#what's the verb for that? boxing??? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

georgiapeach30513 · 3 months

Text

With Your Touch, Part 5

Summary: Some things just weren’t meant to be ignored.

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: Language, voyeurism, masturbation (M&F), pillow grinding, The Verb, non con moment, implied fighting, tension, mentions of childhood trauma, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 5.4K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You were getting to Lloyd. He should have noticed it sooner, but he was too worried about his daughter, and then it was you that was occupying his thoughts. The forbidden fruit. Lloyd loves the succulent taste of something he’s not supposed to have, therefore you became an obsession. An obsession that he began to care about. An obsession he desired more than anything.

You entwined your kind and damaged self into his very being, and he needs to keep you for himself. Protect you from the world that so desperately wants to destroy women like you. Women who have it all, and are still overlooked. You were even going right down the path that they all did. A prick of a boyfriend that you didn’t love, didn’t want, but you just made it work because he ticks off imaginary boxes.

You were too pure for the men in your world. They’d have you beaten into submission, and be their perfect little housewife, while you became a woman like your mother. Did whatever your husband said because he paid the bills. You would make exceptions to your happiness because he gave you a life of luxury. He could go off and spend all his time with whores and secretaries while you sat at home becoming bitter.

He hated The Verb with every part of him, your dad was just barely below The Verb. The only reason he tolerates your father now is because he’s the reason you were searching for the love of a man. And because of your mother you accept subpar men like The Verb, and make excuses of it being love. It wasn’t.

Love is the way you lift Lyla up in the air above your head, while she giggles down at you. Love is pulling her closer to your face so you can kiss all over her cheeks. Love is sitting on a blanket in the park with the stupid expensive pram so Lyla can get outside. Love is enjoying the time that you get to have with her. Love is the confusing feelings you feel for him.

Because no matter what you say, he sees the feelings you have for him. You even got off with his name on your lips, and it was beautiful. He wants to hear it again. Hear it whisper across his skin, while your walls both literally and figuratively crash down. Becoming so soft after you orgasm over his cock that you are pliant, and just need him to hold you. His obsession runs deep, but at least it is pure intentions.

“Was watching her through your phone not enough?” Ari asks, as he sits down on the bench beside his friend. He looks in Lloyd’s direction as you lay Lyla on the ground, praising her when she flips over and gets into a crawling position. “I didn’t take you as a sap.”

“Me neither,” Lloyd barely responds, but smiles right along with you. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you?” Ari looks more at his friend before he looks back at the two of you. “She’s a natural,” every time that he has seen you with Lyla you didn’t look like her au pair at all, you looked like her mother. Even now, she seems like your baby.

“Yeah, she’s raising her daughter the way she wanted to be raised,” Ari opens his mouth, but closes it immediately. His eyes drift around the park, trying to make sense of whatever is going through his partner's head. “I didn’t want this. Either of them. I was supposed to continue to slut around with whoever I wanted, and go to work. That was my life. So you tell me why either of them came into my life, and I’m not supposed to do anything about it?”

“You should know that life gives us curveballs, and we have to figure it out along the way. Like Lyla. You brought Roman’s daughter into your life. And now you’ve got another problem.”

“A fucking hair in my eyeball that is festering and is named after a damn verb. That boy,” Lloyd releases a growl low in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about the vile things that boy said to you. And that is just what he has heard. He’s sure that Chase has said messed up psycho babble to you, that you never asked for. The way he looked down at you, and was already putting you in your place makes him sick. “Fuck.”

“Is that what you’re wanting to do with your sweet little au pair? Fuck her?”

“Yes. Dream about it every night while I fuck my fist,” Ari rolls his eyes, pretending he didn’t hear any of that. Last thing he wanted to think about was Lloyd fucking someone’s daughter. “But it’s more than that.”

“You want her to take care of your daughter.”

“I want to protect them both. And I enjoy the moments that don’t have this intense sexual tension. I enjoy her. And what she wants, and I just get her,” he did. Chase doesn’t know what he has, but Lloyd does. You would see. “I’m tired of this conversation. They’re both mine. And I don’t share.”

“You’re talking about a woman that actually isn’t yours.”

“She will be, Ari. I can promise you that. Let’s go. I’ve gotta get home early,” he gives the two of you a final look. Wishing he could linger, and watch you all day. See how patient you are with Lyla even if she cries. See how you adored her so much you couldn’t stop kissing her, and smiling at her. He is tired of avoiding you. And he isn’t going to avoid you anymore. Sexual tension be damned.

“And you go in your seat,” Lyla pulls her feet up in a silent protest to not sit in her high chair. She’d been doing this all day. “You are so needy for attention today, but you need to sit in your chair,” furrowing her brows, she looks at you with her bottom lip puckered out. “No, don’t give me that face.”

Opening her mouth to babble incoherent words in a sassy tone. “Are you really going to sass me after I made dinner, and made you your special food,” she keeps her legs tightly pulled up, and you look at your plate and her plate both getting cold. Maybe you were giving in to her too much, but she is a baby.

“Okay, okay. You’ll just sit in my lap, and we’ll wait for daddy. Say dada,” she giggles, shaking her head no. Her chubby little fingers reach for something to gnaw on for a moment, and you sneak a bite of your own. “Your daddy is scared of me. Yes, he is.”

Since that night, Lloyd had avoided you. Claiming he was working late, but you knew better. He checked in less, too. Having cameras gave him the ability to not check in, you suppose. Before he didn’t care. He’d call or send a text, now he does nothing. You figured he just didn’t want to see your face. “I think things got too heavy with us. He’s a bit strong, you know. But he’s pretty cute,” you giggle, making sure to kiss her cheek again.

“He’s very cute. And he has these arms, and his legs, and his lips. I think I like his hands the most. They’re so thick — and soft,” you close your eyes a moment, drifting off into a fantasy of being draped over his legs. “But it’s a bit too complicated,” sighing because you know that you’re not going to go that route. It was too complicated already. It was best if the two of you just kept going the pace you were going.

“But you know you’re daddy’s cute.”

“I am?” Your smile fades as the very man you were talking about waltzes into the dining area with a cocky grin. Lyla’s legs kick around, and she makes the sweetest grabby hands towards him. “Can daddy make him a plate? He sure is hungry,” her giggles turn into shrill screams, and her legs and arm flail. “Lyla Bee! You quit that, girlie.”

“I’ll make you a plate, Lloyd. Here, take Lyla biddy boo Bee,” the sound of your silly voice to her as you walk to her daddy who is already sitting at the table makes her squeal laugh. Her eyes closing with how much she’s smiling, and when he pulls her from your arms, she buries into his warmth. “She’s been a bit needy for attention lately, but tell daddy, it’s okay, huh?”

Leaning over, you grin, rubbing your nose on her, but Lloyd is encapsulated by the scent of your hair. Rolling his eyes in the back of his head at how sweet and sinful this moment all is. It’s almost normal. Almost the family that neither of you had. “Now, you behave,” you whisper.

As you stand up straight, you catch Lloyd wafting your scent with his softly closed, and it makes you smile to yourself. “I’ll be back, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” he didn’t even realize what you had said. Him being silly with a crush makes you happy.

“I was talking to the baby,” you remind him. A brief moment flashes between the two of you, and you want to stay. Want to will his hand to reach out and grab your own. You see the flinches of his fingers like he wants to, and then you snap out of it. This shouldn’t happen. He is your employer and things will get difficult, and you didn’t want them to. Lyla needs you.

Going into the kitchen, you plate up his dinner while you think. What the fuck are you doing? This is getting too intense, but the feeling of being so close to both of them made you warm and tingly in a different way than being alone with him. Plus you had to deal with your asshole of a boyfriend.

You knew Chase was no good, but what other choice did you have? Even though you didn’t see him daily, being with him made you stay away from Lloyd, and just fantasize about him. How much damn porn have you watched about the babysitter and the dad. Fuck, how many dreams did you have of Lloyd telling you that you would take his cock.

Why did you have to make this difficult? Why could you just forget about Lloyd and his fucking arms? And the need to see what he looked like with no shirt on. You bet he sleeps in boxers. Maybe completely nude. Shaking your head you back into the dining area and freeze. Why is him being with his little tiny daughter hotter?

Holding up one of her hands he slowly counts each of her fingers, moving onto the next one until getting to ten. Lloyd then reaches for a foot, pulling the socks off and she screams in laughter, “Oh, honey, are your toes ticklish?”

“You should see her when you have to clean in between them.”

“I bet you kick and giggle the whole time, huh? Do you not want to sit in your chair?”

“No, her doesn’t,” picking up her spoon, you give her a little bite of her food. Making sure that you remain close enough for Lloyd to smell you again. You did smell nice today. “Her gets all stressed out when you mess with her toes, huh, sweet girl.”

The touch is so quick, but you feel his hand on your thigh. You don’t even react, but he flinches away the second his finger touches your leg. You wish he’d keep going higher. Higher. Higher. Until he breaches your drenched hole. That’s how he made you. Soaked.

“You didn’t work late today,” you note, walking back to your chair. You take another bite while you smile at him. “How is it going?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, swallowing nothing while he nods his head, “It’s fine. Perfect. You haven’t requested any days off?”

“There’s really nowhere for me to go. I’ll go eat at the bar, and you and Lyla can bond before bedtime,” sitting at dinner with him and Lyla seems a bit too familial, and it suffocates you. You like it too much, and you need to step away.

“No,” Lloyd answers firmly. This time his swallow was of food. “No, I think you need some company. You’re around a baby that can’t talk all day. Unless you’re needing to make a phone call of course,” he had read being a stay at home mom was difficult, and to always engage in conversation when you came home. That way she didn’t get overwhelmed and feel isolated.

“I don’t,” and you didn’t want to leave him anyways. You just felt he wanted you away for whatever reason. The two of you settle in a comforting silence. Like Lloyd needed time to ground himself after whatever he did at work today. That the conversation flowing between the two of you was just as much for him as you. He seems to be seeking something more comfortable and sweet.

Stolen glances happen throughout the meal, but you’ll blame it on wanting to watch him be sweet with his daughter. While that is a bonus, the reality is you just want to look at him. Trying to keep it PG and not envision him hovering over your body with sweat glistening around his hair. Smiling as you go into a beautiful state of euphoria, and he tells you that you have to give him just one more time as tears drift down your face.

Fuck. You’re as big of a mess as your panties, and all you want is to curl into him, and let him take you down from a high of the most beautiful highs. God, you want to feel his arms wrap around you so bad. Looks like another night with your toys.

You aren’t sure why, but there is definitely a shift in the air tonight between you and Lloyd. And you sure are a glutton for punishment as you walk down to his room, but you want to just talk. You and him. There is one hundred percent no ulterior motive as you take each calculated step down the hall in your kinda sexy sleeper set. Maybe your ass is hanging out of the booty shorts, but who cares.

Tiptoeing down to his room, you lift your hand to knock, and then you hear a sound that almost knocks you to your knees. Your name. But not just your name, panting. Deep breaths. He is talking to an imaginary version of yourself. Not just talking, he was fucking the imaginary you, and you are right here!

He’s a vocal lover, and it causes you to drip. Weak from the way he was imagining fucking you. You knew there was a shift, but you couldn’t fathom Lloyd whimpering your name. Not Dolly, but your name. You couldn’t have prepared yourself to hear his grunts, and his coaching you through orgasms. You want to really orgasm. You don’t want that fake you to have all the fun. You’re throbbing all over, and ready to just break down the door, and jump on his cock.

This isn’t fair! It’s cruel torture. You find yourself nearly humping the air, and ready to beg for Lloyd to fuck you like that. Why can’t you have him? Oh, that’s right, a dumbass boyfriend. Breakup. No. Breaking up entails too many temptations now that you have heard — you stop walking, listening so intently as he squeaks out your name.

“Oh fuuuuck,” he sounds delicious as he comes undone. You want him to come in you. No. On you. No. What did you want? Him. His dick. His baby. More of his babies. Fuck. You’re fucked. This was fucked up. You haven’t kissed him and you want his babies? This was only a weird kink because you see how he fathers, and your mind and your desire to have a family is altering your usual steady mind.

Now you need to angrily get off. Fuck him. If he wants to fuck an imaginary you, you’ll fuck an imaginary him. It is only fair. You stomp back to your room. Yanking off your stupid sleep set. You’re quaking. Slamming a pillow down on the bed, you straddle it. It isn’t your finest hour, but you grind over the satin. Tweaking your nipples, and imagine his hands on your hips, guiding you to go faster, and you do. You just need to get off. You don’t want sweet, you want angry.

Fucking the frustration and confusion right onto the pillow so hard you actually feel him. His hands coast down your sides, and tighten on your hips. His mouth caresses the sensitive column of your neck, giving it a tiny little nibble, “I knew you’d be frustrated. Show me how angry you are.”

With your chest heaving as you bare down harder. You want to make Lloyd proud at how good you can ride his dick. “There’s a good girl. Let it all out,” his hands come around you as he fondles your chest. God he feels good.

“Lloyd, I’m coming.”

“Lloyd?” The grip on your tits turn harsh, and you stop moving, looking over your shoulder. Fuck. “You want to tell me why my whore of a girlfriend is fucking the boss? I knew it, you goddamn slut. He’s just using you to fulfill the babysitter fantasy.”

“W-w-why are you in here?” You can’t think properly as Chase’s cold blue eyes stare into you with so much anger. Hatred. You’ve never seen him look at you like this, but you have felt his wrath. You grab onto his hands, trying to pry them off your chest with no luck.

“I was going to make sweet love to my girlfriend, and I saw you naked and fucking a damn pillow, and wanted to have fun. This whole fucking time you were pretending it was Lloyd?” You shake your head aggressively trying to push his hands off you. He is too loud. “You want something to fuck, I’ll give you something.”

“No, Chase, don’t. He’ll hear. Stop, please, don’t,” your voice whispers through your tears as he pushes you forward. All the way down until your face is squished up against the blanket. Running his fingers through your folds. “Chase, don’t he’ll kill you. Please, stop.”

“This is how wet you get? You’re a fucking slut for the boss, huh?” You feel his blunt head at your entrance, and you clench your eyes closed. You could scream, and Lloyd will hear you, but so could Lyla. Chase would surely be killed. Or you can just sit like this, and take it until he is finished.

“Now, be a slut for me. It’s all I ask,” you gulp as he pushes through your walls. Fist clinging to the bed. “There’s a good girl. Since you’re dreaming about him, call me daddy.”

“No,” sick fuck. You didn’t want him on you. You didn’t want him touching you. You didn’t want to give that name to him. You aren’t even sure how you feel about that naturally coming out with Lloyd.

“Go on, you slut, call me your daddy. Tell daddy to fuck you like the bad girl you are. Let me ruin this little cunt.”

“No!” You didn’t care. He just drives harder into you. “No! Get off!” You hate him. It’s over. You didn’t care what Lloyd did to him or his body. He is the asshole. “Stop!” You can’t even pretend that he’s Lloyd. It’s all wrong. So very wrong. Lloyd would be hard, but tender. Demanding, but giving. This is just wrong. Shutting down everything that is happening in the present. Get out of reality, and go into your fake world where everything is perfect. Don’t let Chase have this.

And then he’s all pulled out of you. “She said stop, you fucking piece of shit!” Your mind shifts into an altered state as you try to take yourself out of this situation. Memories of someone else in your house. Your mom, screaming. The sound of fists hitting bone, and the sickening sound of blood. Your dad, screaming to get back in your room.

So many memories of your dad you blacked out, and that’s where you wanted them. Buried deep in the depths of your brain, and to never be seen or thought of again. They are cruel men with a deadly job. They protect their own, but invite evil into their homes. Close your eyes, and pretend that nothing is happening. Because nothing is happening.

Sing so you can ignore whatever is happening behind you. Remember your day with Lyla and how pure it was. How she smiled up at you like you had hung the moon. Lyla couldn’t remember the neglect her mom issued her, and you would make sure she didn’t know what being without a mother’s love was like. Lyla is what keeps you sane while hell is trying to suck you back to reality.

“Hey, sweetheart. Shh,” he covers your back with a blanket, but you keep your eyes closed. “Can I carry you out of here?” You nod your head quickly, and feel his thick arms pick you up bridal style. Keeping your body close to his warmth as he carries you out of your room, and you finally open your eyes.

You see the marred knuckles clinging to your body, and deadpan, “You need to wash your hands.”

“I need to make sure you’re not hurt. Did he hurt you?” Even though he’s trying to be soft, you see the edge of darkness cover his eyes. You don’t know if he killed Chase or he was badly misshapen. You didn’t care. You couldn’t care anymore.

“No, he didn’t.”

“What happened?” There are two options here; lie through your teeth and tell him a bent story or tell him the absolute truth.

“He saw me, and I was…I was — and I said your name, while he was behind me, and I didn’t know. And then…then…th-th-then he wanted me to call him — to call him daddy,” you hiccup as he carries you into the living room, and sits you on the couch softly.

You sniffle, trying to calm your sobs as you look at his hands again. They are hideous. They’ll be badly bruised and swollen come tomorrow, “Your hands. Go wash them.”

“No.”

“I don’t…I don’t like the look of blood,” he gives you a nod, and stands up to wash his hands. He wears boxers in his sleep. You wish you were in a place you could enjoy the sight of him in just boxers, but you’re just numb. So numb that even Lloyd almost naked does nothing for you.

“Ari, I need a clean up, and a new apartment,” what an odd thing to say. “I don’t want it in this building at all. Don’t ask questions. This is immediate,” walking back into the living room, he stares at you. You’re in a state of shock, and your eyes are glassed over into nothing.

“Can I get you some clothes?” What? You look down your body, and pull your blanket tighter around you, then nod your head, and he’s gone again. It all went wrong because you wanted to hear the night life. How could you be so stupid to think you could just live your life carelessly, and Chase wasn’t going to ruin it.

Returning, Lloyd sits on the table in front of you, and starts to dress you. There’s nothing demanding or harsh about his movements. It’s caring. Loving. Nurturing. Instead of trying to black everything out, you watch him. You’re completely nude in front of him but he’s not fucking you with his eyes. He’s making sure you’re alright. Tenderly pulling over your top, and then sliding up some shorts on your legs.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is so meek, and you hate it.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“This isn’t your job.”

“The hell it isn’t. This isn’t your job. My job is to protect you, and I failed. How long had he been here?” You shrug, because you aren’t sure when the lines of your imagination and reality blurred. Didn’t know when Lloyd’s hands morphed into Chase’s. “I’m going to get us another apartment. You’re also going to have a security detail, and this isn’t for discussion.”

You just nod your head, not in the mood for arguing. You’re just cold. And then a cry. “Lyla,” you jump up without hesitation, practically sprinting to her room, and she sits up in the bed, crying and pouting for you. “Hey, baby. Did you miss me or do you need a diaper change? You’ve been sleeping through the night almost every night. C’mere.”

She isn’t wet, so you just hold her tight to your chest, and her cries start to soften. “You need someone to hold you, too, huh? Shh, I’m right here, baby,” you rock her in your arms, and turn to see Lloyd standing in the doorway.

He’s like a dream, nearly naked and shadowed in her doorway. It hurts to look at him sometimes. Always being something you shouldn’t desire. “She just wanted to be held.”

“You said, too,” he’s being odd this evening. You don’t understand what he means until he walks right up to you, lifting you up again. Carrying you and Lyla over to her rocker, he sits down, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “If you want to be held just ask.”

“Okay,” he holds you like you’ve never been held before. How can something feel so secure and soft at the same time? He is adding just the right amount of pressure on your body, and you start to relax in his arms, and Lyla is right with you. Yawning so big as her eyes get heavier. “Am I stupid?”

“No.”

“Do you know what I was doing when he came into my room?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I was — you know on a pillow, and I said your name, and it pissed him off,” you don’t have to see Lloyd’s face to know he’s smiling. Of course he would smile when it came to you ultimately choosing Lloyd over Chase, “I heard you tonight,” he hums, but still doesn’t say anything. “In your fantasy how was I positioned?”

“On your back. Your legs wrapped tight against me, a pillow under your lower back to get this amazing angle, and you're pulling me so deep into your warmth, and I can’t get enough of watching you come over my cock,” it’s your turn to hum as you look down at the baby. She is so cozy, but asleep, and giving you nothing but her sweet face to distract you. This is far from an appropriate conversation with her present.

“How deep are you?”

Lloyd takes a deep breath. Kissing on top of your head, “Sweetheart, I’m so deep that you can fill me in your throat.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Silence falls over the room, and it becomes too apparent what is going on in your room. You heard Lloyd call someone, and they are doing what he asked, cleaning up whatever mess was made. You lift up off his shoulder, and stare at him. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I don’t think this is the right time now.”

“Are you scared?”

“I’m terrified,” you gulp, averting your eyes back down to the baby. How could a man like Lloyd be terrified? And why? “And she’s only part of the reason I’m scared.”

“So where do we go from here?”

“I said I didn’t think this is the right time for me to show you I’m not lying, considering the things that have transpired this evening. But whenever you’re ready for me to show you exactly how deep I can go inside your body, but also — inside your heart, I’ll only be a few doors away. But I don’t want to just fuck you like an animal. I want to hold you and…my daughter at night, just like this. You need to be held just as much as she does, so let me. But for tonight, instead of showing you just how right you would fit me inside you, let me tear down the walls you’ve built up, and show you there are good men out there. Men that stand on the things that they say. Let me just hold you, so you can finally relax for the first time in years because you don’t have to worry about that prick ever coming into your life and hurting you ever again.”

Your vision becomes blurry as tears fill your eyes, and you let them fall down your cheeks one by one. It’s freeing to know that Chase can’t ever try and pick apart your brain and memories that you have no desire to explore. Lloyd isn’t just taking your walls down, he’s obliterating them. You didn’t even realize the amount of walls you put up for your own self preservation. “I hate them.”

“Me, too. I hate anyone that has ever hurt you or made you feel you aren’t worth it. Because you are.”

“You don’t know me.”

”I know more about you than you could ever understand,” the cameras. All those times you felt like you were being watched. It all makes sense. “Yes, there’s some in your room. And yes, you knew and pointed yourself right at them.”

“Did not.”

“Want to see the footage?” You snort, shaking your head no. At least you didn’t have to end the night on something as severe as whatever Lloyd did to Chase. “Little minx. I’ve got videos, too. Yeah, I thought maybe it was a coincidence, until you flashed the camera and smiled. You’re smarter than people give you credit for.”

“I was just taking a guess,” Lloyd does not believe a word you say. “I did. It was just a guess. Why did you have cameras in my bedroom? Are they in my bathroom, too?”

“No, I don’t get off on that.”

“You just get off on me in my room?”

Lloyd rolls his eyes with a smile. Is that what you think this is? He’s trying to figure out how to say it without being too forward, and there isn’t another way, “Were you just in your room when you had your legs spread pointing to the camera, shoving your fingers in that tight little cunt, and whimpering my name? Were you just in your room when you’d prance out of the bathroom completely naked, and do a little shimmy right in the camera? Were you just in your room every time that you were fucking that pillow and saying Daddy fuck me harder.”

Oh my god. “Should I go on?”

“No! There is a baby in my arms.”

“Fine, admit you want me to fuck you, and you want to call me daddy,” you didn’t have to admit shit. You do like when his cocky little self comes out though. “Go on, say it.”

He wants you to say it? Then he’s getting the full on works, “I want you to fuck me so deep and hard, daddy. I want you to come in my pretty little pussy, and then I want you to fuck it deeper with your fingers,” Lloyd bites on his lip, and looks up at the ceiling. Good. He wants to try and torture you, he’s getting it right back. “But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight. You’ve been through enough,” you really have. And you just want to feel the warmth coming off his body. “I want you to pick out which room is Lyla’s in the new apartment. She…” it’s too soon. Lloyd can’t ask much more of you. You’re vulnerable at the moment, and he’s taken advantage enough, “She already looks at you like her mom,” fuck fuck fuck.

“Is it weird to say I look at her like mine, too?” He sighs, and shakes his head no. He hopes you really let this conversation sink in before you come crawling into his bed. Because he will fuck you, and he will only hold back if you ask him. If your body shows him, he’ll stop. He wants you more than anything he has ever wanted before and it terrifies him. Because now he has two things he’s willing to kill for, but worse, willing to die for.

Terrifying.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958

@seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings

@kmc1989 @pandaxnienke @theinheriteddutchess @rainydayandmondays @buckybarnesisdaddy

@patzammit @xoxo-ls @rebeccapineapple @slutforchrisjamalevans @marvel-wifey-86

@jesevans @ughdontbeboring @infantasywonderland @vampy-doll @i-like-to-read-13

@missacidburn928 @charmed-asylum @superflannel @hisredheadedgoddess28 @lostinspace33

@abbyyourlocalmilf @saranghaey @rogersbarber

#with your touch #lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen fics #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fanfiction #au pair au #TW #chris evans #chris evans character

281 notes · View notes

extrajigs · 1 year

Photo

Wanted to figure out how chimera’s wrote and ended up starting on their written language proper. MASSIVE info dump below!

Writing

They write using four fingers of one hand, usually the right, coated in ink. Think like a stamp almost. The three middle fingers draw with the tips of the teeth whilst the thumb will alternate between tip and back. All words are written simultaneously inward. The remaining fingers grip the source of ink, usually a length of hardened pigment only wetted on one side OR those who write often could invest in a pen. A pen for a chimera is a fanning brush saturated with ink that the writing teeth brush through when needing to reink. It allows for much faster wetting of the teeth, but can be messy when learning or refilling.

Most chimera are right handed but left handed individuals exist, they will simply need to learn to use the two fingers opposite the middle in reverse of how someone who is right handed would! Luckily all fingers can move pretty independently of each other and it is an easy task. As chimera mostly communicate through direct broadcast most find the written word lacking, so it is a common occupation among Chimera to write for others. It is an impressive skill to eloquently convey ideas/feelings through writing. Though their language set up lends to it MUCH more than others.

The Nitty Gritty

All subject to change as this is very first drafty.

Chimeric is a logographic language, there is no set alphabet and all ‘words’ stem from symbols representing things and ideas. Sentences are kind of two sentences atop one another, with one being the literal and the other the reactionary. It is read from out to in and sentences are written in a circle divided into 4 quarters. We’ll start with the top moving counter clockwise.

Quarter 1 (Red) is the subject area, now subjects function the same as nouns for the most part, people, places, and things. But something important to note is that there must always be an ‘audience’ for the words being spoken. An audience basically means pronouns though they are a lot more encompassing with: I, You, Us, Them, Them excluding me/you, Us excluding you, Everyone, and a bunch of others. These are all acceptable audience subjects to top off your sentence. For instance you wouldn’t say “This pizza tastes good!” you would instead say “I enjoy the taste of this pizza” or “Everyone enjoys the taste of this pizza” the opinion/emotion needs to be applied to a source to make sense grammatically.

Quarter 2 (Green) is all about emotions and opinions. Chimeric language is an exchange of ideas but also importantly emotions and feelings. Q2 is dedicated to how the sentence is supposed to be interpreted or felt by the reader, as obviously in ‘spoken’ chimeric speaker and listener technically feel the same about what is currently being said. Listener opinion is very distinct from speaker and in writing the speaker takes priority. So for example the statement “Who finished the box but left it in the pantry?” would instead have to be translated into something akin to “I am pissed and questioning who had the audacity to finish the box and did not care enough to remove it from the pantry thus leaving me to find it and become disappointed?” Basically chimeric lends itself to very long translations due to their feelings.

Quarter 3 (Blue) is the action section of the sentence. The verbs if you will. This is where things are happening and is VERY tied in with Q1. Subjects in Q1 and Q2 will be linked together with lines that follow the same slice through the circle.

When a subject is linked to an action that means that the subject is the one performing the action, whereas subjects closer to the center and unaligned with an action are what is being acted upon. Like with the audience conundrum though an action needs a subject to actually act, whether it is an individual/s or an object or place. This is usually the least word heavy portion of the sentence as it is almost supplemental to Q1, and in contrast to the thin, crisp lines of the other quarters, Q3 will often be smudgey and more messy due to being written mostly with the back of the thumb.

Quarter 4 (Yellow) is generally not going to have any words written there, as it functions as the anchor point for the hand. The outmost finger rests here on the page to stabilize the hand as it closes during writing. When writing in a ream of papers this is where the hole to hold them all together is punched through. However in modern fanciful writing styles Q4 is also used as a secondary emotional quarter. This style will use Q4 as the reactionary emotion of the reader, more so the expected reaction and emotion from the reader. This is an EXTREMELY class based writing style and it is a GIANT NO NO to write like this for someone of higher status to read. Typically only Clan heads will freely use this writing style, especially towards each other lmao. The writing style of the passive aggressive power struggle.

All together Quarters are read at once! And I mean that there is no one word the chimera will start with. Every word of the sentence is absorbed at the same time, no following along a line like how I’m currently typing. But what indicates the order of which things are meant to be perceived is how close they are to the outside of the circle. Things closer to the center come later in the sentence and will be understood to be lower in the hierarchy of words. However only subjects and actions are directly linked to each other, emotion/opinion words are to have a more natural seep throughout the entirety of the sentence with only a loose idea of where they are to be felt. In this way while a subjects actions may be concrete, the writers feelings about them are more fluid and organic.

Chimeric conlang yay! I wanted to make modern Mirum script but decided I needed to start at the roots. So technically two written languages originate from Mirum, but they are extremely similar with one directly branching from the other. Chimeric is the original and Miran is the derivative, they mostly share characters but their sentence structure is different. Chimeric keeps the circular structure whereas Miran is a zigzagging horizontal and completely drops quarters 2 and 4. Leading to modern Miran being a very literal language vs Chimeric’s emotion heavy focus. But if you know one you can pretty much read the other, albeit with some culture shock.

#now i just have to make all the symbols hahaaha #chimera #mirum #conlang #worldbuilding #fantasy #language #chimeric #art #text #no true north

2K notes · View notes

earlycuntsets · 3 months

Text

had to transcribe this - too many defining moments

host: we got marty. marty's gonna come on the show. come on in. (introductions) come on in here (x3) now marty's brought a little something/something for you guys um marty, what have you brought for the gentlemen? I saw it. actually lets get them first, bring em out (x3)

tv lady: frankkk. FRANKK

frank: get away from me. get the hell away

tv lady: frank

frank: NO istg i'll start punching people

tv lady: (in the distance) FRANK GET OVER HERE

frank: goodbye!

spider guy: so frank apparenly loves it

tv lady: frank is gone he totally vaulted (I looked this up as a verb means leap)

gerard: look they left!

ray: he peaced out

gerard: see, the thing is...

spider guy: that's lola (some kinda) tarantula. we've got a nice little petting zoo for you guys to take a look at

host: do any of you guys want to touch that at all?

gerard: no-

spider guy: no ones ever been hurt by a tarantula. they're harmless

host: tarantulas cannot hurt you

tv lady: do you like spiders gerard?

gerard: they don't really bother me. frank is deathly- he's deathly afraid of spiders

tv lady: aw I feel bad now

gerard: yeahhh well you should (lol jk)

ray: is it gonna bite

gerard: nah, he just got outta here before he got too scared. they don't bite! T O R O go for it!

ray: alright (holds the spider) get it off me GET IT OFF ME

spider guy: alright we're gonna put her back. I got something you might like instead of the tarantula

ray: no this is actually kinda cool

gerard: hey frank can you hear me? they have scorpions!

tv lady: i'll go get him

ray: they brought snakes

spider guy: this is reggie. reggies our baby boa constrictor. friendly snakes lotta people have heard of them.

host: will it bite?

spider guy: not gonna bite ya not gonna hurt ya.

host: give it to me i'm gonna take it outside. i'm a little nervous though why don't you take it outside? (to gerard)

gerard: nOOO way man

spider guy: try her on, if you don't want to hold the snake. the snake will hold you.

host: lets go to (unintelligible) it's not so bad

gerard: no this is fine right here. lets get him off now. its actually. 🇮🇹 it's like a big piece of baloney

tv lady: frank won't come in i've tried to get him

gerard: yeah he won't it's because you have a spider in a box

lady: get it off me! (etc.)

much on demand 2005

#this might be my favorite mcr moment #too many zingers #and frank #gerard way #frank iero #ray toro #mikey way #much on demand 2005 #my chemical romance #mcr #2005 interview #frank runs away #spiders #tw spiders #frank shouting NO makes me laugh every time #interviews

220 notes · View notes

crystalrabbit246912 · 3 months

Text

First Year Shenanigans

A lot of this will be based off of my personal experiences altered slightly, so if this seems a little weird or OOC, I apologize.

Imagine the school (or maybe just the first-years or a single Dorm - Heartslabyul, probably) having a picnic and Ace or Deuce spill Gatorade or Twisted Wonderland's equivalent of it on their hot dog, but aren't allowed to get another one because each student's only allowed to have one, so they still eat the hot dog, and they're like "It's not bad." Cue the confused reactions.

Also imagine the first-year group trying to cram all of them onto a single blanket because Ace or Epel wanted to see if they could, but failing and just being very disappointed for a moment before shenanigans start again.

Away from the picnic idea, I like the idea of Yuu knowing how to fold origami, which isn't a thing or if it is, not very well known, and giving it to the others and when Yuu walks into their rooms months later, they see the origami and go "You still have that?" And the person whose room it is gets flustered.

Along with the origami idea, I can see Yuu making an origami cicada and throwing it at one of the others while yelling "Cicada!" This starts a game among the first-years where the one who has the cicada has to throw it at one of the others and yell "Cicada!" They even make a verb for it. "Who just cicaded me?" "I need to cicada someone soon." And so on.

This is a private thing for a while until Ace cicadas Riddle because he felt like it. Riddle gets very confused and collars Ace until he explains the game to him and removes the collar. From there, the upperclassmen slowly get included in the game because Riddle would get Trey, Trey would get Rook or Cater, Rook would get Vil, Cater would get Kalim or Lilia, and so on.

From there, the cicada thing becomes a school-wide game where the cicada circulates around everyone for a while and if it falls apart Yuu just makes another one for the cicaded person to hold. Making a new cicada is strictly forbidden unless the previous cicada breaks because they don't want a bunch of cicadas. One is enough.

At some point, Ortho writes up a bunch of rules and gets most people to sign off on it to agree, then hangs it up and gets everyone else participating to sign it. (Some people decided not to participate and there's a list of who you're not allowed to cicada)

The teachers don't know for a while (other than Sam, since his friends on the other side told him what was going on) until the cicada falls back to Ace and he cicadas Deuce by chucking it straight into his face and screaming "HA! CICADA!" right as Crewel walks in and get extremely confused.

The teachers are exasperated by this, but since there are actually rules to the game that are being followed, they let it go as long as the cicada isn't being thrown during classtime. Multiple cicadas have gotten confiscated like that, but they can always get Yuu to make a new one.

If Yuu ever leaves the school premises for a period of time for some reason (like Camp Vargas, Fireworks of the Land of Hot Sands, etc.) they just leave a box full of premade cicadas in Ramshackle with instructions for it to not be touched unless they need a new cicada lest Yuu stop making cicadas for them.

Of course, since no one wants that, they don't touch the box unless they need a new cicada because the old one got confiscated or destroyed (usually by magic because of reflexes. Not many people can cicada Rook or Lilia because of their keen senses.)

#twst wonderland #twst first years #twst shenanigans #twst yuu #ace trappola #deuce spade #jack howl #epel felmier #ortho shroud #sebek zigvolt #twst headcanons #twst scenarios

158 notes · View notes

braxlrose · 1 year

Text

silly and weird tom hcs

a/n: the last ones got deleted for some reason so I'm making a new one!

• this mf steals your food all the time. hes always munchin on something so if you have something that looks good, he's taking it. especially if it's watermelon. he loves watermelon 🍉

• he doesn't tell anybody, but he gets his nails done. he gets pedicures and manicures and loves it so much. you found out one day when he kept going off and not telling anybody where he was going. so you followed him and saw his finger and feet soaking in water 💀

• when you walked in you were trying so hard to hold in a laugh and he was so fucking embarrassed when he saw you. you thought it was extremely ironic because he always called mani-pedis "girly"

• now you two go all the time, and you're way better at making excuses than he was.

• he got high on edibles and thought his feet weren't attached to his body anymore so he started screaming 💀

• over indulges on gushers when he's high

• you guys know those Chinese finger traps? Idk if that's what they're called but you put two fingers in them and they're like really hard to get out of. he LOVES them for some reason, he thinks they're so much fun

• he loves the snow so much, and especially loves snowball fights. it's so much fun, and he also gets to wear extra layers of clothing because of the cold

• during the winter, he gets a bunch of different kinds of hot chocolates and when anybody asks what he's drinking he swears by it that it's black coffee 💀

• he loves watching futurama and says that he strives to be bender 💀 (have yall seen the new episode? I actually really liked it, ik a lot of people said they didn't but I did.)

• gets on his knees while begging (not sexually 🤨) and will even fake cry. he's a master manipulator 💀

• when you guys go to the beach he's always asking you to come play in the water with him

• for any reason if you guys happen to be at a hospital, he goes and looks at all the little newborn babies. they're so cute and he gets all smiley just looking at them.

• he loves romance movies. mf will deny it till the day he dies when anybody asks but you've seen his collection of vhs tapes and dvds. plus bill even admitted tom cried during The Notebook.

• he tries to balance random objects on his head while walking to see it he can do it. he'll add on a object every time he does it.

• he's weirdly amazing at solving Rubix cubes?

• he loves making balloons animals and he always makes the sword ones. he will literallt sword fight with anybody.

• he eats bowls and bowls of cereal so he can get to the prize at the bottom of the box. (I full-heartedly believe he's a little kid at heart)

• he tries to make home-made pizza but ends up burning it 90% of the time.

• he's extremely ticklish on his armpits, stomach and feet and will literally die laughing if you tickle him

• he also loves kids cartoon movies like fox and the hound, Anastasia, Mulan, James and the Giant Peach, etc.

• he loves slap bracelets and has an entire collection of them.

• it wouldn't be the first time you've caught him dancing and singing to Britney spears.

• tom loves everything bathes. on camera he says he prefers showers but in reality he likes bathes better. With candles, dimmed lights, bath salts, face masks, etc.

• do you guys know that episode of Friends where Monica convinces Chandler to take a bath and he ends up loving it and shit? he's just like that. if you don't know what I'm talking about here's some clips.

clip 1

clip 2

• he tried on one of your thongs one time because you dared him to wear it the whole day.

• you also dared him to get his legs waxed and he ended up doing it and he was crying the whole time

• he loves those little stories where you add in words to them. I can't remember what they're called but it asked you for like an adjective, plural noun, verb ending in ing, etc. etc. (I hope yall know what I'm talking about, I think it starts like a m or something someone tell me please 😭)

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam @5hyslv7 @killed-kiss @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz @victryzvv9 @banshailey

#tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel smut #fluff #smut #tokio hotel edits #tokio hotel fanfics #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel imagine #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz fanfics #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz headcanons #kaulitz twins #kaulitz twins tokio hotel #tokio hotel tom kaulitz

627 notes · View notes

souldagger · 2 days

Text

What would you like to see more of [in speculative fiction] in the next 10 years?

Amal El-Mohtar: That’s such a good question, the next 10 years. You know, I’m aware that when I find myself wanting to answer this, I don’t want it to come from a place of nostalgia. And I’m aware of the fact that I’m at an age where some of the things that are delighting me, the most are things that revisit stuff from my childhood in, like, weird, interesting new ways. And I know that I’m at the age where I’m being marketed to by that specifically. So seeing Interview With the Vampire delights me. Seeing X-Men ’97 delights me. But I don’t want to be pandered to in that specific way in the next 10 years. I don’t know if this is too froofy an answer but I really want to be dazzled and surprised, you know? To me, wanting to see more queerness means not just box ticking categories of, like, how many chocolate box kinds of queer can we see in a book representation-wise. I’m really interested to see books that queer shit, like queer as a verb. Maybe that’s what I’d say, I want to see queer as a verb more in books. I wanna see genre boundaries blurred at the same time that I wanna see really unapologetic deep dives into genre furniture to be like, give me the most melodramatic shit. Give me, like, the most maximalist iteration of the genre that you want and stuff. I think I just wanna see a lot more unabashed… something that is activating and lovely. It also feels very selfish and inchoate to say I just wanna be dazzled. I wanna be charmed. I think she also wanna see just, like, more I would love to see more SF digestion of other modes of writing. How can I put this? I just I wish I want people to read outside of genre so that they can bring into genre things that are exciting in other places. I wanna see cross-pollination. I just wanna see people being dazzled and excited by other stuff and then, like, bringing it in and exchanging. That’s where I thrive, I find. That’s why people get mad at my column a lot because it’s like, ‘where’s the science fiction and where is the fantasy?’ And I’m like, it’s here, it just looks different. It just looks different than what you have read.

from Eighteen Authors, Two Big Questions: What Is the Best Thing Happening in SFF Right Now, and What Do We Need More Of?

#she gets it SHE GETS ITTTTT #books #.txt

67 notes · View notes

peyton-warren · 1 month

Text

State of Glass

Characters: Wolverine/ James "Logan" Howlett, Female Reader (no descriptions)

Pairings: Logan x Reader

Fandoms: Marvel, X-Men, Deadpool 3

Word count: 2340

Type: fluffy and angsty flavored smut

Warning: 18+. Minors DNI. P in V, Bad day for Reader, Painful penetration, Logan, Logan's mouth, Logan's language, oral (f receiving), one mention of Daddy, angry/upset reader who isn't saying anything, emotions getting in the way of pure porn, established relationship.

Summary: Reader comes home seeking solace in her husband's arms. I had a hard therapy session yesterday and wished I could have had this option waiting for me at home. I got half way through this story and Logan had to throw fucking emotions in the middle of this and I actually yelled at the screen “Really??” Essentially I am Reader....

Author’s Note: Thank you to @ellethespaceunicorn for being a sounding board and for early editing, to @ronearoundblindly for final beta. I still struggle with verb tenses, hopefully I caught them all.

Ask Box: Open

Masterlist

Sock footed, you wander through the house, and find Logan quietly reading in the living room. He looks up from his book a second before you slide into his lap, your mouth fiercely landing on his. The book he was reading is tossed on the couch cushion beside you, as his hand winds into the back of your shirt, holding you closer to him. Your hands cup both of his stubbled cheeks, tilting his head to your liking as you devour him.

You don't even say hello after returning home. You shut the door, lock it and drop your keys on the table inside the door. Haphazardly toeing your shoes off, you leave them in the hallway, fodder for you to trip over and swear at later.

Logan tastes like whiskey and cigars, same as he always did. He tastes like home. And you want to crawl into that taste and stay there. All the stresses in your life would fuck off and leave you alone there, right?

With little patience, you sit straight and push his shirt up, stopping as you expose his stomach and pecs. Leaving it rucked up to his arm pits, you run your nails down his sides, tickling his skin with them as you tickle your own with his hair. You reach for his stupid belt buckle, unceremoniously yanking it open.

“Where's the fire?” he teasingly growls at you. “It's not going anywhere, bub.” You know what he's doing. He's trying to distract you, to find out what's wrong, to get you to talk to him. But you aren't having it.

Flicking open the top of his jeans, you roughly unzip them and press your hand inside, wrapping around his hardened length, stroking him through his boxers. You seal your mouth over his rasping groan, brushing your tongue over his bottom lip. You mercilessly rub your hand over his cock, until you feel him throb under your palm. You clench at the feel of him, suddenly you are maneuvering out of his lap. You loosen your work pants, letting them and your lacy panties fall to the floor, watching Logan survey your little strip tease for him. He arches his hips off the sofa and yanks his jeans to the middle of his thighs.

Leaning over him, you kiss him again, your fingers teasing his skin along the elastic of his boxers, plucking the waist band to snap back against him at odd intervals. You feel his impatience in his kiss, his huffs of breath in time with your teasing ministrations. Finally he breaks, and yanks the boxers down himself, allowing his cock to escape, lewdly slapping his belly.

Your hand wraps around him before his ass is even settled back on the sofa cushion, harshly pumping over his steely length. Your knees land on either side of his thighs and you quickly rub the dripping head of his cock through your folds. You know as soon as he touches your most intimate parts that you are not adequately aroused to take your husband’s cock, your slit is not moist enough. After years of fucking the man, you knew what your body needed to accommodate him, but you didn’t care. You need to feel him, you need to feel him now and to forget everything else. You let the tip barely enter you, and you pant into his mouth at the sting.

“You need to be wetter,” he lowly warns.

You bit his bottom lip, almost too hard. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Logan,” you spit out between your clenched teeth, your tongue flicking against his mouth with each word, your eyes boring into his. You hiss again, releasing his lip, as you slide yourself lower on his lap, knowing he's right but not caring at the moment. The bite of him stretching you is almost unbearable. Almost. Right now you welcome it, the pain is a distraction from the noise in your brain, silencing it all.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Logan ground out, yanking you abruptly upwards, his hands rough around your upper arms. “Are you trying to hurt yourself?” He tosses you onto your back on the sofa. A sharpness pinches you as you sprawl across the cushions and you reach under you to pull his old copy of “Catcher in the Rye” to toss on the floor.

Logan's shoulders bully your legs apart as his mouth lands on your damp slit, his tongue worming its way through your folds. Your fingers curl into his wild hair as he finds your clit. “We are going to do this right, or we aren't going to do it at all,” he threatens, his breath fanning across you.

You clench your jaw and tug at his scalp. “Then get to it, old man,” you impatiently badger. His darken eyes flash to meet yours, and you see anger and confusion clouding his lust. You knew how to push his buttons as well as he knew yours. You also know you were treading a fine line between him being understanding that you didn’t want to talk about what was bothering you right now. If you push him much harder, he is not going to give you what you wanted.

Your eyes slide shut at the feel of his whiskered chin parting your labia as his lips and tongue feasted on you. His expansive hands land on your hips as you buck against him, attempting to hold you still. But you are searching for a release, hunting for the silencing hum only an orgasm can give you. He's being far too gentle. He's treating you like a delicate doll, like the woman he cares for, the woman he loves.

Tears involuntarily prick at your eyes, and you will them away. This is not what you needed. This is not what you wanted.

“Get the fuck off me.”

Stopping immediately, Logan looks stunned, but is quick to move away from your pussy. He sits back on his haunches on the couch, his hands landing gently on your thighs near your knees. His eyes search yours as you sit up, looking for a hint of what he’s done wrong. You know you can not hide the tears from him, you never could. “What is it, bub?” he almost whispers.

You close your eyes and shake your head. You were never good at telling him what you needed, neither was he, truth be told. It's probably why you work so well together. And also why you drove each other insane at times.

You draw in a slow breath, almost unknowingly; your therapist had you trained by now. “Can you just-” you pause, not believing what is about to come out of your goddamn mouth, “fuck me?” Your voice becomes small at the end and Logan almost seems to be straining to hear you.

“Thought that's what we were doing,” he sounds legitimately confused as his eyes search your face for more.

You sigh loudly and throw your hands in the air, unsure how else to phrase what you needed. You try to swing your leg over him to get up and escape from the couch before you embarrass yourself further in front of him. You could go do this in the shower instead. The buzz wouldn't be as strong, the orgasm wouldn’t be as good but it would work to shut your brain down for a little bit. Maybe you could even nap.

But Logan’s hand holds your thigh in place. “Nu-huh, sweetheart, no running,” he asserts.

“Fuck you,” you try but now there is no bite in your tone, your fight waning, suddenly and abruptly running its course through your system. The tears are back, and this time you cannot stop them from pooling in your lashes, coursing down your cheeks. “Well shit,” you curse under your breath.

As you try to draw your legs up to your chest, you find yourself yanked into Logan’s lap, cradled there, your face in his neck, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and your hips, holding you tight to him. You notice his erection between your hip and his belly and you feel absolutely ridiculous which only made you cry harder.

You don't know how long you cried before you fell asleep in your husband’s lap but when you woke you were no longer on the couch. You were in your bed, in the dark. And wearing a Wolverine shaped weighted blanket against your back. You could not do anything else but smile as your husband snored against the back of your neck, his arm and leg thrown over you. You knew as soon as you moved you would wake him, so you laid there soaking up his warmth, his affection.

You feel lighter than you did when you got home from work. You were grateful for your husband’s patience with you.

“Bub?”

The groggy voice sounds in your ear.

“I didn’t even move,” you jokingly lament as Logan tightens his hold on you as he stretches against your back.

“Musta done something,” he insists with a small yawn. “Am up now.”

You wiggle your hips back against him, feeling him hard in the crack of your ass. “I can tell,” you tease, the arousal from earlier still there in your body though lesser than it was when you got home.

“You called me an old man,” he growls in your ear, briefly reminding you of the challenge you set on the couch earlier.

“You ARE an old man,” you remind him.

Biting at your neck, he pushes you on your stomach, cementing his chest to your back. “I’ll show you old man,” he threatens, one hand hooking over your hip, jerking you into him.

Pushing up on your forearms, you arch up like a cat under him, wiggling your ass against him, knowing you are playing with fire. His hand lands loudly on one cheek, making you yelp. His hand grabs your flesh, squeezing before two fingers find their way between your legs.

You both moan loudly as his fingers find you wet and wanting. “There she is,” he grumbles, his other hand winding in the hair at the base of your head. As he pushes two fingers into your pussy, his other pries you up until you are both on your knees on the mattress. You gasp at all the sensations he was giving you, his fingers curling in you, the sloppy wet sound of him fucking you with them. Your brain was already fuzzy from your nap, and now you could do nothing but feel.

Logan’s hand in your hair moves to your throat, his palm over your voice box, his fingers at your artery on the side. He flexes his hand, reminding you of his strength, strength you never worried about him using on you in any negative way but right now that strength made you clench around his fingers.

Biting at your neck again, you could all but hear the smile in his voice as growls, his cock pressing into your ass. “There’s my girl, my good girl.”

You require nothing else in the universe but that question barked in your ear and you feel yourself unravel around his fingers, your wetness covering his palm as you cry out his name. He chuckles darkly behind you. “Atta girl. Knew you had it in you.”

“Daddy....” you whine out, moving your hips in time with his fingers, your pussy tightening.

“Why don't you come for me, Bub?”

You barely register his words as his thick fingers continue to assault your tight pussy. You lean yourself further into his grasp around your neck, your legs no longer effectively holding you up. Sensing your dilemma, Logan lets go of you, and you flop to the sheets as his hand moves from your throat to your hip. You hear him noisily lick at his fingers, relishing your taste as you try to catch your breath with half of your face pressed in a pillow.

“Old man wear you out, Pretty Girl?” he jokes, his hand on your hip digging into your flesh. Not even waiting for your response, Logan lines the head of his cock up with your entrance and plunges into you with all of his weight, pining you fully prone on the bed.

A chorus of “Fuuuuuck” sounds loudly through your bedroom as he fills you, pressing hard against your cervix. You often swore his dick also was full of that metal that coated his bones, he felt unmoving and unwavering in his thickness. And his strength didn’t go a miss as his hands landed on the bed on either side of your head and he began thrusting hard and fast into you. You could do nothing but lay there and take his strokes, your body jarring with each movement.

Turning your head to the side, you gasps as he mercilessly fuck you, you put one hand against the headboard to keep yourself from sliding any further forward. Crossing your ankles and squeezing your thighs together, you make the old man above you groan. “Dirty minx.”

You smirk even as you feel yourself spiral. “Am close, Logan.”

Your husband only growls above you, a hand grabbing your hip tightly as his thrusts double, punishing your body. Your eyes all but cross as you feel your legs shake and suddenly you are coming hard around him, barely giving him room to move. And that’s all it takes for Logan to begin to spill into you, jets of his cum filling you as his fingers leave bruises on your skin.

Sliding an arm snuggly under your belly, Logan flops the two of you on your sides, him still buried inside of you. His thighs curl upwards, anchoring you to him fully as he noses into your hair.

“We will talk about whatever the fuck is going on tomorrow, right?” he sleepily asks, though its not really a question.

You nod, your own eyes dropping as you drift back to sleep, your brain blissfully blank, fuzzy and warm.

General Tag List: @littleone65, @mysweetlittledesire, @jvanilly, @identity2212, @avengersfan25,

@foxyjwls007 @gummydummy19 , @cynic-spirit , @rosecentury

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x female reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #smut #cavillrine #cavillrine x you #cavillrine x reader #henry!wolverine

82 notes · View notes

lavenderfilledcoffin · 19 days

Text

embrace

verb

hold (someone) closely in one's arms, especially as a sign of affection.

*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*

Urbanshade. Hadal Blacksite. Oh how you wish you could forget it all.

Being falsely imprisoned and given a second chance at life if you were to bring back an "important" crystal.

The money was tempting, and you were on the brink of going crazy.

You wish you had never taken their offer.

Eyefestation was a total pain. The sight of her caused your brain to melt, literally.

Squiddles are terrifying in your own way if you don't watch your step.

Anglers...

"Shi—t!" You yelp out, pushing yourself out of the locker while almost getting caught by an angler.

You started to hyperventilate, the anxiety of being in the locker being all too much to bear.

You check your vitals, your health was not in good shape and you needed to find a med kit soon. "Damn." You whisper to yourself.

You look up, the numbers displaying 34 in bright green. Almost halfway there.

After narrowly escaping death every few doors, this place's true nature started to finally set in.

You found an office room, away from everything. You couldn't help but sit down and lean your head against the wall.

Your loved ones. Did they still think of you? Did they believe those lies of those false murders? Did they even miss you?

Fat tears welled up in your eyes. "No..." You mumble, clinging onto yourself for false comfort.

'Get the crystal, and get out of here.' Those words repeated in your mind, playing over and over again like a broken record.

The stinging pain near your solar plexus didn't help either, it felt like this was hell already.

You forced yourself to stand up, wiping the tears away as you look up to the next door.

Door 50.

You pushed on, your health slowly declining. A sharp pain in your thigh becoming more and more apparent. It's a wonder you haven't passed out from exhaustion yet.

You make your way into door 51, then you saw 52 in bright blue. Shit. A keycard door.

As if on cue, a vent cover suddenly flew open, "stranger, over here."

A muffled male voice spoke out, it lulled you but you were still hesitant. What if it was an entity mimicking a human voice?

You had no other choice, you were alone in this horrible place with no one to communicate with.

"Welcome, welcome! Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you—" He continued on, introducing himself and his little shop he has for expendables like yourself.

You walk up to his tail, noticing the huge size difference between the both of you. You gulp, shaking subtly while grabbing a med kit, and handing him loose assets. His form of payment was simple, DNA vials, usb sticks, and other files that were junk to you.

"Thank you." His ear fins and tail wiggled with excitement, his hands rubbing together.

You use the med kit, healing yourself with the sterile gauze and septic spray inside of the small box.

You awkwardly smile at him, taking your leave after purchasing a lantern, and grabbing the keycard.

He watched your form disappear through the vent. "Stay safe now." He advised, sighing to himself as he heard the door's keycard scanner chime and unlock.

Well. That was new.

Death after death, you just wouldn't stay dead. What the hell was going on? This truly must be hell-on-Earth.

At least it meant you could see Sebastian.

"Oh, you're back, lovely." He pulled his lure down, causing it to flicker on, and he greeted you with his usual smile.

"I was so close to retrieving the crystal but... I couldn't leave you." Memories of your last run played in your head, that split second decision of leaving Sebastian behind and going back home, or continue being tormented by these creatures...

Sebastian.

"Better luck next time." His voice interrupted your thoughts, playfully ruffling your hair up with his third arm.

You hum in response to his words, deciding not to dwell on the fact that he ignored how you chose him over freedom, basically.

He picked you up with ease, two of his arms holding you up like a cat while his third rest on his hip.

His eyes shone into yours, it's almost blinding, but you didn't mind.

"Stay here with me." His words stunned you. Your eyes blink repeatedly as if it would help you process them quicker.

"W... What?"

"You heard me."

"I..." You weighed your options carefully. Was it worth it? Abandoning your life to stay with this abnormally large fish?

His company is pleasant, but what would happen if you were to be injured? What if he was hurt, what if—

"Hey, eyes on me." His voice brought you out of your trance. "Well?"

"Okay. I'll... Stay." A knot of excitement and regret tightens in your stomach.

"Good." He sets you down on his tail, turning you around so your back is against him.

Sebastian then started fiddling with the explosive on your neck, opening the back compartment, being met with all sorts of wires.

Your blood turned cold, cold sweat started to form as you anxiously anticipated the results.

You shut your eyes tightly, trembling a little, but he reaches his third arm to reassuringly rest it on your shoulder.

You expect the worst, a clink is heard and you yelp; expecting it to blow up.

But it falls off, a weight, literally, has been lifted off of you.

You reach your hands up to your neck, absolutely astonished.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." You repeatedly cry out, wrapping your arm around where his waist would be.

He wrapped his arms around you in return, a smile plastered on his face. "I enjoy your company, [Name]."

"I do too, Seb."

"Using nicknames now, huh?" He chuckled at his own words, patting your head with his left hand.

"I'll allow it, only because it's you." He scooped you up into his arms, cradling you as his tail acts as a cushion for himself.

"Tired?" You question, his lure's light flickering softly.

"Maybe." He yawns after, shaking his head to shorten the dizziness period.

You rest your head against his chest, closing your eyes.

"Goodnight. Or, whatever time it is." You mumble, already falling asleep, somehow.

Sebastian reaches a hand up to his lure, pulling it down, and it turns off. "Goodnight, dear."

#sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian pressure x reader #sebastian pressure #sebastian solace

65 notes · View notes

yersina · 1 year

Text

a linguist* plays chants of sennaar (pt 1)

*i studied linguistics for four years and concurrently did three years of sociolinguistics research, but i'm not currently employed in a linguistics-related field.

[pt 2] [pt 3] [pt 4] [pt 5]

thought i'd have some fun breaking down the languages in cos and stretch my rarely used linguistics muscles in the process! disclaimer: can't promise that i'll have any insights that a layperson wouldn't have, this is kinda just me thinking through the grammar of the language out loud haha.

this post covers the first language and will contain spoilers! it also assumes that you know what each of the symbols means already.

so the three glyphs from the devotee's language that you get introduced to right off the bat already tells me a lot: it's a pictographic logography (real life example: chinese characters), which is probably a good place to start for people who are new to language deciphering (also, none of these languages are spoken so an alphabet would be pointless lol). a logography is a writing system that represents whole words/concepts with a single character, as opposed to representing the sounds that the words make (like alphabets or syllabaries). i haven't completely finished the game yet (most of the way through the fourth language), but i'm p sure 1) all of the languages are logographies and 2) the devotee's language is the most true-to-life with its pictograms.

with these three words we can also begin to establish a pattern--verbs most likely have a line on the bottom, which holds true for the rest of the characters. i think the only exception to this rule is the character for "greeting", which is also used as the verb "salute" later in the game (an interesting choice (considering etymologies for greetings in irl languages), but it makes sense when your language is only 40 words lol). other patterns include the curved line for tools, the semi-open box for structures/locations, and the half-circle with the line for things relating to sight (which amusingly is also the overall game symbol for examining something). (not gonna include things like "man" and "music" and "plant" in this list cause they're defined in game.) i do think it's kind of fun that they introduced "i/me" and "you" before they introduced "man"—it validates that you'll find patterns haha.

(while writing the prev paragraph, it finally hit me that the symbol for "key" is open-tool. isn't that cool!)

i did notice at one point in the game that there was a devotee word that was cut off in one of the stone carvings that looked like it might have been the equivalent for "fortress"--it was the room radical with the two opposing arrows from the word for "warrior". although it's not validated by the game's automatic translation function, it does seem to be evidence that the language elements are fairly flexible and recombinable!

this language is SVO (subject verb object), like english, which again is a choice that makes sense in terms of easing people in. it uses reduplication with nouns to indicate plurality, which as far as i can tell is unique amongst the languages in this game. there's no tense markers, which is common to all the languages in this game (again, as far as i can tell without having encountered the last language yet). given how simple the languages in the game need to be, i'm not surprised that there aren't really auxiliary verbs or indications of infinitives either.

questions that still remain unanswered: - "dead/death", "seek", and "find" all have dots that don't show up in the other characters. not sure why that's the case. could be a representation of something metaphysical? - the character for "go/pass" has a "room" radical on the right side and something else on the left side. wonder if that was intentional

#sina rambles #sina plays chants of sennaar #chants of sennaar #linguistics #language

294 notes · View notes

garbinge · 3 months

Text

That One Christmas Without Carmy

Michael "Mikey" Berzatto & Platonic!F!Reader

30 Day Fic Challenge (22/30)

Word Count: 2k A/N: A little flashback with Mikey.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of abuse, angst, sadness, depression. Other fics from this universe The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas @gills-lounge @navs-bhat @cosmicak @kmc1989

It was the one Christmas Carmy didn’t come home. With how things were with him, you weren’t shocked. He barely answered your texts, you talked for two minutes every few months. Things were just different, you knew he was distancing himself. It took some time but you put the pieces together as to why and weren’t going to force him into anything.

You walked into the house, apple cider in your hand, something you did every year you came. Sugar hated that Donna drank herself a mess every holiday, which made bringing alcohol feel wrong, not to mention when you started coming over for these events as an adult, you were still under the legal drinking age and you knew food was off limits when Donna was cooking the 7 fishes. So apple cider it was.

Not bothering to engage in whatever conversation was happening in the living room, you moved throughout the house looking for a quiet corner to just collect your thoughts. Life had been pretty rocky lately, you just moved back not that long ago and you still felt like you were trying to get your footing from being in Indiana with the jackass that was your ex. You weren’t sure what life held for you, but the pressure alone was enough to weigh you down.

You let out the deepest sigh as you collapsed your back on the wall next to the pantry where Mikey was standing, the only quiet corner of the house that wasn’t the bathroom which was currently being hot boxed by the Faks.

He let out a chuckle and a head shake, letting his long hair fall all crazy around him.

“Just need a minute.” You stared at the ceiling.

“Feel that.” Mikey was now staring up at the ceiling with you. “Sorry about the craziness.”

“Ironically, Mikey, this is the most stable environment I’ve been in.”

“You know that’s fucked, right?” He looked over at you with a smile.

“Beats sitting in an empty house waiting for a santa that never comes.” You remembered the one Christmas in middle school where your dad told you he was going to visit Santa and to stay in the living room and he’d be back with gifts, he didn’t show back up for 3 days, and all he had in his hand was a public indecency ticket and a 6-pack. “I don’t think you get how much this shit means to me Mikey. You, Sug, Carm, shit, even Richie. You guys saved me, Donna being well,” you pointed to the kitchen as a way to replace any verb that just felt completely underwhelming in comparison of the action, “it’s something I’d happily deal with just to have your guys company.”

“We love you, kid.” He grabbed your shoulder, staring at you.��

After a moment of silence, you spoke up.

“You talk to him lately?”

“No.” He answered quickly. “You?” He was now staring down at the floor, waiting for an answer.

“Not really. Maybe a month ago. He actually called me once, wished me a happy half birthday.” You chuckled and looked over at Mikey who was making a weird face. “It’s like a tradition.” You started to explain since he looked very confused. “We’ve done it since we were kids.” You shrugged. “But other than that and a text to let me know he wasn’t coming home, he hasn’t answered my calls. Barely texts me back.”

“You know last year, he was standing right there where you are, giving me shit ‘bout talking to Claire Bear for him.” He laughed at the memory while you rolled your eyes. “Jealous?” Mikey caught you and smirked.

“Barely.” You huffed. “It’s just so crazy you guys can’t see it.” You shrugged and looked at Mikey who was giving you a look like ‘are you going to continue?’. It made you laugh but you obliged. “You’re gonna make fun of me and him for saying this, but Carm, he’s so delicate. He gets tipped off his scale so easily you gotta ease him into things. I bet you, you, Richie, and Fak bum rushed him about how hot she is, and how he needs to hit that and whatever. That shit throws him off, you gotta be smooth with it. When he’s here, he’s waiting for something to tip the scales, that's why it’s so easy to tip.”

“It was cousin Steve, not Fak, but you’re not wrong, that is what happened.” He nodded, letting his hand rest on the frame across from him as his head dropped and his back was still against the other side of the frame. “It’s like you’re his best friend or some shit.” It was meant as a joke, a light hearted comment but it held a lot more weight for you.

“I don’t know about that anymore.”

“What happened to you out in Indiana. Could tell shits been different for you since then.” Mikey continued the conversation, his leg now lightly kicking the door frame as a subconscious tik.

“Some really fucked shit happened. After all of it, I went to see Carmy, could tell he was working really hard to separate himself from this, and I just so happen to be a part of this. I think I tip the scales.”

“If it makes you feel better, I most definitely tip the fuckin’ Carmy scales.” Mikey laughed, looking back down at the ground.

“You know, you’re like a brother to me, Mikey.” That comment brought his eyes back up to you, his head nodding and his hair flopping all over the place as he acknowledged you.

“I love you like a sister, you know this, sometimes even more than Sugar, you don’t ask Ma if she’s okay 20 times a day.” He teased, a smile growing on his face.

It was nice to see him smile, it was so rare these days it felt like.

“Your moms scales are easily tipped, too. Probably where Carm gets it.” You were now walking past him in the door frame and sitting on the radiator box that was parallel to the stairs. “Guess I got my dad’s scales, untippable.” You shrugged as you jumped up.

“Think I got mine’s too.” Mikey’s eyebrows raised, he shifted his positioning, so he was facing you since you moved, but quickly mimicked how he was standing before, back against the door frame, hand on the opposite side holding him up. “How is your Pops?”

You laughed and shook your head. “It’s Christmas Eve so, drunk, probably in a casino.”

“Some things don’t change.” His eyes were now connected to yours.

“And yet I feel like I can’t recognize my life anymore.” Your legs began to kick back and forth slightly hitting the radiator beneath you.

“Well, a lot of things do change.” Mikey shrugged, a smile growing on his face at the irony of his statements.

“Funny guy.” You smiled back.

“Bear made me this drawing that Christmas. Told me about Copenhagen.” He let out a deep sigh. “I tipped the scale though.”

“He just misses you, Mike. Wishes he was doing this with you.” It was spoken like it was so obvious and Mikey missed all the signs.

“He told you that?” It was curious how he asked, like he knew all along, but there was some shit no one but him knew that prevented it all from happening.

“No, but I know he told you that, he’s my best friend, I've known him since we were kids, I know what he’s thinking before he thinks it.” You spoke jokingly but obviously.

“It’s just a mess here.” Mikey wasn’t in the mood to joke about this and you could tell that immediately.

“But it’s home.” You spoke in the same seriousness.The doorbell rang and you looked at Mikey and quickly nodded your head to the right. “I’ll get it.”

Mikey stayed leaning against the pantry’s door frame as you walked over to the front door. With a smile, you tossed open the door, expecting to see Pete or even one of the Fak’s since they always managed to lock themselves out every year but your heart dropped when you saw him.

“Hey, I uh, called your dad, said I could probably find you here.”

The last time you saw this man was when Richie was pointing a gun at him in the middle of The Beef which was last year. That added with the fact that he mentioned talking to your father, you barely got to talk to him and he can just call him up and he offers up your information like its nothing. The feeling of your heart dropping was quickly being replaced with rage bubbling in every part of your boddy, but your hands and arms specifically.

“What the fuck do you want.” It must’ve been obvious you were getting angry because the man in front of you lifted his arms in a sense on innocence but you knew there was nothing innocent about him.

“Was back in the area, missed you, I know how much you love the holidays, figured maybe we could go out, catch up, or not talk at all.” His eyebrows raised and as he was talking you definitely smelt the alcohol on his breath.

“You should actually get the fuck out of here.” Your hand was firm on the door, despite them shaking, ready to slam it closed.

The man took a step forward now, his begging mixed with a desire to show power. As his hand rested on the door he began to slightly push it open against yours. “Don’t be like that, I always hated when you were like that, you’re too pretty to have an attitude that ugly.”

Suddenly, the pushing on the door stopped and you felt a hand right above yours. Turning you saw Mikey standing behind you, taking all the weight of the door in his hand as he held firm with a deep frown on his face.

“Pretty sure she told you to get the fuck outta here.”

You weren’t sure if you were mortified or happy someone had your back right now.

“I’m talkin’ to the lady, alright, don’t mean to be a bother, you don’t–you don’t gotta get involved.” It was said to be nonchalant but anyone could have read between the lines.

“No, you’re not talkin’ to the lady.” In a way so opposite of his other hand, Mikey lightly touched your shoulder and smiled at you as he nodded behind him. Quickly he was taking your hand in his and moving you behind him. “C’mere sweetheart, stand right there.” He turned his attention back to the man at the door and hardened his face again. “You’re talkin’ to me. Who are you?”

“I’m a friend.” He pointed to you and tried to peak past Mikey at you.

“You ain’t shit. This is my house, my property, and she’s my friend. So I’m gonna need you to get the fuck out of here.” Mikey gripped the guy up with such ease, if it wasn’t for the flex of his muscles and the veins on his arms popping out, it wouldn’t have been obvious as to how hard his grip around this guys neck was. He tossed him down the stairs almost like a ragdoll, it helped that the man was in the bag drunk and had little to no reflexes readily available anymore. “If you ring this doorbell or do any other shit in or around this house, I’ll kill you.” With that the door was being slammed and he was turning to look at you. It broke him to see someone he saw as family so scared, your eyes were terrified still.

He was tossing his arm over your shoulder and pushing you back through the kitchen and to the dining room where the chaos was. A sure way to keep your mind off everything.

“Hey, c’mon now. Ignore that, let’s steal one of those cannolis, yea?”

#the bear #the bear fx #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto & reader #the bear fanfic #the bear fanfiction #my writing #garbinge #my best friends cousin

75 notes · View notes

enbycrip · 9 months

Text

I was discussing with a mate what actively makes a piece of media Queer as opposed to just featuring same-gender attraction.

I am a big fan of Queer being a verb as well as an adjective.

I wouldn’t call Romeo and Juliet queer because while it’s transgressive within the frame of the narrative, it’s *not* transgressive within the wider cultural framing? A young hetero couple from different sides of a conflict being married was so incredibly acceptable that it was a long-established practice for establishing peace - to the extent that the Friar even mentions that within the text as part of his reason for facilitating the marriage outside the strict norms of parental consent and acceptance?

Plus the whole framing of choice-led marriage as a force for societal harmony was such an influential trope at that particular period, particularly within Elizabethan England’s newly Protestant culture? Virginity was no longer prized the way it had been in a more Catholic culture, nor was the remote idealisation of courtly love. Instead you get a young different-gender couple who choose *married love*. In the context this was written, this was almost the *opposite* of Queer.

I’d say that, for a text to be Queer, it needs to not only transgress both norms internal and external to the text, but also flip those norms in a way that actively invites the reader to reconsider those norms in a new light? It’s why I’d call so many of Shakespeare’s comedies queer in a way Romeo and Juliet isn’t, because, even though everything goes hetero at the end to fit theatrical conventions about comedies ending with a marriage, they are this space where gender becomes fluid and playful, and *that’s* what you walk away with the impression of from the play? The hetero endings are so enforced it’s kind of deliberately ridiculous?

It’s why I feel Queerness includes readings and depictions of disability that aren’t any of the standard boxes that it is so often shoved into in media. If a disabled character isn’t “inspiring”, or “pitiable”; if they’re not artificially helpless, or completely unaffected by their disability, and, more than anything, if *they* are the centre of the text, with genuine agency, and the text is about *them*, not about their effect on abled characters, that definitely queers a text to me.

And *more* so if it centres their desires and their desirability as a character. Not that they can’t be asexual; asexuality is *very* queer, but if they are not *artificially* desexualised, as disabled characters so often are.

#queerness #queer art #queering art #queering literature #disability #shakespeare #romeo and juliet #early modern literature

133 notes · View notes

copperbadge · 5 months

Text

Amateur Translation Programs

So I had a lot of imaginative and informative responses to my post about looking for an amateur translation program -- something where I could load in a foreign language and it would insert a box where I could add a translation every-other-line. The idea was that this way I could practice translation with more advanced texts, and texts I chose, and thus move away from Duolingo, which at this point is good for drilling and daily practice but not for more advanced learning.

I didn't find precisely what was needed but I did get some inspiration for further explanation, and I also learned that adding the term "glossing" (thank you @thewalrus-said) into my searches helped a great deal in terms of weeding out programs that were either "Let this AI translate for you" or just endless promotional links for Babbel and Duolingo and such. I thought I'd collect up the suggestions and post them here; at the end I'm including my best swing at designing what I wanted, and why it doesn't work yet.

Suggestion one, from many people, was various ways to generate a page that is simply fixed Italian text with space underneath each line to add in a translation. This is pretty simple as a process and there are sites that will do it for you, such as this one that @ame-kage suggested. However, most of these don't allow for movement in the Italian text, and many produce a PDF which you would need to print out in order to write on unless you're willing to open it in Acrobat (and deal with Acrobat). A good solution for some but not what I'm looking for purely because I'm trying to make this super frictionless so that (knowing myself as I do) I will actually do it.

I did find this version interesting, suggested by @drivemetogeek: Have one word doc saved as your "template" doc and set the line spacing as 2.0 or higher. Select your text from source and paste it into the template doc as text-only. Ctrl a, ctrl c to select all and copy, then open a new document and "paste special" as picture. Right click and set the "wrap text" as behind text. Now you have a document where you can, basically, type over the existing text because it's the background of the page. This seems like the most frictionless version, because you could set up a bunch of them ahead of time. If you wanted to move between desktop and mobile, however, you'd need to ensure that the pasted image was fairly narrow so that you don't have to sideways-scroll.

Relatedly, people suggested generating a document that is simply the Italian text with empty space beneath it for typing in of the translation. This can be done either semi-automated, using a macro or a language like Python, or find-and-replace on, say, the stops at the ends of sentences. It basically outputs the same as above but with a more digitally accessible format, without any more effort than above. If you were to do this in Google Sheets you could also fix the column width so that it didn't do anything weird when you opened it on your phone. But it is still very friction-y, and does not allow for easy shifting of the Italian as needed. There's high probability of the translation breaking weirdly across the page. Still a top option in terms of simplicity and access.

@smokeandholograms suggested another variation illustrated here where essentially you're converting the text to a series of tables, with each paragraph a row, and an empty cell next to it for the translation. I might play around more with this one eventually, since I think I could possibly make it a three-column and put the Italian in one, the translation in the next, and the auto-translate to let me know where I might be slipping in the third. (Not that I trust auto-translate but comparing a hand translation to an auto translation can be useful in terms of working out when I've messed up the way a tense or mood is read. I tend to read indirect verbs as automatically imperative because I'm a weirdo.)

@wynjara linked to an add-in for Word specifically designed for translators, known as TransTools; this appears to employ a macro to do the same thing, though it does have a format where you can place the translation next to each sentence directly rather than in a separate cell. The full suite of tools is only $45 which is reasonable for my budget, but for what I need I think I could also just create the macro.

Using LaTeX as a tool specially designed for glossing was an option on offer, but I don't know enough about LaTeX to figure out the pros of this one, which is in itself the major con -- there's a learning curve that I think varies widely by person but for me is unfortunately a wall. It came out of a discussion on Reddit about trying to find something like what I want; also in that discussion is a link to a code generator that allows you to…do something…to the initial language, but it's not entirely clear to me (I'm sure it's clear to people who understand coding) what you would then do with it that would allow it to be output in the way I'm hoping for. Like, I could turn a paragraph of text into HTML, I understand that far, but any Italian I find is already on a website.

Moving more into apps that might work, Redditors on the LaTeX discussion suggested SIL Fieldworks, which is a professional language tech tool. Fieldworks isn't a program I'd previously encountered but much as with the ones I had, it looks like the learning curve is fairly steep and it is definitely overkill generally for what I need, though it might also harbor within it the thing I want. It is free, so I may download and play around with it.

@brightwanderer suggested using note-taking or "whiteboard" apps such as Freeform or Nebo; these are generally a kind of "infinite canvas" in which you can drop objects, text boxes, or handwriting. I don't know that Freeform would be measurably different to just using Word and a macro, since I'd still have to input/format all the text and then be stuck with the same "fixed text" setup -- and it's also iOS only -- but for some folks it might be more helpful. Nebo is a similar infinite-canvas with unfortunately the same issues, though on the plus it's available for Android, which is where most of my mobile property resides.

@bloodbright suggested that I was looking for a CAT tool, a professional translation tool mainly used by translators working in the field. This was a concept I'd encountered, but I hadn't found a good starting place. They suggested Smartcat and OmegaT. Smartcat bills itself as an AI translation platform and is HARD pushing the "don't translate it yourself, hire a translator or let AI do it" angle, so it's difficult to tell what it offers in terms of actual tools for translators, and it's also cagey about pricing, so I can't really evaluate it. OmegaT is free and gives off big "some weirdo homebrewed this in their basement" vibe (which I am here for) but I also recognized it from screengrabs that were the reason I veered away from professional-grade software: it looked too complex. Realistically, the major downside of OmegaT is that I don't think I can put it on my phone. One thing I did find interesting is that once you translate a portion of the text, the original language goes away, though I assume you can turn that off if needed. I do kind of like that because it means my distractable brain is looking at Less Stuff.

So where did I end up?

Well, it looked like I was going to have to try a homebrew myself. I had the idea of trying some of the initial suggestions but in reverse -- designing a document where every other line was a single-cell table fixed to the page. You could paste in the Italian, which would wrap around the cells, and then enter the English in the cells.

You can fix a table in place in Google Docs -- you click on the table, then under Table > Style select Wrap Text, Both Sides, and Fix On Page. Getting the whole page set up is a little labor intensive but once you did that, you could just save it as a template and make a duplicate of it each time. And this actually works….on desktop.

Unfortunately, if you open it in the mobile Docs app, the app can't handle the fixed tables and automatically moves them all to after the text that's been pasted in. I tried redesigning it so that it's a table within a table -- one for the Italian, then within that a series of them for the English -- but when you nest a table in Google Docs, it doesn't let you fix the second table in place. And you are also still dealing with the wrap issue, although you can resize the page and add a large right-hand margin as a kludge of a fix for that.

You can build this same kind of document in Word, so I tried building one in Word and then uploading it to Drive, but when you open the Word file in Docs (or in Microsoft Word for Android), it still strips the fixed positioning -- there's just some functionality missing from both apps that doesn't allow them to handle fixed-position tables.

So, the design is sound, just not the final execution. If I could program an app, I could probably remedy the issues with it -- it's simply a series of text boxes nested inside one another with different formatting. I would imagine that's relatively basic to set up, although given that neither Docs nor Word can handle fixed tables in mobile, perhaps I've stumbled on a much bigger problem that everyone is ignoring because nobody actually needs or wants fixed tables in mobile. :D

Experimentation is ongoing, anyway. I might simply have to resign myself to the fact that my translation study is going to have to be in front of a computer, which might be for the best anyway when I inevitably want to compare my translation to an auto-translate to see where I might have read something wrong.

#language learning #translation #sam learns italian

70 notes · View notes