#but yeeting it into the void nevertheless

[always-a-joyful-note]

Thinking some fandom thoughts and then about ORV's portrayal of an author-character-reader relationship with the story and realising how....lacking at times the whole death of the author perspective on media can be.

(Turned out to be long and rambly so I put it under a cut. If you like death of the author, probably not for your worldview? Also, beware major ORV spoilers if you care about that)

Like, perhaps I'm misinterpreting something here, but in ORV, we had these three characters plus an entire system that gave us a look into the relationship between author/reader/character. And focusing on the Han Sooyoung, Kim Dokja, and Yoo Joonghyuk dynamic, I realise that none of them really died. Pushing asides Joonghyuk and Dokja for the moment (as I am talking about death of the author), we have Han Sooyoung whose consciousness faded after finishing Ways of Survival.

However, I don't know if we can really call that death of the author, really. Because Sooyoung's whole purpose in writing ORV, her authorial intention, was to save Kim Dokja's life...which she DID. And even after the story left her hands, her intentions were imprinted into the story itself. Yes, Dokja realised that the system was lenient to him because of (spoiler alert) his status as the OD. But at the same time, I think that Han Sooyoung's authorial intent to keep Dokja alive with WoS can also be taken as a factor in the system's leniency towards our reader.

And just jumping from that back to my original point, while death of the author IS fun and can be awesome for reinterpreting stories that the author may have intended as problematic (to our modern standards, at least), to separate the actual story itself from its creator seems just....a tad disrespectful to the author.

Or maybe disrespectful isn't the right word. Like, say, even if said author is objectively the worst of humans, there remains the fact that the story in essence has part of them embedded into it. It doesn't make sense, at least to me, to only give "morally okay" writers the allowance of people who put a part of themselves in their works. Any writer, even those who are writing for money imo, can't help but put part of their own selves into their story...and to separate the story from the author just because we hate the author or hate their beliefs seems a bit counter-productive. You can't just say, after all, that this author's vulnerability in their writing is okay because it's Correct but this other guy's vulnerability should be ignored because it's chalk full of Problematic Content.

But again, that's not to justify authors you dislike or the deeply wrong messages implied in their works. Especially those that could easily be shooed away by employing death of the author. But I think I'd consider fanfic or analyses that ignore authorial intent and their message to be something...new entirely? (Best way I can say it is something something death of an author employed to help the reader create their own narrative inspired by someone else's story rather than it being used to ignore author intent and claim our interpretation is what canon actually meant).

I think there's a saying in music as well as writing that you could play the same exact score or write the same story, it's just that things will come out different depending on the player or writer. (That's not a perfect comparison because the player/musician who WROTE the score could be considered a reader/author relationship...the point is more that the same thing will look different in the hands of different people. And that just as the reader will interpret something in their own way when reading/re-reading (another ORV reference), the author also has placed in their own interpretation and intent in that own work...which should at worst be respected because they DID make that content (and then we proceed to brutally revise it to make something we like better xD) or at best be taken as "word of god" for lack of a better term)

Not sure if any of this makes sense, and I definitely don't have any factual evidence to back up this opinion, but it was just something I was thinking of.

TL:dR? Death of the author is FUN and actually pretty cool but I think the things coming out of it are new(ish) things/works entirely, and og author's beliefs/intentions are important to consider for that text they wrote in of itself.

[mekkthemighty]

So just came from seeing Wild Robot and a few things, SPOILERS for books and movie ahead btw

I will preface this by saying it was a fantastic film that I absolutely loved, the visuals were mindblowing and made me jealous of the practiced skill of the animation team

Anyway my biggest complaint for the movie (and I get why they did it) was the moment where the literal power of love wakes up the deactivated Roz, I really liked the book Roz that genuinely was still a robot to her core, emotionless and robotically logical but nevertheless falling into the patterns of motherhood due to her AI learning from nature

They did the power of love in the books too, it helped the animals overcome their fear and work together to pull off some epic battle tactics which weren't in the movie, like for the final fight of book one they had Nettle the bear's self sacrifice to take out the RECO only to be saved by the river fish was awesome, and all the birds raining bird poop all over the sensors of another one only to lead it blind into a muddy bog so it can be kicked to death by the moose, final battle in movie (while visually fantastic) lacked any of that strategy the animals learned from Roz

I had hoped they'd have focused more on the "helping others is a survival skill" aspect and the learning curve that took her from robot to wild robot, but the themes of motherhood were beautifully done

Oh and ROZ's camouflage skills, where was the intentional mud and moss coating of her body making her look like a cyborg treant, I mean they do the character design with moss and dirt by the end but they just accumulate over time naturally... instead of Roz just slathering herself with it and being a bush around which the animals all gossip

Also one last note, in the book Longneck is killed by a human with a rifle, Robots can't harm living creatures is a major plotpoint in the books, its a barrier Roz has to overcome and the RECOs are even subject to it which is why the animals had a shot against them in the first place, this is a plot point that the movie Brightbill even states out loud right before a robot pops out and shoots Longneck, like wtf

Other things I wish they kept from the book:

Brightbill turning Roz off and on again and temporarily thinking he committed matricide

Roz vs the bears during the learning curve

The learning curve

Roz and Brightbill bonding over the shared experience of being the only surviving "egg"

Roz being the goddamn prometheus of this islands critters literally teaching them to harness fire

Things the movie added that I liked

Brightbill acting like a robot

Fink the fox being a fully realised character (tho at the cost of some other favs)

Felling the tree to redirect the river to stop the forest fire

Vontra, just everything about it

The stickers for 10% off your next universal designs purchase

Brightbill helping build the lodge

"I am low on power, have made unsanctioned alterations to my code, and have been damaged in ways that have likely voided my warranty" "what she means is she loves you"

Pinktail Possum was great and so were her kids

"Are you here to kill us?" Whether your answer is yes or no, you're about to get yeeted by a moose

"HELLO I AM ROZZUM UNIT 7134 DO YOU NEED ASSISTANCE!" While chasing down random animals

Roz "I am not a mother I am a robot, I must be recalled at once"

Pinktail "no you're a mom now"

Roz "understood I am a mom now"

Still a great movie just wish they kept Roz a robot through and through and just kept with the whole "she doesn't need to have emotions to be a good mom" thing

Definitely recommend a watch of it

[distance-does-not-matter]

[muffled, face down on the floor] at least it's sunny

i deserve compensation (psych minor hearing about freud during a summer english class)

[nafeary]

Cuddles and Snuggles with the Ikevamp Suitors

Anon asked:

Hello 👋, can I have some really short and maybe flowery scenarios of the Ikevamp suitors cuddling? Just some cute little paragraph (that can turn smutty but doesn’t have to be) I really really like your style of writing, you see. Thank you!!!!

Heya! I love love love requests like these, they really make my day. Considering I didn’t want to give everything the same plot, I figured I’d just allow my creative freedom to run rampage.

I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much, but school is keeping me pretty busy (a week of holidays are coming up tho hehehehe). This has been sitting in my WIPs for an eternity, and I finished the last five bois today (it’s Sunday/Monday midnight by the time I’m scheduling this YEET).

I hope you’ll all manage to find some comfort in this, and I hope you’ll all enjoy (and remember to drink water~)

Also, I don’t care what Cybird says; Theo is 186cm and I do not take criticism on this.

Warnings: implied sexual intercourse (only for Leo tho), otherwise only toothrottingly sweet fluff... maybe angst, too. Blame Aki)

Napoleon Bonaparte

『laying siege to your heart』

Laughter prompted your body to tremor in delight upon seeing the form of your lover snuggling his blanket, spilling into the room in coaction with the afternoon rays streaming in buoyant ribbons. Napoleon lethargically peeked past his lashes, grinning as he grasped your hand to pull you into his awaiting arms.

Your head fit perfectly underneath his chin, your bodies an amalgamation of puzzle pieces enjoying their reunion. You allowed a few teasing quips to spill from your lips, regretting to have done so tout de suite as your body writhed beneath his butterfly kisses tickling your nape. The most darling sounding giggles encompasses your ears, eliciting some of your own as you tried your best to escape his tight embrace.

Eventually, he stilled, burying his face into the crook of your neck, and holding you for what felt like an entire eternity—no ounce of egomania weighed upon you, the fierceness of it brought forth by his sheer adoration for yourself. And even if he were to lay siege for an eternity, you couldn’t see yourself caring if you were pledged with no disparate treatment.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

『moonlight tryst』

If there was one thing you’ve come to cherish, it would be the time of the moon, when it reigned the sky in its eerie glory. You’ve never been able to see the stars’ purity, constellations clearer than ever before. Perchance, the appreciation stemmed from the company the firmament would gift you with, when the other half of your bed was frozen and weeping alongside you in abandonment. Yet, as you mused your loneliness, approaching echoes of heels hitting the tiled floor incited your gaze to leave the stars, instead turning to embrace the sight of your lover coming to join you to your tryst.

Stars melted into fervid streams of gems, pouring upon Wolf’s skin, hair, and eyes, aiding his appearance to leave you blinded beneath its ethereal irradiance. You picked up a ribbon le Comte had gifted you long ago, jesting the embroidered amethysts would gracefully accompany the composer’s own set of eyes; but the juxtaposition left you disenchanted at the blunt and transparent crystals, opting to tie his alabaster strands with it, shivering slightly as you parted a curtain over his nape.

He enfolded your hands with his, hastily trying to get it off. However, his lips were quickly claimed by his muse, pouring every emotion and feeling you could gather into it. You were glad for the minuscule distraction, even more so as his arms fell limp, succumbing to your passion—nay, not without teasing remarks, leaving your pounding heart at the wolf’s mercy, and carrying your cries into the night in concordance with the owls’ song.

Leonardo da Vinci

『the gift of light』

At times, your relationship felt like stumbling through an obsidian forest, the only object not the plunged into abyssal realms a map to show you the right path. The map knew everything, could achieve anything, would create the unimaginable, while you were left impotently relying one its guidance.

Leonardo was aware of these clouds obscuring your emotions, hindering your felicity, and he was unsure whether he should act upon it. Perchance, it would leave you in deeper misery, but he’d take the chance to undress the light in your eyes.

You essentially knew that that was what a relationship with Leonardo da Vinci would result in; after all, no one could possibly match his genius. Natheless, the string pinioning your souls was stubborn, and it would be near impossible for anything to deter you from this love.

As you straddled him, panting in exhaustion with sweat glistening like deep sea pearls across your bodies, he slid his hands past your ears, tugging on the ribbon keeping your hair up. They ran past your bare shoulders, a cascade of bougainvillea shadowing the outside world from seeing your lover’s flushed expression. With his hands still resting on your cheeks, he pulled you toward himself, capturing your lips with raw ardour. A gossamer simper slumbered onto his face just as the sun announced the arrival of dayspring, enkindling the forest in the light of dawn.

Arthur Conan Doyle

『cosy and secluded dancing』

A myriad of candles appeared to dance within the salon, frolicking in the gentle zephyrs through the opened window. The lovers exuded the impression of pure serenity, swaying in each other’s clutches in synchronisation with the flames.

A saxophone urged your feet to tap along the tiled floor, the beat accompanying the agute anecdotes Arthur shared with you. A simper blossomed on your face as the topic of them always managed to include yourself in some way or another; you’d taken notice of this the further you relationship wrote itself. And just like his words filled the paper with ease under the influence of his fountain of delight, so did the words pertaining to your mutual ardour.

As you allowed your lips to meet his nose, perplexity pulled your brows into a furrow—how anyone could just accept all the malicious comments of “mongrel”, “bastard”, and other vile slurs without retaliating in defense was beyond you, especially when a simple action like yours dissolved him into a fumbling mess, his footing faltering to and fro akin to the rustling branches outside. It was nothing but a mystery, but he was your mystery. And you had more than enough time to solve him, buoyantly filling the paper with breathings of your love along the way.

Vincent Van Gogh

『picnic in a flower meadow』

There was nothing but warmth—the ground, the breeze, the sun’s ever so gentle embrace on this bright autumn’s day, creating an atmosphere of absolute serenity.

However, the sun wasn’t the only one to embrace you. You felt your lover’s breathing gently caressing your face, his heartbeat beneath your head the sole sound next to the sunflowers’ ever so tranquil rustling.

Another breeze ruffled his flaxen tufts of hair, eliciting the tiniest of giggles as they brushed against his nose. As his hands rose up to brush your hair, he gifted to with the most brilliant grin, the epitome of an angel walking amongst mortals.

It made you nuzzle closer into his chest, inhaling the wonted scent of paint and dried sunflowers. Opting to enjoy these last moments of your picnic with the artist, your eyes fluttered close to the most ethereal sight on earth.

Theodorus Van Gogh

『unfeigned aftermath of a fight』

Ire was not strange to him, acquaintances till death, for sure. Nevertheless, these kind of manners didn’t appeal to him, but charading as the scapegoat for his brother’s wealth has made him into the devil’s advocate—and old habits hardly perish.

His hands caught the last few droplets of despair running down your chin, stroking your own pair of hands as he held you from behind. A few moments prior, he had shown you his quiet, oftentimes guarded, ardour, carrying these words to your ear. It left you nearly broken, the brush having stumbled across the artwork, red marks littering the void. But as fast as the shade spread, so did the greens and blues, the yellows and whites; if someone knew how to fix these mistakes, it was Theo himself.

In favour of his height, he straightened to place his chin atop your head, allowing you to lean into him. You couldn’t even remember what miscellaneous things you’d been fighting about, rendering your throats hoarse and your hearts wound; alas, as perilous as his clamours were, he never failed to apologise, whispering adorations as sweet as the saccharine treats he enjoyed.

Truly, as painful as some words could be, he always committed to proving you his worth. He just didn’t realize that that was irrelevant; after all, your devotion for him ran deeper than any slash could ever reach.

Dazai Osamu

『tranquil lazing in the garden』

Amidst the most delicate petals and the green leaves, the pond’s reflection of two twirling birds was similar to the lovers leaning against an oak, intertwined branches unable to release their hold.

You were situated between his legs, his broad chest acting as your pillow of comfort. It was a serene kind of purity, the meadow’s song—flora and fauna uniting to create a serenade of peace—coaxing your pair into a state free of despair and ire. That is, until he let his lips flutter down your exposed neck, prompting you to grip the flesh of his thighs a bit tighter.

The butterfly kisses didn’t appear to end anytime soon, not that you payed it much negative mind. A simper danced across both of your faces as a butterfly, with gossamer wings fluttering gently, landed on your lover’s finger, drawing a titter to resound throughout the garden.

He beheld your reach for the lepidopteran creature, the flaxen colours scintillant in your orbs. Perchance this little guy was an omen of genuine ebullience. However, certainty belay onto his thoughts, knowing that you were nothing but a sign of fortune, even to someone as tainted as himself.

Isaac Newton

『snuggles to chase away self doubt』

Unrelentingly, you pushed chocolate into his calloused hands, pledging that the tryto-something—“it’s tryptophan, darling”—would surely lift his solemn mood, clouds of doubt and pressure weighing upon him. He’d been used to the wallowing forlorn, solus; he’d been used to secluding himself apart from any comfort helping hands could give.

But now, now he’d been exposed to a star, more lucent than the North Star could ever dream to be, which shared its balmy rays with him, never imploring for anything in return.

As the slightly bitter treat melted in his mouth, he pulled the almost oneiric appearance of his sweetheart closer to him, your foreheads colliding together to display the sanguine shade of his fiery cheeks. Both of you chortled at his endearing ardency, finding yourself neglecting the light mound rising from the top of your head as you beheld his cherry blossom orbs.

He wasn’t a man of many words, his thoughts the stars he couldn’t fathom into constellations; and while all he could manage were the faintest pleas of gratitude, you knew that that was his crisp layer masking the dispatch of genuineness. Underneath, he was just as sweet and fulfilling as the fruit he so hastily denied. These obstinate and vexing thoughts pulled at the corners of his mouth, but you were swift in your endeavor to diminish them, letting your fingers glissade like zephyrs through the wild locks of salmon and ever so gently massaging him with their tips.

Jean d’Arc

『eskimo kisses and pep talks』

Jean oftentimes felt as if the world was weighing upon his lungs, threatening to suffocate him from the inside out. With his wings clipped and feet bound, all be could was sing in fear and cry for help, knowing he was undeserving of such feat. And yet, you were holding him closer than he’d ever been held before, kissing every scar, every painful remainder of his past, with the force of what could only be described as love.

He’d call himself vile names, thinking nothing much of it, and you’d never grasped what he meant. Moronic? His gentleness spoke of wisdom that many men could only dream of owning. Appalling? You would incessantly reassure him that his arms were your favorite place to while in, and that you wanted to feel his pulse through your veins. Ugly? His eyes met the moon and became almost prismatic as he claimed so, releasing that inhumanly beautiful hue of disenthralled, limitless amethysts, his skin reflecting the pale alabaster rays. How could a person so stunning and breathtaking be ugly? A person so kind and selfless?

Jean scoffed at your sentiment; withal, he allowed himself to succumb to his selfishness, brushing your nose with his own in an anguished assay to express his gratitude. You responded with a glee, succumbing to his endearing affection. He could only yearn for you to be able to withstand the barrel of infinity that he was bound to curse you with.

William Shakespeare

『interruptions ft puck』

You rose to the canorous breathing of your lover, nay, soulmate; that much was apparent judging by the euphoria encompassing your entire being at the sole mention of his name. It perplexed you how you were able to manage waking up to this empyrean sight without your heart granting the artist its last applause.

From his flushed checks, to his bare chest exposed to your own, to his lean arms reaching around yourself to tangle his fingers within your mane, more delicate and loving than the activities of the previous night required—you knew you were borne under a lucky star, whose only affiliation could possibly be be playwright claiming you his, cradling you with nothing but the zephyrs of a quiet twilight downpour.

You noticed a few candles he’d lit, most likely while you still rested, and they carried scents of raspberry sorbet, wafting around you in refreshing sprites. They were made my William himself, akin to the abundance of objects you’d sentimentally ramble about; and yet, he’d obstinately organise the most trivial things, no matter the obstacle of time and place.

Warmth engulfed your heart, your mind and being at how utterly cherished you were within his arms, and a few tears threatened their exeunt, but you suppressed your expression to the best of your ability, not wanting to worry him ignominiously. The fortunate appearance of your favourite character from the playwright’s own little story supported your despair de trop—even if he might not have intended to.

The little bunny hopped onto your lover’s head, staring down at you as if to mark his own territory. However, this attempt only prompted laughter to spill from your lips, and it amplified as William plucked Puck from his hair, placing him in midst of your tangled limps.

Comte de Saint-Germain

『napping in front of his fireplace』

The fireplace was ablaze, each scarlet flame radiating heat as the fumes frolicked in delight. With your legs angled to your lover’s lap and your fingers clutching his dress shirt, you were curled into the man’s side, the sofa cushioning your assay to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt the snug quilt slide over your shoulders, meeting brilliant gold whose owner was busy with shielding you from the frigid cold. His hand released the fabric, instead opting to ever so carefully grasp your chin, as if frightened you were a withering rose.

Words of adoring troths danced on your lips, assuring him that you weren’t fragile, that he mustn’t fret upon your disappearance. He could only place a kiss between your brows, aware that silence weighed more than words ever could; his mirth was apparent as he pulled you closer to him, wanting nothing but to transcend time and space for his other half.

Sebastian

『oreos, milk, and ice cream』

There were certain difficulties when your heart belonged to two people, but even more so when it belonged to multiple places—or periods. Nevertheless, being employed to a time-traveling and immortal boss had its certain advantages.

You knew he longed for these items as much as you did, yet only organised them as you uttered these fantasies in a sleepy stupor. Enthusiasm spurring the atmosphere, you scooped the icy vanilla custard into crystalline bowls, improvident about the dampness coating your fingers. Before the fallen spoon could hit the ground, your lover caught it, trapping your back against his chest as he placed it back onto the counter.

His reverberating laughter prompted your own, enjoying the sensation of the flush body enbosoming your own. Arms winding across your chest, further strengthening the protective cocoon, a feather brushed your neck as he kissed with the ilk of cotton fields. You couldn’t halt the goosebumps from waltzing to the rhythm of his teasing, rather opting to stuff an Oreo past his appealing lips.

Tag list: @juminly @kisara-16 @sweetlittlemouse @thesirenwashere @nad-zeta @delicateikemenmemes