the corner of your mouth and lips swollen from kisses, you whimper "s-sir, please- wan' your cock" you beg. You were utterly pathetic, utterly adorable, perfect... absolutely perfect.

He tuts at you "is this not enough for you doll? Do you need more? Do I not make you feel good enough?" He asked, but it was all a trap, questions to make you trip up so he could punish you. He begged you'd slip up and break a rule so he could have you laid over his lap begging for him to stop as he spanks your pretty ass. He needed that.

"Feel s' good- I just need you" you whine, hands coming up from gripping the sofa to touch his abs, gently running your fingers down till you reach his joggers.

He tuts at your action, using his spare hand to grip both of yours, restraining your movement. A sly smirk spreads across his face, he'd finally caught you doing something else wrong, but technically it wasn’t a rule, so he can’t punish you yet. But he’ll make it a rule. You’ll do it again and he'll punish you, for your own benefit of course.

"next rule, don't touch me, unless I give you permission. It's a privilege you have to earn by being good for me~" he teases, bringing your hands up to his face and licking your wrist teasingly.

"Sir, please, I need you" you begged once again, trying not to wriggle as he begins to finger fuck you again. "You don't get my cock till you follow all the rules. D'ya understand that whore?" He tuts, and suddenly the realisation dawns upon you, it sounds like you won't be getting his cock at all today.

You nod at him "okay, I'll be good, so good" and by that point you sound so dumb and needy for his cock that he's almost willing to give it to you, but he'll stay strong. He needs to teach you a lesson first. Bad girls who tease him don't get what they want, even if it's what he also happens to want. He wanted to fuck you stupid, drill you into the sofa, but not now, maybe later tonight-

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ghouljams · 11 days

Note

I want to send Simon into subspace send tweet

Nah but he'd love the Amazon position, even better if you get tired of his squirming and trap one of his legs under yours so you're practically scissoring. He likes feeling like you're just using him, taking what you want without a care for what he feels. He's still penetrating you but it's you that's fucking him. Thrusting into him as he hears the plap plap plap of your pussy lips slapping against his skin.

You lean forward and the leg over your hip bends at the knee until you've got his thigh pressed against his chest and tell him to hold his knee up. Looming over him to wrap your hand around his neck. Telling him to "stop fucking squirming" because "fleshlights don't move".

He'll be your fleshlight. He'll be such a good toy for you.

Having him on his knees in front of a mirror, wrists handcuffed behind his back as you lift him upright by the column of his throat. Your strap deep inside him as you tell him to look at himself in the mirror while he rides you so he can see how beautiful he is.

Everytime he looks away - on accident, mostly, you just feel so good he throws his head back without realizing - you force him to stop. Waiting until he looks in the mirror again before you tell him "'s not your fault baby, you're just so good at taking my cock you can't think of anything else, can you? Too busy being good for me."

His moans crack and pitch into whines and then sobs as tears paint his pretty face, but you still won't let him move.

"Tell me how good you are. Say you're my good boy and you can move again."

He hesitates only slightly before conceding, he wants to be good for you and make you proud after all. You slowly start again, hands gripping at his hips hard enough to leave marks that he'll undoubtedly trace the next time he's on leave, pressing into them so they stay bruised and hurt enough for him to feel as he fucks his fist at night, so he can almost pretend you're there with him.

"That's it, darling, just like that. You are so perfect for me, aren't you?" After enough times stopping and starting again he repeats you without thinking.

"arrngghh- 'm perfect for you" he gargles out over a moan, watching his own spit bubble and drool out of his mouth and onto his naked pecs in the mirror

"Yeah, my sweet little slut knows how to make me feel good, doesn't he?"

""m y'r swee- hah! Lil' slut- mmmm! I'll make you feel guh- good, it's so good."

"You gonna cum for me, Si?"

He moans and nods, huffing out some words that attempt to mimic your sentence.

"yeah, you're always such a good boy, so pretty when you cum, aren't you?"

"'m pretty- 'm pretty"

He sees your hand reach around and wipe his cheek, smearing his drool with his tears.

"Tell me you're my good boy while you cum, mkay? I wanna see my pretty baby babbling for me like the cock drunk slut he is."

He chokes on a moan and his head rolls back before the hand on his face grabs his cheeks to pull him to look at the mirror.

"Your good boy, 'm your good boy, jus' for you-" ropes of pearly white shoot out of his cock, decorating his chest and falling to the floor and your fist around his shaft. "'m yours, 'm yours, yoursyoursyours"

His eyes glaze over and his vision blurs but he doesn't pull his gaze away from the mirror, even as he succumbs to gravity. Falling forward as you hold his cuffed wrists to stop him from falling into his own spend. Gargling on his own drool as it forces your strap to burrow against his prostate even harder.

On another note, I'm just saying, Simon would 100% want to get pregnant by you if he could. We need to unionize to impregnate this man.

Barking over this, I'm so feral. My desire to have Simon in any of these positions is fighting against the way I've got him characterized in my head. So I will give you this. (Cowboy)Simon getting Pavloved:

It's not often that Ghost is alone these days, but with you away on business he's had to re-figure certain things. Showers alone, breakfast alone, going to bed by himself with just your pillow to hug... Worst of all: sex. Ghost wakes up with a hardon and you're not there to solve it. With a grumbled swear Ghost spits into his hand and wraps his fist around his aching cock. He hasn't had to do this in a while, nice part about living with you, but it's like riding a bike.

He strokes his fingers over the soft skin, rubs his thumb against the head, nice and tight while he thinks about you. Thinks about your pretty pussy that is. Thinks about you every way he hasn't had you in the last few days: in the shower, over the kitchen counter, before bed, crouched behind you to suck at your cunt, holding your leg up to slot his cock into you, pressing you down into the mattress. Every way he can think of, it makes his cock ache, makes him groan against the stroke of his hand, imagining it's your slick cunt clutching at him.

You're always so sweet when he fucks you, always so careful when you ride him, never doing more than he can handle, never pushing more than he can stomach. Ghost tips his head back against the pillows and imagines the phantom press of your hands against his chest, the slap of your skin against his, the soft panting gasps when he angles his hips and hits you just right. He squeezes the base of his cock, tries to mirror the way you clench around him.

A year ago he might have queued up a porno, but now the thought of you is all he needs to have his hips bucking up into his hand.

Ghost groans, feels his lips part to take a breath. It's not enough, not what he's looking for, what his body is craving, but it has to be. It's just missing something.

Fucking hell.

"Good boy," He tells himself, squeezing his eyes shut against the shame of it, "pretty- fuck- 'm a good boy, pretty boy. Good boy, good boy, good boy." He pants it out, chants it to himself to try and subsidy your sweet voice cooing it in his ear.

Christ he doesn't know if it's the words or the flash of humiliated heat that tips him over the edge but his cock twitches and spurts come over his stomach as he strokes himself through orgasm. Exactly what he needed. God. He's going to have to say that every time, isn't he?

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #f!reader #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #oc: goose #sub!ghost

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sunkissed-zegras · 8 months

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🍁 for luke?!

congrats again on 100!! 🫶🏻

AAAAAA TYSM LOVE !!!!!! enjoy this blurb lmao, i love lukey pookie <3

he's so 1989. idk why but he just gives off that vibe. OKAY. HE'S VERY 'how you get the girl' (he for sure got the girl in this one lmao)

luke doesn't know how the hell he ended up at your house.

it was a 11:30 on a random tuesday, he knows you're asleep but he can't, even though he knows he has early morning practice tomorrow and a whole day of classes. his mind is racing, but so is this heart.

it was raining and he's still in his pajamas, too. his new jersey devils pj's really fit the whole mood. he rolled his eyes at himself ─ why didn't he change?

it had been six months since you two had broken up. well, not exactly. tomorrow morning, or in 20 minutes time, it would be exactly 6 months since you two had broke up. he knew this because he had been anxiously counting the days until your break-up was official.

ever since luke was little, jack would always tell him that break-up's weren't official until the 6 month mark which basically gave them a 'grace period' to get back together. and even now, as a whole adult, he applies it to everything.

he doesn't even know why he was here. he knew you had moved on ─ he saw all those guys you were with at the bar the other night, you weren't hurting anymore. still, that stupid rule made everything so much worse. knowing that after this period, you wouldn't even be thinking about him anymore made him sick.

he decided, an hour ago, that he was gonna get you back that night. he finally let out a big exhale and closed his eyes, getting out of the car and into the rain, walking up to your driveway and to your front door.

he quickly rang the doorbell twice ─ it was your guys' inside joke, knocking twice or ringing the doorbell twice was some kind of code for one another.

he heard some faint footsteps and he straightened his posture, letting out a loud exhale before you opened the door.

your eyes widened at the sight. your ex, luke hughes, standing outside your door in the rain, a few minutes before midnight. he could see the grogginess on your face and suddenly felt a tinge of guilt.

his curly hair was soaking wet and so were his pj's and you almost cringed at the sight. then you saw his face, his cute, stupid face. your heart fluttered at the sight, like it always did when you saw him, even when he was being a fucking asshole.

"luke, what are you doing here?" you shouted over the rain, that was starting to become more than just a midnight shower.

"i-i..." he didn't even know what to say. he let out a loud exhale before speaking again. "i miss you, y/n. i really, really miss you. i can't sleep, i keep repeating that fight over and over again and every time, i wish i had said something different. anything else would've been better."

your heart broke again at those words as you were transported back to that night. you shook your head, you didn't wanna relive that after you'd tried so hard to get over it all these months. "oh, you can't sleep?" you said, sarcastically. "i have repeated that night over and over again too, trying to figure out where it all went wrong. for a while, i even blamed myself─"

"it's not your fault, it was mine!"

"yeah, i know that now." you spoke bitterly at the boy, who was now shaking from the now, heavy rainfall. "i wish you had said something different, too, luke. but now we both have to live with the conseque─"

"fuck, y/n!" he grunted in frustration. "i'm so mad at myself for letting that happen, i'm so sorry for doing that to you."

you let those few words sink in. luke hughes was not one to ever apologize, you knew that. that was one of the reasons why you two had ended things and hearing those words come out of his mouth felt somewhat therapeutic. "luke─"

"y/n, please just let me talk!" he shouted over the rain. "if i could go back in time i would. if i could just... erase all of it, i would. but i can't. and i know i'm selfish for even asking this but i want you back. no one compares to you and no one ever will, y/n. i've tried, i really have. but i lost you once and i'll be damned if i lost you again if you just gave me another chance.”

that whole monologue sounded like it was right outta a movie. you didn't know how to feel ─ or how to react. you felt so many emotions wash over you and you took another good look at luke.

his curly hair, his soft skin, his entire face just took you back to when you two were together ─ the good times, too. summer at the lake house with his family, late night car rides for drinks, sunday night dates because he insisted that saturdays were for the boys, and especially, his soft touch.

luke's heart was beating out of his chest and he knew he was going to catch a cold because of how long he'd been standing outside, but all of that wouldn't matter if you just took him back. he watched your expression change and he swears he felt like a million tons had just been lifted off his chest as you opened up the door for him to come in.

"alright, luke. fine, one more chance. one, and if you fuck up, it's over and it will be over for the rest of our lives, got it?"

that sweet smile graced his lips for the first time tonight as he walked into your home, exhaling deeply. "got it."

you both stared into each other's eyes, your heart beating fast as a smile plastered on your face as well. then, luke smashed his lips against yours and pushed you against the door. "won't make you regret it, princess."

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

#── ✦ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲!#nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl #nhl oneshot #hockey #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x y/n #nj devils #hughes brothers #new jersey devils #nj devils imagine

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mypoisonedvine · 4 months

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32:"I wish they could all know about us." 48:"there's no way that was just a one-night thing." 54:"just one more kiss?" With Thomas Shelby, Raymond Leon or Ernst Schmidt

-❄

oh my gosh I've been wanting an excuse to write for ernst for ages!

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), secret relationship, semi-public sex, a bit of marking kink?, cocky lil shit ernst with a fluffy side

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

You could feel his eyes on you as you worked-- it was distracting, even though you were pretending to ignore it, and you had to put all your energy into looking like you were actually being productive so he wouldn't interrupt you.

Which, a few minutes of silence later, he did anyways. "So, are we going to talk about it, or--?"

"No," you said firmly.

"O-okay," he agreed, looking back at his own work.

That silence only lasted for about ten seconds.

"I want to talk about it," he announced.

"I don't care," you frowned, turning to face him, "we said we wouldn't talk about it. There's nothing to talk about."

"Nothing?" he repeated with a scoff. "That's what it meant to you, nothing?!"

"No, I didn't say that, of course it meant something, I just--" you began, but stopped yourself when you realized what you were doing, and he smiled proudly.

"See? See what I did there? I made you talk about it," he explained smugly, "and now we're talking about it. Was that so hard?"

You wondered if he meant to say that-- to say exactly what he'd said to you two nights ago. Of course, he'd said it pretty differently then: he'd told you he was going to make you come a third time, and you swore up and down you couldn't do it again-- but then after a few minutes you were clawing helplessly at the sheets under you, sobbing his name, shaking all over. Was that so hard? he'd asked you, mocking how quickly you'd fallen apart for him.

So, yes, your heart sort of skipped a beat when he said that, and your thighs pressed against each other-- he noticed, clearly, since he glanced down at your legs and back up at you with a smile, but thankfully he didn't call you out.

"We can talk about it," you offered, making him perk up, "later."

He sighed again. "And how am I supposed to be productive when all I can think about is this conversation in the indefinite future?"

You rolled your eyes. "I don't know-- just figure it out, okay! We can't talk here, in case someone comes in..."

His eyebrow raised. "So that's what you're afraid of, then. Of anyone finding out."

"W-well, yeah, of course," you replied. "It would make everything so much more... complicated. And I'd never hear the end of it-- and think of how hard I work to be taken seriously around here. Can you imagine if some of those guys knew about it? They'd probably think I only became an engineer to sleep around-- or think they have a chance with me, too. I just can't handle that right now."

He nodded, stepping a bit closer to you. "You're right. I hate that you're right, but you're right."

"It's not that I'm... ashamed of it-- or of you," you offered, lowering your voice a bit. "You understand, right?"

He reached forward, a hand resting on your waist which made your heart skip again-- the way he'd held you that night, keeping you pressed up against him, touching you everywhere he could reach-- "Of course I understand," he said, breaking you out of the memory. "It's just a shame... I wish they could all know about us."

You looked up at him, smirking a bit. "Us?" you repeated. "Who said anything about us? We just hooked up one time, that's it."

His hand slid up from your waist to your back, pulling you into him. You knew you should push him away-- you had your hands on his chest, prepared to if you heard anyone coming by-- but you were too caught up in the warmth of him, the smell of his cologne, the way he was looking at you right then. "There's no way that was just a one-night thing," he said, almost a hint of anger in his voice-- of incredulousness, that you could even suggest that. "You were there, you know what it was like."

"What was it like?" you challenged.

"Perfect," he answered instantly, making your face heat up.

"Well, I don't know about that," you hummed, "there was that time where I accidentally kicked you. Or the part when you stopped for water and totally spilled it all over your bed."

"No, that was all perfect, too," he decided.

"You didn't mind sleeping on a wet patch?"

"Darling, you'd already made one."

You choked on your own throat, looking away to try to collect yourself. He smiled and used the opportunity to hook a finger into the neckline of your uniform, tugging it down a bit and humming proudly.

"My mark is still there," he noticed. "You're welcome, by the way-- for only leaving them where no one would see."

"No, there was one here," you corrected, placing your finger on a certain place on your neck, "I covered it with makeup."

"Oh! Impressive," he nodded, "I wouldn't have noticed-- right here, you said?"

His finger traced the place, and you nodded.

"Hmm, this spot right here?" he repeated, voice softer, moving closer.

Your eyes fell shut as he latched his lips onto it again, you mouth falling into a quiet sigh. "E-Ernst, I told you, we can't--"

You cut yourself off with a whine as he grabbed your hips, guiding you back to sit up on the console; your legs instinctively wrapped around him as his teeth grazed your pulse again, and he growled quietly.

"What if someone c-comes in, and sees us?" you panted, holding tight onto his shoulders.

"Let them," he purred. "They'd have to see it to believe it, anyways: how beautiful you look like this... how easily you give in to me..."

"Fuck," you whimpered, your back arching when his tongue traced a line up your neck.

"I still can't believe it," he continued, "everything you let me do to you, how perfect you feel inside. It's like you were made to take me."

"God damn it, Schmidt, don't talk like that," you hissed, using a commanding tone that he was much more familiar with from you.

"Are you getting bossy now?" he noticed with a grin, pulling back to look at your face. "I don't mind. You can tell me what to do."

Your heart pounded but your brain, finally, took control. "Fine, here's what you should do: stop. Before we do something really, really fucking stupid."

He smiled a bit, and nodded. "Okay-- you're right. We shouldn't."

You sighed with relief, and he pulled back slightly, though not enough to let you get off of the console.

"But before we stop, just one more kiss?" he pleaded, giving you those cute puppy eyes you couldn't resist.

"Sure," you agreed, smiling as he leaned in closer-- but he stopped, and his hands were suddenly opening your uniform's belt. "Wh-what are you--?"

"Sorry, darling," he winked, "but you didn't specify where to kiss you. So I chose myself."

Your head fell back with a sigh as he sunk to his knees in front of you. "F-fuck, Ernst, you can't be serious-- if someone saw us--"

"Don't worry," he purred as he started to tug your trousers down, "if this goes anything like last time, it shouldn't take me very long."

#ernst schmidt x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #ernst schmidt smut #daniel bruhl smut

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alexanderlightweight · 11 months

Note

Cat Magnus if someone tries to take Alec away (yes, i realize i just called Alec a snack that was very smart of my subconscious)

Did you update your tumblr app btw? They added a read more button!

i have not updated my phone (lets be real, saeth normally does that for me because the update alerts come when i'm busy and then i never remember they came) but thank you because now i'll try to remember that

also your subconscious is brilliant! and correct

oh 100% that is Magnus with Alec

i don't even know if this was a prompt but here we go because i love this verse so much and magnus was not happy to wake up and find his skittles missing... i mean alec

<3 lumine

Alec wakes to warm softness and he rumbles, almost curling deeper into the fur around him before he realizes he’s hungry.

It’s the work of a thought to shrink to the size of a ferret and he wriggles his way past the large paws that were holding him close. Magnus shifts in his sleep, whiskers twitching and paws tightening on the empty space where Alec was.

Alec waits a moment, admiring the markings of Magnus’ coat before he pulls himself away and follows his senses to the roof. He flies up the stairs and while Alec could simply go through the door, he whistles to it until it unlocks and then goes through.

Alec can’t keep Magnus if he doesn’t prove he can protect Magnus’ nest and while Alec normally takes things to his hoard, it won’t be the first hoard he’s built around a priceless treasure. Alec will miss sleeping in the singing fire opal caves that he claimed over a hundred years ago, but he’s sure he can eventually take Magnus there.

Once he figures out how to convince the warlock to ride him of course. Portals don’t work in the caves and Alec’s magic and intent have made the caves impossible for anyone else to find or navigate, even other dragons.

With a sigh of contentment, Alec fishes out a last mouthful of the freshly formed koi crystals.

It’s enough to sate him for now and while he likes Magnus, the magic of the roof of the roof is created all from him and Alec is too content to move. Instead, he stretched himself out in the large gazebo made of willows and he slowly lets himself grow until he fills it and then he shuts his eyes.

—

Magnus wakes because his paws are empty and half asleep, he blindly reaches out and finds nothing but emptiness. It’s with a snarl of outrage — at himself and falling asleep — that he wakes completely and throws his magic out. It’s hard to pinpoint if a dragon has gone through his wards, but Magnus can certainly find out if he’s still nearby.

He is back on the roof and Magnus should be fondly amused, but he won’t be happy until he has his little dragon back under his watch.

The roof is open, petals and leaves on the staircase and Magnus chuffs, using magic to shut it as he stalks carefully through the garden. If Alexander is simply hungry then Magnus will have to ensure he has easier things for his little dragon to snack on. Magnus is hardly going to suffer losing his little treasure every time Alexander gets peckish.

Magnus can’t pinpoint his location, can only feel that his presence is within the bounds of Magnus’ own magic and it’s only that knowledge that keeps Magnus from slipping into a feral rage.

The koi pond has been raided but is empty and the water Alexander tracked has already dried. Magnus created a dimensional space on his roof, and he nearly regrets it now, when he gets to the tangle of his garden that he’s neglected for… a few years.

He stalks through the thick foliage, wild with the magic that nourishes it, and it isn’t until he steps on something long and sinuous that he pauses.

When he looks down, paws kneading curiously, it’s to find a long, tapered and scaled black tail. It’s far larger than anything Magnus has seen so far and he’s instantly curious as he follows the tail.

There he finds Alexander, several feet away from where his tail has coiled around a warm rock. He’s nearly twice the size Magnus is and he’s on his back, belly exposed to the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves that form the roof.

Magnus shifts before he can think anything of it, reaching out to pet over the matte and gorgeous scales that are his dragon’s skin.

“I’m going to have to keep a very close eye on you,” Magnus murmurs as he admires Alexander’s form. “A very close watch.”

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #the taste of his magic #malec #shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters au #my fics #my fanfics #my ficlets

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nattikay · 1 year

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Katxí, Navi learner here^^

I'm trying to learn Na'vi but I'm having a really hard time figuring out the grammar of the language do you think you could explain it a bit?

Kaltxì! Sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this, I knew it would take a long time to type up which was a tad intimidating ^^;

So uhhh needless to say I can't really teach you the entirety of the grammar in one post like this, but I can go over a few basic things to help get you started. :)

A common place to begin are the closely-related concepts of free word order, case endings, and transitivity!

───

Sooooo in English, word order is very important. "cat eats fish" and "fish eats cat" mean completely different things, and "eats fish cat" hardly makes sense at all. Na'vi, however, features limited free word order--words can go (almost) anywhere in a sentence without changing the meaning.

But if words can go anywhere in a sentence, how do you make sense of it? How do you know whether the fish or the cat is doing the eating? That's where case endings come in!

Case endings are suffixes that mark a noun's role in a sentence. Na'vi has five case endings, but we'll start with two: -l and -t.

Simple sentences like "cat eats fish" can be broken down into three parts:

1.) the verb, or the action of the sentence 2.) the subject, which is doing the action 3.) the direct object, which is having the action done to it

In Na'vi, the subject is marked the the L ending (-l for nouns that end in vowels, -ìl for consonants), and the direct object is marked with the T ending (-t for vowels, -it for consonants, or optionally -ti for any noun).

So let's return to our sentence and say that the cat (palulukantsyìp) is the one eating (yom) the fish (payoang).

What is the action of the sentence? Eat! What is doing the eating? Cat! Palulukantsyìp takes the -l ending. What is being eaten? Fish! Payoang takes the -t ending.

So, palulukantsyìpìl payoangit yom the cat eats the fish

or... palulukantsyìpìl yom payoangit payoangit palulukantsyìpìl yom payoangit yom palulukantsyìpìl yom palulukantsyìp payoangit yom payoangit palulukantsyìpìl

All six of these orders are 100% valid and mean exactly the same thing!

If we want to switch the meaning so the fish is doing the eating, instead of using a particular order, we just switch the case endings:

palulukantsyìpit payoangìl yom the fish eats the cat

Pretty straightforward! Let's throw in a third case ending: the R ending (-r or -ru for vowels, -ur for consonants), which marks the indirect object.

Consider the sentence I give you a gift.

What is the action? Give! What is doing the giving? I! oe takes the -l ending What is being given? Gift! stxeli takes the -t ending

So far so good...but wait, we are forgetting a noun! If "I" is the subject and "gift" is the direct object, then what is "you"? As you've probably guessed, it's the indirect object! It can often be translated as "to [noun]".

Oel ngaru stxelit tìng I give you a gift (I give a gift to you)

Now that we're familiar with -l, -t, and -r, let's shake it up a bit:

───

A common mistake I see with beginners is to always use the -l ending on the subject of a sentence. However, some sentences don't need it. The -l (and, with it, the -t) only show up with subject/direct object pairs.

That said, not all verbs can take direct objects. The ability for a verb to take a direct object is called transitivity. A transitive verb can take a direct object. An intransitive verb cannot.

In many cases the transitivity of a verb is fairly intuitive. For example, eat, like we used before, is transitive--you can "eat something". However, you cannot "sleep something". "I eat an apple" makes sense. "I sleep an apple" does not. Therefore, sleep is intransitive--it cannot take a direct object.

Because there is no direct object to distinguish from the subject, the subject of an intransitive verb does not need to be marked.

oel hahaw → oe hahaw I sleep

*quick note that transitive verbs are allowed to take a direct object, but are not required to--when there is no direct object, the -l ending is not used, even if the verb is listed as transitive in the dictionary. So, "I eat an apple" would be oel äpllti yom, but "I eat" by itself would simply be oe yom, without the -l.]

However, some verbs that look like they should be transitive are actually intransitive (the only way to know for sure is to check a dictionary). A particularly infamous example is the verb nume ("to learn")--I'm pretty sure just about every learner (including myself!) has made the mistake of trying to say oel nume lì'fyat leNa'vi ("I learn the Na'vi language") at some point or other!

There are a handful of ways to work around verbs that look like they should be transitive but aren't. Which one to use depends on the sentence. We'll cover two of them here:

───

The first is to use the R ending. Often, the word that appears to be the direct object of an intransitive verb is actually the indirect object, and therefore receives the -R ending.

Consider the sentence Mother cleans the house.

House (kelku) appears to be the direct object here. It is the thing being cleaned, right? However, the verb for "clean", laro si, is intransitive, so it cannot take a direct object. Remember when I said that indirect objects can often be translated as "to [noun]"? This is where that can come in handy:

Sa'nok kelkur laro si Mother cleans the house ("Mother does a clean to the house") (*note that the subject, sa'nok, is unmarked--remember that -l and -t only show up with subject/direct object pairs, which can only occur with transitive verbs)

───

The second workaround requires introducing another case ending: the topical (-ri for vowels, -ìri for consonants). This case ending is considered a bit more "advanced" since English doesn't really have a solid equivalent, so don't worry if it's a little confusing right now, but if you've studied certain other languages such as Japanese before you may be familiar with the idea.

The topical case ending introduces a noun as the "topic" of a sentence, which the rest of the sentence proceeds to make a comment about. It is often translated as "concerning [noun]..." or "as for [noun]..." or "regarding [noun]..."

Li'fyari lu sìltsan fwa tskxekeng si pxìm! It's good to practice language often! ("Concerning language, it's good to practice often!")

Using this ending is the correct way to say every new learner's favorite sentence mentioned earlier:

Lì'fyari leNa'vi oe nume! I'm learning Na'vi! ("Regarding the Na'vi language, I learn!")

*quick note--remember how at the very beginning of the post I said that Na'vi has limited free word order? Well, here's one of the limits: when using the topical, it is always expected to come at the beginning of a sentence/clause (in the forest dialect, at least--putting the topical at the end of a sentence is considered acceptable in the reef dialect but don't worry about that right now lol)

───

Well, that covers four of the five case endings in Na'vi. Might as well mention the last one: the possessive (I believe the fancy linguist term is genitive), which is -yä for words that end in vowels (except u and o because reasons), and -ä for everything else.

As you've probably guessed, this case ending describes possession. It can be translated as [thing] of [owner] and/or [owner]'s [thing]. The ending attaches to the owner.

Meysiyä syuve "Meysi's food" or "food of Meysi" (because of free word order, syuve Meysiyä also works! However, while it doesn't matter which side you put the owner on, you will want to make sure the two nouns are next to each other in the sentence. This is another example of the free word order being limited.)

Sa'nokä tìyawn "[a] mother's love" or "[the] love of [a] mother"

Pukä hapxì "part of [a] book"

Oeyä tsmukan "my brother" or "brother of mine"

───

aaaaaand that's all of the case endings! Originally I thought about going into a bit about infixes/verb conjugation too since that's also a pretty fundamental part of the grammar but this post it getting crazy long as-is; another time perhaps.

Hopefully that gives you an ok jumping-off point; if you need anything clarified or want to know about a different particular bit of grammar, feel free to ask!

#lì'fya lena'vi

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lavender-lotion · 3 days

Text

20 Questions for Fic Writers

How many works do you have on ao3?

868, which is bonkers???

What's your total ao3 word count?

2,445,126 words! I'm aiming for 5mil within the next decade haha

What fandoms do you write for?

CURRENTLY I am (only) writing teen wolf fic! it's so strange to be back where I started, but it's also been really nice coming back to all these familiar characters

Top five fics by kudos:

1. (baby) maybe that matters more - Steter, 40k

2. The Perceptions of You and I - Seter, 5k

3. With You, I Belong - Stalion, 59k

4. Mates and Marriage Proposals - Steter, 15k

5. Breathing You In - Steter, 29k

... should I just call myself a steter writer at this point?

Do you respond to comments?

yes!! all the time. literally nothing brings me as much joy as comments do

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I reaaaaally don't write a lot of angst, but one of the unhappiest fics I've ever written is probably this one?

And Now? - Stetopher, 300 words

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

there actually isn't one fic I would say that fits this? I primarily write schmoop, so a lot of my fic would count as having very happy endings! p

Do you get hate on fics?

oooooooh yeah babes. I've gotten some mean comments lol

Do you write smut?

yes! not a favourite thing of mine, but I do write it here and there. I recently wrote a fic w/ smut that I really really liked it!

keep me warm in the cradle of your skin - Sterekira, 7k

Craziest crossover:

ooooh this is actually SUCH an easy answer for me! it's 100% this one teen wolf/x-men cross over (possibly my only one?) where Logan (wolverine) knew the sheriff from the way when they'd been lovers and he goes to find him, and stiles is a lil jean grey esque character. I think about this thing allllll the time, too. I freaking love it.

what-ifs (don’t fuckin’ matter to no one) - Logan (X-Men)/Sheriff Stilinski, 2k

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have actually! I only know of one for sure, and it was a stackson fic that someone had reposted to ao3? im so glad I found it (I think someone sent it to me?) and I was able to report it and get it taken down!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! I love it, it's such a crazy labour of love. if you wanna translate my work, just send me a link so I can see it!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

me & @flightinflame co-wrote an almando series where we wrote the same fic from different pov's which was a suuuuuper super fun experience! I've started a few other co-writes, but unfortunately they've never taken off and gone anywhere :(

there's nothing i wouldn't do to make you feel my love - Almando, 27k

All time favourite ship?

nope. nope nope nope I don't knowwwwwww

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh!! this is marked completed on ao3 now because honestly, I'm never going to finish it, but I love love love the premise of this one and I always wished I had finished it

Love Thy Family - Stilinskicest, 12k

What are your writing strengths?

this is soooo tricky lol I hate talking about myself. I would say probably dialogue! I also really like how I write romance, specifically getting together works, and I think I do a good job at nailing down the feelings that go along with them!

What are your writing weaknesses?

settings. actions. plot. I hate plot!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I used to use a looooot more than I do now, and I would use google translate. it's never GREAT, so I mostly avoid it now. I'll translate like, a single sentence every now and again, but I don't do a lot with it anymore.

as for how I feel about it as a reader - as long as I can figure out what's going on from context clues, I really don't mind it!

First fandom you wrote in?

Percy Jackson & the Olympians!

To Long For Lust - Percico, 3k

Favorite fic you've written?

this is sooooo hard and so unfair and so difficultimpossiblehorrible to answer. if I had to pick one, gun to my head, it would currently be poly fic. it's the longest, plotiest, most developed thing I've ever written, and if nothing else, it's shown me that I can write things I've never imagined being able to write! once im done act 4, I wanna print it out lol

lift our faces, together, towards the glistening - Stisaackson, 159k

@lucky-bishop @mirrorthoughts @thotpuppy @like-lazarus @rosieposiepuddingnpie @kordyceps @whimsicalmeerkat

#lavenderlotion #my writing

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lisutarid-a · 12 days

Text

[Gakuen K] Munakata Reisi Route Translation

Test results

LIST OF CHAPTERS

[Translation under the cut]

Kukuri: It's almost time for the test results to be posted in the hallway.

Saya: Uhm, I'm very nervous…

Saya: (If I don't get 90 points, I have to leave the club)

Saya: (That will be decided today…)

Kukuri: I'm sure it will be fine. Haven't we been working hard together for a long time in the test camp?

Kukuri: Plus, the members of the Blue club cooperated with us quite a lot!

Saya: That's right…I'm sure it's going to be fine.

Saya: (I'm pretty hard on myself when it comes to grading, but…Uhm, I believe in myself!)

Saya: (I did the best I could)

Kukuri: Oh! The test results have been posted in the hallway.

Saya: All right, let's go! Kukuri-chan!

Saya: Let's see… My name is…

Saya: (There it is…!!)

Saya: (I need to figure out the average score. Let's do some calculation…)

Kukuri: I see your name's on the list. What was your average score?

Saya: …I just calculated it. The average score was 88.

Kukuri: Eh! So close…! Just a little more…

Saya: I thought I might be a bit doubful when I graded myself, but I knew it was no good.

Kukuri: …Sorry. I wasn't helpful at all.

Saya: Un-uh. In fact, it was thanks to Kukuri-chan that I got such a good score!

Kukuri: That's not true…Hey, if you would really have to leave the Blue club, let me know.

Kukuri: I'll try to talk over with Munakata-senpai. "This girl has been working so hard, so please do not expel her from the club"

Saya: Kukuri-chan…Thank you. But I'm sure I didn't do enough myself.

Saya: For now, I'm going to go to the club activities and report about it.

Kukuri: I see. Good luck. I'm praying you'll be fine!

Saya: (Anyway, I don't want to quit club activities, I'll tell them I still want to be in the Blue club)

Saya: (Even though I couldn't meet the requirements and it won’t change anything …but.., but still…!)

Saya: …Huh, nobody's here yet?

Saya: (Let's wait for a bit)

Saya: …

Saya: (In case if I really have to leave the Blue club…)

Saya: (Un-uh, I don't want to think about what if)

Saya: (Anyway, I need to tell them how I feel)

Munakata: Oya, you're quite early.

Saya: Ah, Munakata-senpai.

Munakata: You look kind of gloomy. Is something wrong?

Saya: I have something to tell to Munakata-senpai…

Choice: I don't want to quit club activities ❤

Saya: I don't want to quit club activities.

Saya: I couldn't get 90 points on this test.

Saya: I know it's a Blue club's rule and I know I have to leave the club, but…

Saya: I still want to continue my club activities.

Saya: I've just started working in the Blue club and was hoping to learn a lot of things in the future…

Choice: Em…Um…

Saya: Em…Um…

Munakata: What is it?

Saya: (I get nervous when I have to speak up… But I have to tell him properly)

Saya: I couldn't get 90 points on this test…

Saya: But I don't want to quit club activities.

Munakata: …Ahh, I did say something like that before.

Munakata: Please don't worry. Originally, there is no rule about grades in the Blue club.

Saya: Eh!!

Munakata: And I don't intend to make it in the future. After all, I don't want you to be troubled because of the red marks.

Saya: Then why…

Munakata: Let's just say I wanted to see how you felt about the Blue club…

Saya: So…I don't have to quit the club then, right?

Munakata: You took the test seriously this time and have worked very hard.

Munakata: I've heard about your attitude towards the test from many sources.

Munakata: Even if the results are not 100%, I like your directness. I hope you will continue to do your best as a member of the Blue club.

Saya: Yes…! Thank you very much.

Munakata: …I'm looking forward to your growth.

Saya: (I was surprised that there was no rule, but I'm really glad to know that I can continue my club activities…)

[Prev chapter][Next chapter]

#k project #gakuen k #gakuen k wonderful school days #otome translation #munakata reisi #yukizome kukuri

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kimyoonmiauthor · 2 months

Text

Death of the Author by Ronald Barthes (1967)

Full disclosure, I've never really liked this essay. That said, I do like Barthes' other arguments. But I always found this one lacking, not in its central thesis that readers also matter, but I find that the lines of evidence are really poor. People worship this argument far too much without examination of why it has no citations and no one seems to be willing to question the argument in full from other viewpoints of things like, does it make philosophical sense?

But then people often use this essay as a crutch to say they don't need authorcism, and in fact go towards 100% readercism and then skip out on other critical theories. This isn't exactly what it argues, but I also feel like it doesn't argue the points it wants to make well. And truly, if I handed something like this in as an undergrad to my English classes, I'd be marked down hard. I think we need the same level of scrutiny towards the so-called masters as we do towards students and don't make excuses for "Because he's well-liked". This wasn't a new idea like he suggests. Authorcism goes further back than he suggests–but because people don't want to challenge these notions (and apparently don't read all the way through Poetics?) they think he's brilliant?

Dude gave no citations. Seriously. All his assertions are on weak ground.

Man, sometimes I think being born a white straight male means never being questioned when you make wild assertions and no one will ever fact check you ever. Well, I'm fact checking this thing, and it's not coming up the way he wants.

Original file: (translated, 1977)

No one wants to say this is racist or challenge the whole, "In ethnographic societies the responsibility for a narrative is never assumed by a person, but by a mediator, shaman or realtor whose 'performance' the mastery of the narrative code–may possibly be admired but never his 'genius'."

The core idea that the "author" is a modern figure is disputed by Aristotle, when Aristotle goes on and on and on about how much of a effing genius Sophocles was. I mean that Homer dude, that Homer dude wasn't good for anything and is a distant second to Sophocles. (Why do I remember this? Because I read the whole of Poetics and *cough* Aristotle waxes on poetic about Sophocles and barely mentions anyone else.)

No one wants to challenge how this basis and core of his thesis is coming off racist?

It's reading as those "primitive" people in that effing functionalist snobbery where some civilizations are "more advanced" than others storytellers aren't lauded. Ummm... OK, prove it, buddy. Your anthropology is faulty.

Often shaman, the keepers of the stories of the tribe/organization are lauded in their communities as important. If this was NOT true, the British Empire wouldn't have specifically gone after and tried to KILL those people. If he's arguing that the author was less important in those stories, that those people said, which is an interpretation, because he's not directly saying it, then the problem with that is there is a difference between losing the author, and what we'd call resonance of the words. And then you have a whole semantics question here on how much do stories outlive their authors, and how much there is over attribution issues to people that should not be lauded.

And then that's a whole other question than authorcism v. readercism. Because even those stories without the original author who might have shifted over time, still have other ways to read the text. Those are historicism, cultural relativism, race theory, etc. All of which, BTW, did exist by the time Barthes was writing. To pin his hopes on readercism, and say something this effing racist, that copyright does not matter to tribes, without textual evidence, when Kung! do respect copyright ideas, at the very least, is trying to kill the author, but also bury everything else in literary discourse, which was an issue I had with Percy Lubbock, to be fair, because I thought his way of thinking was far too reductive.

There's no citation?

The explanation of a work is always sought in the man or woman who produced it, as if it were always in the end, through the more or less transparent allegory of the fiction, the voice of a single·person, the author 'confiding' in us.

I disagree, it's an overstatement at this point in time. Selden Lincoln Whitcomb, did do some of this, but he also looked at other things to explain the text. And there was Percy Lubbock who introduced Readercism (not the coinage, but the concept) in 1921. (yes, 1921, eat it, it sounds like plagiarism....). The absolutist idea that it was always sought through the author before this point isn't true. 'cause I effing did my reading.

Percy Lubbock said it was ultimately up to the reader to know the context, etc. Earlier critics have also suggested things like partnership between audience and creators. This would be writers such as Bertolt Brecht, who was around by the time Barthes was writing and gets half-hearted cited, no less. TT I did a ton of reading. There was a ton of effort in the early 19th century to give more context to plays like Antigone. Even that jerk, Freytag tried to give context to Aristotle, though wrongly. He uses (wrong) Historcism in order to illuminate Aristotle.

Though the sway of the Author remains powerful (the new criticism has often done no more than consolidate it)

What? As I outlined, I don't see that. He's making assertions without citation. And then people aren't challenging it. Why? I would be 100% be required to give citations for either assertion.

In France, Mallarme was doubtless the first to see and to foresee in its full extent the necessity to substitute language itself for the person who until then had been supposed to be its owner. For him, for us too, it is language which speaks, not the author; to write is, through a prerequisite impersonality (not at all to be confused with the castrating objectivity of the realist novelist), to reach that point where only language acts, 'performs', and not 'me'. Mallarme~s entire poetics consists in suppressing the author in the interests of writing (which is, as will be seen, to restore the place of the reader).

Stéphane Mallarmé was born 1842. No citation of the essay. TT Again, I'd be required to cite the effing essay. No one wants to challenge this? Intertextual evidence is missing. For a guy who says the reader is most important, he isn't doing a lot to prove it in his own work.

Instead, Barthes gets lauded by later writers by interpreting what the author meant when the author didn't say it?

It was largely by learning the lesson of Mallarmé that critics like Roland Barthes came to speak of 'the death of the author' in the making of literature. Rather than seeing the text as the emanation of an individual author's intentions, structuralists and deconstructors followed the paths and patterns of the linguistic signifier, paying new attention to syntax, spacing, intertextuality, sound, semantics, etymology, and even individual letters. The theoretical styles of Jacques Derrida, Julia Kristeva, Maurice Blanchot, and especially Jacques Lacan also owe a great deal to Mallarmé's 'critical poem." --Barbara Johnson, "Translator's Note" to Stéphane Mallarmé, Divagations, trans. Johnson, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007, pg. 301.

Isn't this against what he's arguing for? He didn't leave it on the page. He didn't say any of this. Barthes left no evidence. Reader with no context wins?

To be fair, here, I've seen Barthes other work and he does know how to do citations, but Johnson is flat out trying to explain the author for him and I don't like that. If you're arguing for readercism, then the author's intentions shouldn't need to be explained.

By putting it behind a veil of "Well, he did no citations, so we need to interpret what he meant" when he doesn't leave it on the page, that's authorcism, ironically. Makes me cranky when white men get away with doing no citations to prove their thesis.

Barthes cites Valery is Paul Valéry b. 1871, also no citation. I'd get lambasted if I did this. Ah, white male privilege.

No intertextual evidence for his assertion here, either. While I don't love Lubbock 100% and I thought he oversimplified, at least he put *effing citations* on the page to prove his assertions.

Where are the citations? He doesn't need them? Why?

Proust gave modern writing its epic.

There's no proof for this assertion. I don't think it's true either. Epic of Gigamesh. It was translated in 1875, not by Proust. Barthes knew about it. He's not giving the context well in the text either.

There's no citation for his assertions of Proust either. He makes opinions, but where is the textual evidence?

The removal of the Author (one could talk here with·Brecht of a veritable 'distancing', the Author diminishing like a figurine at the far end of the literary stage)

He cites Brecht, not the particular work?? But also Brecht argued for partnership between audience and author a bit at least?

Urrrgghhhh I HATE writers like this. Have I not gone over how much I dislike people who do assertions without citation and then get lauded?

The Author, when believed in, is always conceived of as" the past of his own book: book and author stand automatically " on a single line' divided into a before and an after. The Author is thought to nourish the book, which is to say that he exists before it, thinks, suffers, lives for it, is in the same relation of antecedence to his work as a father to his child.

Barthes, citation? No citation?

You asserted it was a "New idea" that the author reigned supreme. Prove it. Show the work that says that. Because Aristotle, nope. Aristotle worshiped the living pants off of Sophocles.

Look, Lubbock did a better job supporting his assertions in this area. He actually cited living works and did intertextual evidence. I agreed that his assertions are reductive like Virginia Woolf, but at least the man cited Tolstoy. He didn't make wild assertions about Tolstoy and then hoped that someone would get the references, and then cite no works.

In complete contrast, the modern scriptor is born simultaneously with the text, is in no way equipped with a being preceding or exceeding the writing, is not the subject with the book as predicate; there is no other time than that of the enunciation and every text IS eternally written here and now.

Modern from when? What time period? If you're trying to argue anyone before Stéphane Mallarmé existed, again, effing Poetics. Not to effing mention the whole of Aelius Donatus's entire treaties on how plays should go was based on a single author: Terence. In what time period are you talking about? Author worship goes way back in time. Effing reading about Aelius Donatus loving the hell out of Terence's play with r*** made me cranky for a week. He found it sooo funny. And I was struggling with the Latin too.

The fact is (or, it·follows) that writing can no longer designate an operation of recording, notation, representation, 'depiction' (as the Classics would say)

which ones, Barthes, which ones? Give me an effing citation. 'cause I can't see that the "depiction" reigned supreme over the "author" through Aristotle literally ranking Sophocles as better than Homer. Aristotle kept going on and on about it. Plus you just cited Brecht earlier, who hates Aristotle's ass. So, make it mesh together. Which parts of the "Classics" are you citing, and which parts of Brecht are you taking from? Brecht HATES Aristotle, and most of the time when people talk of Classics, they are talking about Greek plays. You need to delineate which parts you are taking and which you leave behind.

rather, it designates exactly what linguists, referring to Oxford philosophy, call a performative, a rare verbal form (exclusively given in the first person and in the present tense) in which the enunciation has no other content (contains no other proposition) than the act by which it is uttered - something like the I declare of kings or the I sing of very ancient poets.

No citation again. I'm cranky. No citation or quotes for all these pages. For an author whose supposedly arguing for "readercism" and "simplicity" by leaving it on the page, as the critic earlier, Johnson, is saying, he's not doing either, honestly.

Having buried the Author, the modern scriptor can thus no longer believe, as according to the pathetic view of his predecessors, that this hand is too slow for his thought or passion and that consequently, making a law of necessity, he must emphasize this delay and indefinitely 'polish' his form. For him, on the contrary, the hand, cut off from any voice, borne by a pure gesture of inscription (and not of expression), traces a field without origin - or which, at least, has no other origin than language itself, language which ceaselessly calls into question all origins.

Honestly, there is more burying of citations.

He's saying in the fanciest of words to make it sound like he's smarter than he is, that "You aren't dumb 'cause you don't understand the author." If he's arguing for simplicity and leaving on the page, he's not practicing the same himself. So I don't know if the earlier argument by Johnson works in his favor at all.

We know now that a text is not a line of words releasing a single 'theological' meaning (the 'message' of the Author God) but a multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none' of them original, blend and clash. The text is a tissue of quotations drawn from the innumerable centres of culture. Similar to Bouvard and Pecuchet, those eternal copyists, at once sublime and comic and whose profound ridiculousness indicates precisely the truth of writing, the writer can only imitate a gesture that is always anterior, never original.

I have issues with this from a philosophical PoV.

The question of originality, is certainly something that rose with industrialization, but that's more of an individualism, rather than an authorcism, I would argue–given how much that Aristotle, Aelius Donatus and others around the world tried very hard to preserve authorship. An argument of lost authorship overtime is a totally different affair, and one I've been dealing with as people over attribute, and I find that quotes are wrongly attributed because people don't remember the author or are too lazy to look up the texts they are talking about (I'm staring at you Barthes).

Individualism, is well, well argued to have risen with industrialization. Off the top of my head, though not in Barthes' time, you have Lucy Worsley, who in A Very British Romance argued that individualism in Romance is a very modern notion (argued, first episode within the first few minutes). Not to mention a lot of social sciences, in general, argue for this type of individualism, and then that argument, in general, leading to the arguments for why industrialization often leads to loneliness. To be contextually fair to Barthes, he didn't have the bit about loneliness yet, since that's a more recent sort of studying, but the scholarship on individualism as a part of industrialization should have been emerging in his time period, IIRC. This might have spurred this essay, but the notion that historicism and other ways of examining the text along with the author did not exist is a farce, at best.

One could argue the Butterfly effect, which is Henri Poincaré, prior to Barthes' existence of his essay, would disprove the idea of originality, but we're getting neck deep into physics and philosophy here. I am a nerd and interdisciplinary, so...

Say huip is a new thingy. It weighs 200 lbs. It does a bunch of new stuff–very theoretical. It doesn't matter. Someone newly buys this object that can do new stuff. It is a result of culture. Yes? Interwoven culture, as Barthes describes.

Bob has bought this huip thingy, and drops it down some stairs and finds that it rolls, not doing the original intended function. This is his particular life experience with huip. He thinks that 200lbs being able to bounce down stairs is awesome. I mean, dude, it defies all physics and is able to go down and turn on stair landings.

Bob posts this information somewhere, puts it into text, and then his interpretation, is by writing it, it is fun.

Sally, say, does the same thing, but kills a cat.

The first ripple is that it has killed a cat. Oh no, Sally's interpretation of huip is that the cat is dead and she's getting sued.

Isn't Sally's interpretation of huip and this thing it can do, but wasn't designed for novel as Bob's interpretation? If they both post about it, they are authors of a new experience.

If the manufacturers of huip say, but Huip isn't supposed to do that and do a total recall of the product and start doing things like making it so it can't roll, or weigh that amount, then the experience of the object changes. A new novel experience happens.

So the philosophical question is "What is then new?" in this scenario. If Barthes says "nothing" then it becomes an issue. Because humans aren't the same over time. And if you say that the author, Bob of the huip meme, didn't have a novel experience, dude, it is 200 lbs of menace and he discovered something new.

The fact that Sally interpreted it and then it ran over the cat and killed it... who is liable in that scenario? Bob, who didn't follow the instructions and accidentally found out and memed out what huip can do, the manufacturer, or Sally or all three?

Something clearly new happened.

BTW, I randomly pressed letters to come up with said object, huip.

If the experience is always anterior and not original, then how come witnesses never agree on anything? I don't think Barthes thought this part through completely. It's missing some key French Philosophers.

His only power is to mix writings, to counter the ones with the others, in such a way as never to rest on anyone of them.

Writers go outside and do things like experience seeing a new animal. Saying that a writer only mixes previous writing and cultural functions... meh, I'm not quite sure about this.

If his total argument is culture shapes the writer, and the writer has no free will, and the writer is merely mixing other writers, thus there is nothing new, this is more like an argument for determinism over free will, which runs into philosophical problems as I illustrated with Bob up there. Bob had a novel experience he wrote about. It wasn't the intention of the manufacturer, but gravity is not manufactured by culture. Stairs are manufactured by culture. Did an accident with gravity and a manufacturing error shape Bob into writing and memeing what he did with the huip? Or was it really Sir Issac Newton whom Bob never bothered to read, but loosely heard about once in Science Class for a test and he can't bother to remember the numbers for gravity.

Writers have experiences outside of books. The filter might be culture, but the filter doesn't always shape everyone's opinion exactly the same. Perspective, worldviews, and experiences do, and that's what's novel.

Barthes further argues that because the author has a dictionary, they are caught in culture. Urrggg. I made up huip on the spot. You still have no idea what the primary function of the object is. I'm sure someone is trying to make up one in their head. Or I typed that up and someone is making it up. But I don't particularly need to know much in order to make up that context. I need stairs, some name, and a mythical object I banged my keyboard for. Gravity is a natural force I personally experience. Especially when I was struggling to put an air conditioner in my window, heard a cat and then wondered what would happen if said air conditioner landed on the cat and then posted about it on Nanowrimo in 2008-ish.

Barthes might argue that I got it from literature somewhere. But the filter of words had nothing to do with the initial experience. I didn't have to put it into words. No one else was there.

Where did I get 200 lbs? Uhhh... random number.

Where did I get the runs over cat–from the original experience of worrying about the air conditioner falling from the window.

Where did I get magically rolls down stairs? I had an experience with a friend of mine that liked to roll down stairs. It was a novel experience for me. She liked to bounce around corners. (Hello, Libbie). If writing is purely words, culture, not nature, experience, worldview, opinion, Barthes has an issue with the treaties here.

My novel experience with the air conditioner and feeling like a weakling and hearing a cat though cat is not a controllable object in my framework, lead me to post about air conditioner falling from my apartment window into a roof, killing a cat, and typing it into Nanowrimo's boards.

Is Barthes saying the entire incident is mediated purely by words? That's a lot of coincidences, don'tcha think?

Gravity isn't a cultural experience and not everyone thinks in words either. In order to write you have to use words, certainly, but the initial experience still is not necessarily mediated by words or culture as he'd expect.

Classic criticism has never paid any attention to the reader; for it, the writer is the only person in literature. We are now beginning to let ourselves be fooled no longer by the arrogant antiphrastical recriminations of good society in favour of the·very thing it sets aside, ignores, smothers, or destroys; we know that to give writing its future, it is necessary to overthrow the myth: the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author.

Untrue. Aristotle spends a HUGE amount of time on it. HUGE. !@#$. (We need the play to have negative reinforcement on the reader in a morality PoV–he spends a lot of his treaties on this. How do you achieve this as author. About how the audience should feel. How plays are inferior if they don't achieve this. About how Homer was a poor writer for not doing it correctly and the impact being wrong.) Aelius Donatus even talks about it. (We Latins this. We Latins that. What does the audience think. What's the difference between 'us' Latins and the Greeks? Should we account for the differences?)

His idea is that in the past authors were never worshiped, until the "modern era" and copyright didn't matter. (Untrue, Aristotle). And that the reader has forever been ignored in literary criticism before him. (Brecht, Aristotle, Aelius Donatus?)

We should ignore the author because the reader is the ultimate decider–honestly Percy Lubbock did a better job arguing this in 1921 with less convoluted language.

That everything is mediated by culture for the author and previous texts. (Didn't read Raw and the Cooked by Claude Levi-Strauss? Levi-Strauss, BTW, was French and published before him) And that copyright didn't exist in those all oral tradition tribes. TT Kung! Anyone?

Because you see, according to him, writers don't experience or mediate it through their own lives. Only through texts.

I think the better argument for readercism would follow like this:

Readers have their own experiences and worldviews. This will not be universal or resonate reader to reader because inherently no two people will agree on anything. Despite that there is a sort of cultural agreement to tame what seems like chaos. Writing comes into this chaos and tries to pull meaning from it.

The writer and reader's experience will not close to always match, so the impact of the writing is not going to be the same no matter what you will do. The best you can do is mediate your experiences, whether it's with culture, nature or your personal experiences through writing which is interpreted by others.

As Lubbock said, the text doesn't come alive until a reader reads the text.

To me, Barthes' argument is far, far more poor than Lubbock's argument for the same. At least Lubbock's argument for the same wasn't effing blatantly racist. (I give more leeway to Lubbock in 1921, before the 1960's than Barthes in 1965 who is also French and has clearly access to Levi-Strauss and even talks about ethnographies) It's based on assumptions, the majority of which aren't backed up. Plus he has more to work with if what he says is true. D- argument. He doesn't argue for what to replace it with, doesn't talk about the other critical theories at all. Urgghh. He's done better. But I know, I'm not supposed to question the greats when people worship them. But it irks me that he gives one citation, maybe, and then we blindly believe everything else he wrote. Why? I want some critical thinking here.

For the record, I hated Derrida too. His major flaw for me, BTW, was that he said everything is mediated through words, which is not true. Functionalists suck. Structuralists suck less, but are still effing prone to racism.

Sometimes I wonder if academics purposefully like to teach convoluted texts like this without citations, rather than a cautionary tale, of what will happen, but because it sounds smart and convoluted and because they don't check the assertions as true or not and plus there is a bonus points for the level of racism they can force their students to read, but they gloss over it and say ignore it. I mean, you absolutely need to read Emmanuel Kant, even if you can't with his hatred of women and you're supposed to ignore that part because there are no substitutes in the world that might have said the same things he said better. Urrgghh. Do you purposefully choose the most uptight racist white men to teach and tell that they are lauded? Lubbock made a far, far better argument. Lack of citations and blind worship because of lack of citations+white maleness makes me cranky.

#critical theory #story theory #roland barthes #writing #death of the author #where are the citations #white male privilege #white male privilege says you don't have to cite anything and still get believed? Bullshit #Evidence is poor

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madameminor · 2 years

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Oh boy I hadn't seen that prompt list before. 🥵 97 with either Hunter or Tech? I'd love to see what you come up with if you like the prompt. Congrats on 200 followers! It's well deserved! :D

Aw, thank you! I'm really hoping that the level of kink in this is to your liking- I dunno what it was about this, but I just couldn't shake the image. Plus, I figured I might as well give you a two for one 😉

I hope you enjoy. Thank you for letting me write this for you!

Warnings for below the cut: 100% pure smut, 18+, bondage, voyeurism, p in v, talk of oral m receiving, orgasm denial, gags.

Word count: 1,227

Your eyes are half lidded with you in this state. You honestly don’t know what you would do if your hands weren’t tied above your head, holding you up. Your knees on the floor were tied open and back, your torso and hands tied to the ceiling. You could hear Hunter as he moved behind you, once more pumping himself to hard so he could continue ravaging your dripping pussy. Maker you almost couldn’t take it anymore. The delicious bite of the ropes made your denied release that much more excruciating, especially after Hunter had already cum hot strips of white in your pussy so many times. You almost couldn’t think, you were so far under, just waiting for your Sarge to please please let you finish-

You groan weakly around your gag as he sinks back into you with so little resistance. You hear his grunting sigh as he pushes his hips flush with yours, bottoming out with ease. “That’s my little cock whore. Taking what I give you so well. You want to cum, cyare?”

You whimper, unable to form a coherent affirmative. Instead you rock your hips back slightly. He chuckles under his breath. He leans in towards you, hand weaving into your hair and gently pulling you flush with him. You can hear his whisper tickling your ear.

“You know, cyare- I think. you forgot. to lock. the door.”

A thrill runs through you, your eyes shooting down to look at the metal doors.

You can here his smile in his words. “That means any of my brothers could walk right in and see you like this.” He nuzzles your ear and lightly thrusts in you before continuing, eliciting another whimper. “See you with your hands up, bent over, taking me so well like the good girl you are. See how much you drip for me, making such a horny mess on the floor.”

Your cry is weak and strangled as you clench around him, unable to bear the thought. You weren’t sure if he was right, or just trying to get you more embarrassed, but it almost didn’t matter.

He starts thrusting in you, one hand coming down to circle your clit. “They might even want to have a turn. Have their way with you. Fill you up with cum. So much cum for my little cock whore.”

You’re practically crying as you let him pull your head back, trying to buck into his hand while moving back into his hips. Fuck, if one of them caught you, you might-

The doors hiss open.

“Hunter, I have finished reviewing the- oh. My.”

Your heart almost stops. You’re far too under to do anything but feel the thrill of embarrassment run its course. You know you’re on full display- tits out, face wet with tears and saliva, red marks from fingernails.

Hunter leans your head up with a chuckle, letting you take in who’s caught you like this.

Tech crouches in front of you, and he’s looking. His eyes roam over the length of you, drinking it all in like a fine wine for the tasting. You want to curl up, but the heat you feel at his calculating gaze sends fresh shivers down through you.

“Mmm, yes, these are tied well, adequately, though your designs on her body could stand to be more intricate. Purely from a decorative perspective.” He adjusts his goggles, calling your attention to a glint of something in his eyes. “You’re right, though, she does become her bonds nicely.”

“Makes the best noises too.” Hunter thrusts in you once, making you cry out at the sudden pleasure in the wake of his voyeurism. Tech nods approvingly.

“Mmm… is this the only gag you have?” He inspects your mouth closely. Kriff, the low ember of heat in his eyes, laying below the practical analysis…

“For now. Do you have something different?”

“Yes. I have one that allows for penetration of her mouth as well as silence, should you care to use it.”

And they’re talking like you aren’t even here. You moan at the image of Tech in your mouth, unable to stop bucking against Hunter. He grabs your hips to still them, making you cry out from his fingers digging in.

“Hmm… looks like she’s enjoying this more than I thought.” He chuckles low in his throat. “Want to join in?”

“Not today, thank you, she looks like she’s at the edge. But… I’d hate to miss the opportunity to observe her coming this far into a session, if you’ll permit me.”

“I don’t know- she DID forget to lock the door.”

“But it allowed for this happy accident. I advocate for permission to orgasm.”

“Hmm… it’s a good thing Tech wants to be nice to you today, cyar'ika.”

Tech doesn’t move as Hunter starts thrusting into you, circling your clit. You can’t take your eyes off of his, watching him watching you, a ruined mess getting wrecked further by your Sergeant’s cock. You can’t help but groan as his eyes rove your body, taking in every one of your reactions, your twitches. You buck into Hunter’s hand, so turned on you can’t stay still. You feel the building tension in your walls as Hunter increases the pressure on your clit, muttering praises under his breath that he knows you can hear.

“That’s right my good girl. Let my brother watch you while you come apart for me. Fuck you’re squeezing me so tight right now. You love this, don’t you, my little whore? I can feel how close you are, can feel how much you want to come while Tech watches you, while I get ready to fill you with my cum again.”

You can’t take it, your so close. Tech looks up from his roaming and meets your eyes, and you know he sees it. He leans in close to you, eyes piercing behind his lenses. You can practically feel him say the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard from him:

“Come for me, mesh’la.”

You’re lost to the euphoria of your orgasm. You think you scream, think you start crying from the pleasure through your gag, think you moan as Hunter grips you by your hips and starts fucking himself with your pussy. But the bliss that you ride on, the cacophony of pleasure from the last few hours of play and denial and heat between you and Hunter- all of it is multiplied by Tech’s eyes taking it all in.

You feel Hunter’s hips stutter as he fills you again with a groan. You hang limply in your bonds, panting around your gag, too tired to look up. You hear Hunter chuckle behind you as he finishes coming inside of you.

“Hmm… I think you got her to squirt. Left an even bigger mess than usual.”

“Interesting. Something to explore later.” You hear him pick up his holopad from off of the floor. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your aftercare.”

You feel the heat from his skin as he leans in close to your ear, his voice almost foreign in its lustful undertones. “See you soon, mesh’la.”

Your whimper is soft enough that you can hear his receding footsteps and the swish of the doors closing behind him.

You resolve to leave the door unlocked more often.

You never know just who might walk in.

#the madame celebrates #requests for madame #tbb tech smut #tbb hunter smut #tbb hunter x reader #hunter smut #tbb tech x you #tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x f reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter/you #tbb hunter x f reader

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raedas · 11 months

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hey i was just wondering how you figured out you were aro?? no pressure if you’re uncomfortable sharing of course ! but i’m kind of questioning and i thought maybe hearing other people’s experiences might help. and also i was in a relationship for almost a year so that’s probably somewhat significant and additionally complicating ahaha <333

hey anon!! first and foremost good luck with figuring everything out <33 i know at least for me, questioning can be a long and hard and typically ongoing process, but we'll make it through :] i'm gonna stick the rest of my answer beneath the read more bc im getting the sense im gonna go on for a bit FGDHLKSFAJ

one of the biggest things for me that i think is necessary to preface everything is that i've never really had an "oh" moment like some people talk about. there's never been a moment where i saw a label or a flag and was 100% sure i fit into that box, its more like... years worth of questioning and then the internal meter in my head slowly ticking over. like, when i was figuring out i was queer, i maybe started questioning in like... fifth grade you could say? but it started as more of a "oh im definitely not but like What if" and then gradually began to tick more and more towards "oh i think i might not be cishet" to eventually when i hit the... idk, 80% or 90% certainty mark it was more of a "fuck it, im queer" feeling. there's always going to be that bit of doubt for me, i think, and coming to terms with being aro was very similar for me in that regards

another thing is i was ALSO in a relationship for almost a year, and that's during the time when i was coming to terms with being aro/arospec, which im sure you can imagine was an Experience. i do think being in a relationship was the best thing for me trying to figure out i was aro though, bc i definitely got that sense of Wrongness of trying to think of myself as existing in a romantic relationship. like, when i thought of myself as having a romantic partner, it always felt a bit like i was playing at a part and acting like i had romantic feelings more than i actually did. of course that came with.. a lot of me trying to ignore my own feelings and feeling guilty about it up until i broke up with my now ex (this is like the funniest inside joke ever to us now dw) so that's where i was coming from w/ my experiences

i also began to realize that like, whenever i try to imagine myself in a romantic relationship, its always in some ambiguous future like 10 or so years down the line, which completely distances myself from the idea. i have no idea what a romantic relationship with someone would look like for me, it was just this idea of "yeah, someday in an ambiguous future ill have a romantic relationship with someone and we'll cook together and hug each other and have fun" until i realized that i don't actually want a romantic relationship, and also that... none of those things that i actually envisioned are exclusive to a romantic relationship. in my life ive had a grand total of 2 crushes, both of which were/are queerplatonic but also like... if i imagine having an Actual relationship its just stressful to me and not even really appealing, despite the fact that i have a crush on them.

one of the most important things im coming to terms is that its okay if im wrong, its okay if however many years down the line i find out that im actually entirely allo and fall in love with someone. like i said i dont know if ill ever be 100% confident in my own labels especially with the whole issue of "how do you prove a negative". for now, though, calling myself aro is something that makes me happy and feels, most of the time, accurate. another really important thing i think is that aromanticism is entirely a spectrum. you could be aromantic or arospec in a billion different ways*, or you could be none of them, and thats okay too <333 good luck with everything anon i hope hearing about my experiences helped a bit :]

#*honestly none of the arospec labels are Personally helpful to me because again. ive never really had that Oh moment where everything clicke #and i think thats what microlabels are kind of for #essentially if i wanted to identify as any of them it would take hours of examination and proving and disproving etc etc. its easier for me #personally just to call myself aro as a catchall. does that mean im fully aro? does that mean im just arospec in some vague way? im not #entirely sure yet myself. and thats okay too <33 #wishing you the best once again anon feel free to update me or send me an ask whenever!!!!#asks #anon #aromantic #<- why not. for pride month #ok to rb

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windwardstar · 15 days

Text

So my two year mark on T is coming up in the next few days and while I will be writing up a longer post about all my experiences later, I do want to say this:

It is never too late to start hormones, you'll see amazing changes no matter how old you are when you start. And I know how hard it is to wait.

I know a lot of those starting hrt later in life stories are from people who didn't realize they were trans until later. And maybe you're thinking it's great for them but that you know you're trans now. You know the options for hormones and gender affirming care exist and you want it but just aren't allowed.

And I'm here to say i know how hard it is to wait.

I knew I wasn't a girl at 5. I wasn't allowed to not be though. Part of the requirements for stopping therapy in elementary school was that I learned to stop saying it. I realized being trans was a thing in high school even if i didnt know nonbinary was an option. I was given room to be tomboy irl and not-a-girl-not-a-boy in my mind. And then I went to live with different family members who expressed violently anti-trans beliefs and any social transitions I did had to be limited to safe spaces, where the countdown to eacaping them also became a countdown to being able to transition socially and medically. I wasn't able to move out and into my own place until I was 25. I didn't get to start T until I was 29 because of insurances. And had to wait until this past year for top surgery and hysto. And am still waiting for bottom surgery.

And I still wish I could have gotten on T earlier. That I could have been able to transition in all the ways I wanted earlier. But they're absolutely worth doing it now because it means I get to be me now. I'm still read as a girl 100% of the time but I feel better about my own body and so many aspects of my dysphoria have decreased. There are things that haven't changed but what has has been entirely worth it.

The wait has also allowed me to build up a history of having a consistent gender identity. It has allowed me to figure out exactly what I want and know down to my bones what the right choices for my transition are so that when I speak with the doctors with other people I have the weight of a decade+ of certainty backing up my choices. And being 30 rather than 13 people are more likely to listen to me and trust that I know myself. It allowed me to save up money and to find a job with good insurance to facilitate my transition.

You shouldn't have to wait. Whatever your age as soon as you know what the right choice is for you, you should be able to make it. And other people stopping you because they think they know better is infuriating and can make you feel hopeless. But one day you will get to transition in all the ways you want.

Bide your time. Use it to figure out what you want. To figure out what you have to do in order to get what you want. To save money. To identify the hoops. Find places where you can be yourself.

I know it's hard to wait. I still struggle with the grief over having to. Wonders of what my life could have been like. But I do know what it is like to finally get to transition and all the joy I've experienced over the past two years, that no matter how long I have to wait for more it'll never be too late because any time I have to experience this joy is worth it.

It's hard to wait, but please stick around and wait. It'll be worth it once you get the chance. I promise.

#hopefully this made sense im on my phone and this was rather stream of thought #monday trans ramble

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askthestans · 1 year

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Hello Pines brothers. I come to you about an old question: about being a father and guardian. Stanley, know that you would be a wonderful father and a wonderful parent. Of course, you are not perfect in many ways, but you know the basic things about forgetting about someone: feeding, washing, proper sleep and safety. Unlike your brother, who can't even take care of himself, let alone anyone else. Stanley, have you ever considered adopting a newborn baby in the past?

Stanley: Well, Lu (can I call ya that for short?), you're right. I may not be a dad, but I'm somethin' even better: a Grunkle. See, people think parents are the most important people in a kid's life. And they are, don't get me wrong! But a Grunkle (or Graunty, for that matter) is so important, too. We're like backup parents or grandparents, minus dumb rules like goin' to bed at a reasonable time or limits on sugar intake, with added fun and law-breaking!

And you're 100% right: Ford can't take care of himself. Why do ya think I know about parenting so well? I had to look after this nerdy runt for years of my life! When we were kids, guess who had to protect ‘im from bullies and brush the sand outta his hair? Me. When we were teens, who had to make sure his late night science fair project candy stash was stocked and that he got enough sleep? This guy, that's who.

Never mind the thirty years I spent gettin' him back from sci-fi sideburn land. Oh, he whined about *raises voice an octave* "openin' that portal was too dangerous, Stan!" and "ya almost tore apart the fabric of reality!", but without me, Ford'd still be sleepin' in some slimy alien's armpit and chewin' on chicken-flavored tentacle strips for dinner.

If I thought workin' on fixin' the portal was hard, I was not prepared for takin' care of this guy after he got back. Oof, I'd take the task of carin' for Little Dork Ford or readin' theoretical physics textbooks over...

*He gestures over at Ford, who's working at the desk in his lab.* Ugh, whatever this wrinkly, musty, grumpy old creature is. It's Little Dork Ford, but now it sheds everywhere, has an ego, and it gets into even more trouble somehow.

Stanford: *Is currently busy at his desk, scribbling away at some experiment notes.* You do know that I can hear you insulting me, Stan?

Stanley: See? Ego taller than the Empire State Building, all to cover up insecurity as deep as... hey, Ford? What’s the world’s deepest ocean trench you told me those underwater aliens or whatever hide in?

Stanford: The Mariana Trench.

Stanley: Yeah, that place! Thanks, Sixer-

Stanford: *Reaches into sliding shelf behind his desk, pulls out The Norton Anthology of Shakespeare, Third Edition. He turns around without a word, narrows his eyes, and holds it up so Stan can see what it is. There are little post-it markers sticking up in neon colors from the pages, each marked similarly to “Quotes to Share with Stan #33″ His expression turns into a wicked, depraved smile.*

Stanley: *Backs away and starts sweating.* ANYWAYS, let’s take this conversation upstairs! AS FAR AWAY FROM FORD AS POSSIBLE!

*Stan drops a smoke bomb, rips the laptop they use to answer AsktheStans questions off its charger, and runs into the elevator of Ford’s lab.*

*The elevator, being old and rickety as it is, takes a long time to close the doors and start lifting. Stan holds the laptop with one hand and furiously, desperately smashes the up arrow button with the other, swearing profusely at how slow it is.*

*Meanwhile, a figure with six fingers looms in the dissipating smoke just outside the doors, outlined in the occasional neon blue flash of machinery he walks past, pacing closer, a book opened in his hands like a preacher about to read scripture at a demon.*

Stanley: Not again! *Screams and cowers as Ford nears and the doors are still closing, slowly, slowly...*

Stanford: “Thou ominous and fearful owl of death, Our nation’s terror and their bloody-”

*The doors close just before Ford can reach them.*

Stanley: *Lets out a sigh of relief and wipes his brow.* Whew! That was close. Hopefully he’ll calm down before this old elevator gets back down and up again. Heh, I have a good hidin’ spot just in case, though. I made sure to find one after last week’s event where I interrupted his dumb ‘married to science’ joke.

*Stan keeps talking as the elevator creaks upwards.* Sorry, your question... uh... adoptin’ a newborn baby. Hm...

Come to think of it, I actually did try to adopt a newborn once! It was a few years after I got established here at the Shack, had some extra money, was feelin’ a little lonely, wanted someone to teach all my good moral lessons and tell stories of the good ol’ heist days to...

So I went to the nearest adoption agency and asked about it. I even had a name picked out: Stanford Sherman Pines! I thought, just wait ‘til I get Ford back, and he sees this cute kiddo that’s named after him. Heh, just picture his face-

*The elevator doors open to the stairwell just down from the Gift Shop. Ford is waiting just outside. The book is still open in his hands. His eyes are unblinking.*

Stanford: “The period of thy tyranny approacheth. On us thou canst not enter but by death-”

Stanley: *Rips Ford’s glasses off, digs into his own pocket, and throws awfully convenient salt into Ford’s eyes. Stan politely tucks the glasses back into Ford’s coat pocket with a little tap, then slams the down arrow elevator button this time.*

*By the time Ford gets back up from hunching over in pain, the doors close in his face again. Stan starts talking again.*

L-long story short, they saw my criminal history, and said no. I told ‘em they were makin’ a mistake! I, Stanley - er, well, I was pretendin’ to be Stanford at the time - Pines, would make a great dad! I mean, look at how well I took care of Dips and Mabes over last summer! They only went to jail once. And I even made ‘em Stancakes a few times!

But oh well. A few years later, Soos showed up at my door and got hired. I mean, he’s not my son, just my favorite employee, but he’s as close to a kid as I could ask for. With him, the little Pines twins, and Ford, I got all the kids I need! Seriously, ya might think I’m a big kid myself, and you’re right, but compared to those four, I feel like a mother hen.

Just doin’ the laundry around here is like a constant cycle of scrubbin’ food stains and science experiment chemicals. And who do you think all these dorks come to when they need a shoulder to cry on?

*The elevator door opens up to Ford’s lab again.*

*Stan winces, then when nothing happens, he peers out. Ford is nowhere to be seen. Stan lets out another sigh of relief, then starts walking out of the elevator. The laptop is still in his hands, the camera showing the empty elevator behind him.*

Looks like Ford finally gave up! Heh, salt! Didn’t think that would work, but it just goes to show ya, when in doubt, and when your twin brother who spent thirty years survivin’ in a hellish slew of dimensions comes after you for tellin’ the truth about his awful insecurity issues...

*Unbeknownst to Stan, behind him on the camera, a figure pops down from the service access hatch in the elevator roof, landing as silently as a ninja, rising from the still dissipating smoke as a shadow, the only light on the figure being glasses agleam with blue glow.*

Salt will do the trick! Yep, that’s all it took. I’m sure he’ll get me back for it later, but ya never know! Think he’ll forgive me? Hah! Of course he’ll forgive me! He’s my twin brother. Deep down he loves me, ya know?

*The figure comes up right behind Stan into the light, quiet as a ghost. It’s Ford, eyes puffy and red, tears streaming down his face, salt glistening in his eyelashes, but he’s still expressionless and unblinking.*

*Ford’’s pain is indeed great, but the stinging salt of betrayal can always be soothed by the sweet taste of revenge.*

Stanley: Ah! I’m sure he’ll forgive me. And if the salt doesn’t work and he’s still mad, I can always fall back on old reliable, right? *Stan makes a motion, as if kneeing someone in the crotch.* I did that once before, and he deserved every moment of-

Stanford: Care to let me finish?

*The laptop’s camera turns into a blur of machines and shadows and the sound of screaming. The laptop is set back down on the table and left streaming. Ford walks past slowly, book raised, reciting line after line of Shakespeare, screen glitching until all movement stops.*

*An hour passes. Eventually, Ford comes back and sees the laptop is still on. He leans down to speak, smiling innocently.*

Stanford: Oh! I forgot about the laptop. Apologies, internet stranger! My brother and I just had a casual argument, is all. Don’t worry, I didn’t kill him. He’ll be fine.

*A scream erupts from somewhere further back in Ford’s lab. Ford turns around, eyebrows furrowed in irritation.*

Stanley, if you wanted to avoid getting locked in a room with a barghest, you should have thought about that before you sassed me and threw salt into my eyes!

*Chuckles and speaks to the camera with his mouth behind his hand.* Actually, the barghest is a pretty friendly creature. Demonic looking thing, but give it a nice belly rub or a bone, and it’ll be wagging its tail in no time. But Stan doesn’t need to know that.

Now, if he’d interrupted my marriage to science speech again, well... let’s just say I would have locked him in a pitch black room with a far worse creature.

*Shrugs.*

I’ll just leave this on for you all to listen to the sweet symphony of justice. Also because I need someone to bounce some ideas off of. What do you say? Want to help Dr. Pines - world-renowned supernatural expert - plan a new DD&MD campaign?

*Another scream. Demonic howling and the sound of rattling chains ensue.*

*Ford laughs, brings the laptop with him, then sits back at his desk, humming Dead or Alive’s ‘You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)’ as he scribbles away, occasionally asking the viewer their opinions on what monsters to use in said campaign.*

#stanley pines #stanford pines #gravity falls #yeah so uh Ford's starting to scare me even as the writer of this blog #but you know what I need more dramatic nerd moments in my life and so do you #he survived thirty years in the multiverse somehow #you can't tell me this man doesn't have a dark side #he pursued bill for 30 years #he holds grudges and he holds them well #ford is an owl #an ominous and fearful owl of death

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