#regardless. cunt. its 6 pieces??

[033h]

who’s got $200

[moxfirefly]

Hey dude! Loving the tmnt stories! 💚Could I request #8 with raph? "I can make you feel better than that pathetic toy" 😈

*wiggles eyebrows* oh boy

Yes, let’s get thiiiiiis

TW of sorts: Consentual vouyerism

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

Night time would always be his favorite.

They are nocturnal creatures by demand. Walking around daylight just isn’t an option and for Raphael he doesn’t care. Longing for acceptance took a back seat a long time ago, around the time that you entered his life. All the acceptance he needed was right here, in the shape of you.

Schedules though? Well having a relationship with a human proved tricky in the sense of time structures and human necessities. You have a job, you need to sustain a living and well he beats people up for a living and has a curfew regardless of being in his mid twenties.

But the two of you have your ways. Tricky albeit but still always delightful and fun.

Which is why Raphael finds himself perched on the roof opposite your building, with a fantastic view of your window that led to the bed area. Good paying human job meant, good income and with that you had quite the luxury loft, with some very large windows.

Raph smirked, his phone showed him the time and around now as the sun fully set and the cover of darkness was on his side, he knew you would be home soon. Right on the nose you entered the apartment at 6:15pm.

He watched you dump you belongings by the door, kicking off your shoes before making your way to the kitchen area. Even from a distance his vision allowed him to make out little details he loved. You have a particular way of standing, switching your weight from hip to hip, a tendency to push away your hair with a sigh. In your most natural state, unbeknownst to his gaze you always looked beautiful.

The picture of perfection.

Your phone in your hand he saw you type something before leaving it on the kitchen counter and move towards the bathroom area (which to his dismay was much more private.)

In mear seconds his phone pins and alerts him to your message. It was your usual checking in, telling him that you were home and hoping in the shower. He types back nonetheless, all nonchalant with just the hint of cockiness you love. The sun soon disappears and Raph knows that the best parts are yet to come. You walk around in nothing but a towel, hair wet as well as skin. He swears he can smell you, just by memory that freshly washed scent of yours makes something beneath his stomach yearn.

You make a small stop by the counter to pick up the discarded phone, your smiling at his text never fails to make his ego swell. Bitting your bottom lip and answering to him as you walk towards the bed area he sees the sway in your hips, the jingle of your rear and a towel barely holding on.

Raph licks his dry lips, his phone pins again but he already knows what’s been said.

Now he can relax and enjoy himself.

You brush your wet hair, a few strands already beginning to dry. You grab a few of your basic routine essentials and start there first. Moisturizing your skin, which means dropping the towel.

And that you do. Unaware of green eyes following your every move. Each visible piece of flesh makes Raph’s soul burn, burn with a need. He watches the careful manner in which you care for your skin, touching here and there. The way you linger at his favorite spots, kneading and massaging those areas. He takes a deep breath, whe he sees you reach into the dresser and pull something out.

You make your way towards a chair close to the window, often times you’ve sat there to read but tonight, well you had other plans. It was thrilling, chalk it off to your adrenaline junkie ways but the thrill of sitting there and intimately touching yourself with nothing but skyscrapers and the night sky to accompany you always got you hotter. Mind wandering to Raphael which never seized to add even more heat, the image of his sculpted body and its roughness a turn on for you.

Once upon a time you had told him that while the two of you had been huddled together on the couch. Hands squeezing and groping various points of his body. He had been bewildered when you told him that he physically turned you on so much. For a mutant reptile that lived hidden beneath the streets it never felt like a possibility to find himself attractive. Yet here was a tiny human female praising his looks, his body and other areas he never thought he could put into the category of alluring.

In the now, Raph watches you from his spot on the ledge. The way your legs are spreading and the vibrator slowly making a trail towards your exposed womanhood. He felt that tightness, that need to drop down and release his errection from the confines of his shorts. He settled for running a hand over his clothed crotch. Each swipe making him churr and just to gut him further the toy disappeared inside of you. “Fuck, baby” He whispers to himself, eyes glued to your quivering body. “I got what ya need right here, this yer toy” He emphasizes with a grope to his tented shorts, no use in hiding it anymore.

He can see your lips moving, moans no less dripping with filth and hopefully intertwined with his name. A hand gropes at your breast before settling on you core, fingers toying with your swollen clit. Raph wants that image to play in his brain until he sees white. He craves to barge in right now but it’s not time yet, he needs to see your body shake and go rigid with release. Your hand speeds up, thrusting the toy as your other rubs at your sensitive nub. “That’s it baby, come on” He breaths hard, nostrils flaring and hand not seizing it’s rubbing on his rock hard cock hidden inside his shorts.

That familiar coil snaps inside of you, Raph’s name falling from your lips as you continue to fuck yourself through your climax. The toy does no justice to him, doesn’t hit the spots he can hit, doesn’t stretch you the way you’re used to by now. Shallow breaths and sweaty skin, just the way he likes it.

Speak of the devil, the phone rings.

Carefully you removed the toy and cast it aside to pick up the phone.

“I can make you feel better than that pathetic toy” Raph’s husky tone makes your toes curl. God, does he even comprehend the damage his voice can cause?

“How about instead of spying on me you get your big ass over here then” You bite your lip when he grunts, there’s shuffling on the other line and a sound of something heavy lands by the fire escape.

You watch him come into view, all imposing ‘6”6 of him. He grins at the display before him, he keeps the phone call going while he crouches to admire you. This was something the two of you had discussed before hand, that you were never opposed to Raph just keeping an eye on you...

That you actually liked being watched by him. The red banded brute had taken that to heart, he would be a liar if he didn’t say that he loved watching you do these types of things.

He opened the window, phone put away he got to his knees in front of you and without hesistation he dove in. Legs on his shoulders he holds you in place as his mouth works over your sensitive cunt. That skilled tongue of his made you whimper. The softness of your legs against either side of his head is one of Raph’s favorite sensations. Full on earmuffs, the tighter you squeeze the harder he felt his dick get.

It never fails to drive you nuts, to feel the air leave your body in one large in take as Raphael eats you out earnestly. Tongue flicking against your clit you caught green eyes glued to your every reaction, your hands fly to the back of his head and you push him against your folds. There’s no worry, you know he can hold his breath for a while and the pressure is exactly what you need to feel that rush hit you once more. “RA-AH!” Is all you can shout as you tremble and moan in your seat.

You feel like jelly, as if your limbs are foreign objects but you barely have to rest when Raph is standing again to his full height and gripping the back of your head. “C’mere baby girl” He growls as he shoves his shorts enough to free himself and pumps his cock vigorolously. “Open your pretty little mouth for me-fuuuuck” You lick your lips and open your mouth just as you’re told. Raph barely holds on, you’re his absolute fantasy come to life right now, sweaty and skin flushed, tits moving with every heave of your chest.

“Take it like the good girl you are-ahhh” He cums with a long grunt, each white rope hitting your open awaiting mouth while a few shots dribble down your chin towards your chest. He pumps his member till there isn’t anything left, the last of it dripping from his cock onto your thighs.

It’s a god damn mess and it’s beautiful. Raph admires your stained skin, bitting his lip when you lick the excess from your chin, scooping some of it from your chest. In your clean up you watch Raph undresses, gear and all discarded somewhere. You squeal excitedly when he lifts over his shoulder, hand smacking your rear.

“Now let’s make a mess in ya” He crosses towards the bed, ready to dunk you on it and start up this game again.

You happily oblige.

[dimplepinchneat]

ok i am going to say this once *ruler smack* so listen up

i am only speaking for myself right now and will not be answering for anyone else, that includes my fiancée. i’m not going to publicly speak for him and do not ask me to.

i have been asked personally about my relationship with Muq and Jorda.

i am also disclosing right off the bat, for now and the future, that i have memory issues. i don’t especially enjoy sharing this but since we are talking about things years old i feel i need to. right before (possibly right after??) i first joined this community at the ripe age of 15 i suffered a traumatic brain injury. it’s real, ongoing, and i have a lot of pieces missing. i have forgotten the names of most of my best friends in highschool, to give you some indication of the severity. anything more than 6 months old basically exists in a loopy vague timeline of weak flashes. if you want details on exactly how i sustained this injury or other struggles it causes me to have you can ask me directly. this considered, my short term memory is more or less unaffected.

to get the easy part out of the way, since this is recent: jorda and i have no relationship and never have as far as i recall. it’s true that i briefly followed them on this account, but it’s because i forgot their URL and neglected to read their ooc page before following, because i am on mobile a lot and figured i would just read it if we interacted. as soon as it was brought to my attention that it was jorda (and a refresher on what jorda had done) i blocked them. i know i didn’t interact with them both because… i didn’t… and because i honestly found their dash presence annoying. additionally i no longer follow ANYONE, EVER without reading their ooc page first regardless of what platform i’m on. lesson learned! i genuinely don’t want to follow creeps! i slipped on a banana peel and we all saw it.

as for muq, we were friends for several years, and i have been known to give them the benefit of the doubt when they likely did not deserve it. i stood up for them a lot. i’m perfectly comfortable saying, now, that this was a mistake. muq and i have not been friends for over a year now due to several reasons, one of which is actually an unwillingness from them to accept responsibility for their unsavory behavior. i will not take apart everything they’ve done, just know that i never condoned their bad behavior, but i did give them the benefit of the doubt at one point that they had changed. i no longer do. they are bad at taking responsibility and i realize now that their apologies, or defenses rather, were in bad faith and flimsy at best.

tl;dr:

muq has firmly exhibited a pattern of behavior that i now find deplorable, whether that’s excusing their own racism or just generally being a cunt. i should never have defended them. they’re weird and i don’t like them. big mistake on my part

I don’t know Jorda and have no history of interacting with them that i know of. their call out came at a time i was inactive and even besides that my brain just doesn’t work good. me following them was a mistake. its true i was told about them before but i just didnt identify them right away. my bad and ive taken steps to avoid this issue in the future

also as a completely unrelated note but just to make things extra crystal clear: i’m not “proship” so please don’t “defend” me by advocating for proship. i saw someone do this? think you look insane and i want nothing to do with you. i don’t even know what else to say about that

i think that’s it. peace on earth

[yokelish]

Why Yo once read Harry Potter books (in translation) "Half-Blood Prince" and "Deathly Hallows".

I am not going to deny that I can be what kids call spiteful little cunt. So imagine the glee I felt when I realized that a. my peers (mostly classmates) were into Harry Potter at least enough to watch the movies and follow the story b. the books were finished but the movies weren't.

Now, I am shit at math and as a child I didn't like to read much fantasy due to lack of visual imagination. But since there was already a ground work in movies that would be of little consequence, I thought, and calculated that if I were to read the last two books in HP franchise over summer break I could ruin the next two-three years for approximately 20 kids. I really have to thank film makers for breaking the last movie into two parts.

And so, I got the books. My parents never protested about buying me books. Like if that bitch had hardcover and had pages inside, I could have it regardless. They never paid attention to the ACTUAL covers of the books which led to some INTERSTING ALBEIT INAPROPRIATE READINGS.

As a true fan, of course, I had to start with the least exciting book, which was Half-Blood Prince. The thing was, as I realized somewhere in the scene of Dumbledore drinking some green goo to get a medallion is that I didn't watch enough Harry Potter movies. I watched the first three and was like "yeah, it's good!". No. No, it wasn't. Too many character names, too many things about the world that I didn't know about. Why drink the goo and not like spill it into this green lake that literally surrounds you? Because magic means it has to be drank. Okay, why not make some magical or even non-magical animal drink it? Like, it's sad, sure, animal right and no-cruelty testing hooray, but a wise wizard doesn't have to lose his mind. And also... WHOMST THE FUCK IS THIS DUDE FROM BLACK (surname) FAMILY THAT I SHOULD CARE SO MUCH ABOUT? (Spoilers: Harry's Godfather's Brother.)

So, by the dumb rules of HP universe, I had to put down the book and re-watch all the available movies. Which was fucking hard back in the day since Netflix and Internet weren't a thing. Thus, I had to remember character names, locations, all that good stuff. Who the fuck is who and why.

So, going back to Harry Potter books. I am what you'd call a little fucking crazy. Like I can't skip chapters or pages in the book. A mental thing or something. If my eyes didn't touch every single word printed, the book wasn't read. And I didn't like that. So, despite my absolute loathing towards everything and everyone in Half-Blood Prince, I persevered.

On side note, the books actually made me appreciate the movies more. Because the dude who played Harry was charming and funny. And the movies didn't make me live in Harry's head. At times, he was an awful human being by choice. And people say "HE WAS AN ABUSED ORPHAN". So, like, every other hero in fantasy. They didn't have to be awful by choice. Alexander Hamilton, too, was an orphan, I don't see many of you here defending his shitty choices.

And it's not like my childish self wanted Harry to be perfect, no; I picked up Eragon soon after I was done with Harry Potter mostly because I wanted fantasy that would heal my broken soul. And Eragon was a dumb village boi. And he was thrown so much responsibility on him he couldn't handle it. He started by fucking up and he continued to fuck up till like book 3. A big lizard that hatched 6 months ago was smarter and wiser than Eragon. In fact, Eragon who was so ignorant and people-pleasing he accidentally cursed a newborn child. And even that once single moment of "shit I can never undo so it will haunt me forever" was a lot more powerful to me than Harry talking to his dead parents before going to face the Evil Overlord. Though, giving credit where credit is due, it could be also an issue of relating to a character. I doubt I would have found a magic stone that would bring the ghosts of my very much alive parents, but I did have a big mean mouth and I could say shit I regretted easily.

Anyway, back to the point. I found Half-Blood Prince an insufferable reading experience. Every single character, and especially Harry, every other progression and "plot twist" in the book just made me want to drop it. And remember, I am a very hecking young reader. I have no analytical skills, I didn't even have taste. I wasn't be able to tell what is considered "classic lit" from "modern lit". So many things just didn't make sense. Why do Death Eaters have that Skull and Snake symbol in the sky? It's like those cartoonish thieves who leave a note after a successful heist. Why does magic...works that way? Like, my dumb self, out of nowhere decided that being a good magician in HP universe was kinda similar to being a good athlete. Training, education, and some natural talent do the trick. And that wands were just instruments to channel magic. But apparently, a fucking stick can you hella powerful? There's the Queen Stick. The Stick of sticks. I think the Stick of sticks annoyed me more than anything. It's a shitty McGuffin for an Evil Overlord who came back from the dead.

The whole book felt like a fever dream, to be honest, and not even like fun one. It felt like the fever dream you'd get on malaria or something. I understood why Dumbledore decided to drink that green goo and lose his mind. I wanted that, too.

After finishing Half-Blood Prince and knowing what it was like to live in Harry's head, I moved on to the last book. Which was easier to read due to its cartoonish-ness. It was strange picking it up and having Harry leave on this lone hero journey to find Evil Lord soul pieces while also having moments like "a tale from a children's book that is actually Harry's heritage". The ceiling in their friend's house that is painted with their names, and then BOOM, evil dudes attack. A dude seeing an illusion of his "love interest" making out (VERY VIVIDLY THROUGH HARRY'S EYES GOD I HATED THAT SCENE) with his best friend and teleporting the fuck out of that middle of nowhere they were hiding in. An Evil Overlord giving the big I WON speech without checking for HIMSELF if THE BOY HE TRIED TO KILL EVERY YEAR FOR 6 YEARS IS ACTUALLY FUCKING DEAD.

So, yeah, I didn't like Harry Potter books. Well, the last two I actually read in translation. I still stand by the fact J.K. is a midcore writer since I tried to read her other books that are not HP (yes, they exist) in her mother tongue. I am glad I pirated them and never finished!

So yeah, after summer break, I told my classmates that I read four Harry Potter books, because a. I could lie like a motherfucker b. how would they check? And told them how it was going to end. I guess, because we were all young and spoiler culture wasn't such a big issue we just all kinda shrugged and went on with our day. It's also not that big of a reveal if you think about it. Evil Overlord is dead and the hero survives! How unexpected! No one gave a fuck about ginger twin dying.

But! Good thing is that no one was interested in watching any more HP movies outside of what they already watched. So, I ruined that for the movie industry. And no one ever talked about Harry Potter again.

Until our next summer break, and our homerun teacher giving us a summer assignment that included reading HP books. I was exempt from that. And no one did it! That was incredibly proud moment for me that came a year later! No one wanted to read the book anymore!

I single-handedly ruined the sales of HP books and movies in a small ass city. Word travels fast.

Next time, I'll tell you all about the time I argued with a dude about how Avatar: The Last Airbender The Movie was going to suck balls and how passionately he denied me.

[spamzineglasgow]

SPAM Festive Special: tom leonard, 1944 – 2018, i.m.

In this special piece to move us towards the close of the year, Rhian Williams remembers the Glaswegian poet, writer and critic Tom Leonard, who passed away on the 21st December 2018. 

       lower case posits in-the-presence-of        lower case is presence        lower case is company[1]

> my friend, jane, records how, when leading seminars in modern poetry, tom leonard would ‘light a candle at the start in recognition of “the universal human as inclusive and absolute”’.[2] it is that flame – its quality of intensity and of fade, the darkness around the wick, the gold that haloes it, the soft white at its very edges; a trinity of light – that i think of, and that i write by, now, this day in december, as i remember this man of letters.

light, dense, warm, yellow. light, thin, white, attenuated. light, time, presence.

> it was a still, muffled day in december last year, as i was shopping for groceries, in the shop where tom shopped for groceries, when i checked my phone, and read an email from another friend, nicky, who let me know that tom had died the day before. the shortest day of the year. which had not been one of those when the light is bright and intense – the glorious winter sunshine – but one when a lead-like, restrained, grey light had leaked only blankly in the air. a quiet day. a brief interlude, a space between darknesses.  so tom had moved with it, solsequium,[3] a burnished ‘pot marigold’, a mothering light turning with the sun into the darkest space of the year – the edges of a diurnal pausing, according to shetland tradition, when one should set down one’s work for the holiest day, anticipating the miracles and translations of the holy labour, of the returning sun.

       stepping into that space        out of the past        surrounding        this place, become        an accompanying darkness;[4]

leonard’s work – radical, political, fiercely intelligent, sharply, sharply engaged by (and always advancing of) the ideological work of language, of its plasticity, of arrangement on the page ­(‘poetry is the subliminal history of linguistic shape | ahem’)[5] – was profoundly welded into presence. the ‘being here-ness’ of human experience: the light in which it stands (‘seductive bright light | of the evening narrative’)[6] and the breath – the spiritus – that marks its paces (‘poetry is the heart and brain divided by the lungs’).[7] his work was experimental in the most serious way, and i see its legacies in scottish poetry today, its sidelong glances at language, at its mendacities, the tell tales of public life. but also its vitality, its telling of stories, its bloodflow. (tom, a true intellectual, but never bloodless.) leonard’s legacy is clear and important: it is evident in a generation of poets (jenny lindsay, nick-e melville, iain morrison, kathrine sowerby, harry josephine giles, as well as jane goldman, come to mind) who regard poetry and poetics as actions, as interventions, as means of revelation.

> at this time of year – at the marking of the winter solstice, the miraculously burning oil in the temple, and the birthing of a messiah – i find myself thinking about the domestic space ­– the hearth – that fuels that birthing (‘the sacred heart | above the winterdykes | set roon the fire’).[8] of the shifts around presence, being, light and time that i see in leonard’s body of work as comparable to parenting through reciprocity (‘i wish you would touch me more | it makes me feel happy | and secure’).[9] of the vestal work of home-making that i find infusing leonard’s writing: what we might call radical mothering, where mothering is a verb for attentive nurture, for the act of nourishing, for advocacy, for the defence and advance of storytelling. labours which may be (and are) taken up by carers regardless of gender and whose object need not be a child as such. i am talking specifically about the passion contained when leonard remembers his shame at his father’s vocalising during private reading and is encouraged by an audience member to find the use of phonetic urban dialect, ‘rather constrictive’: ‘The poetry reading is over | I will go home to my children’.[10] i am talking about his remarkable feel for the rhythms of daily domestic duty, peeling spuds, going on messages, controlling one’s breath as one walks to the shops. over and again, leonard’s poems mark the habits of a particular class of daily life, intimating the textures and fabric of a life of cooking, laundry, ‘sitting in the garden | behind the toolshed | reading Thomas Mann’,[11] listening to the wireless. fiercely attentive, and alive. now, of course, leonard’s poetics were exquisitely sophisticated – i’m not even remotely saying that his work is ever uncomplicated reportage of private domesticity – but it didn’t surprise me to learn from his sons at his funeral of tom’s presence in the home, of his habit of taking a breather in the day to listen to radio 3, sat on the sofa with tea and a biscuit. or to be gifted his recipe for lentil soup.

       the roar of a lawnmower        pause        the roar of a lawnmower        pause        the roar of a lawnmower[12]

for what i learn from leonard’s poems, and from leonard’s writing about poems and poetry (verse, from vers – to turn – as in ploughing a field, or mowing a lawn), is that there is a selfhood in poetry that is its animus, its means, its occasion, and its strength of expression. that poems come about from there being a story to be told (‘I was really relaxed talking to the young man I know the story of this place | I grew up in it I have eyes and ears’),[13] and the process of that telling may be quite unselfconscious as it drives towards enunciation, or even be ‘mechanical’ in the sense of algorithmic experimentation. but that self – or ‘a’ self – then becomes conscious as it manifests. that the lyric self – by which i mean the sign of presence in poetry – is not absorbed utterly by private experience, but rather it enters the rhythm of the poem and its shape on the page (all poems have rhythm as all living things breathe, and everything takes shape), and thereby intersects with time, with history, and with material records (‘in our own being | but never wholly separate, only a part | of the time we live in, and with others occupy’).[14] it comes into the world (is birthed?) and so it becomes an agential position: the expressive, poetic subject is an action, a vortex, a meeting point.

       But then he began to accept that he was a writer.        It was a matter of language and consciousness. The link between the                                                                                                               two.[15]

even as this process hints at abstraction (‘as he grew older he stood in separate relationship to himself’), it is actually a return to the flesh, in leonard’s beautiful, active verb: ‘he was able to body himself conceptually as a totality’.[16] … so i learn from leonard that poems are things that are done with and for bodies (‘Gin a body meet a body’),[17] and are caught in the dialectic of giving and of standing back, like mothering.

> jane also told me that tom loved the work of psychoanalyst, donald winnicott – i hadn’t remembered that consciously; it was just a feeling of correlation i had when reading leonard’s work and when reading winnicott’s work on physical touch and play, on the parenting labour that is simply, exhaustingly, that of helping our children to find their own pace and breath. but today my copy of leonard’s Reports from the Present: Selected Work, 1982-94 actually falls open here:

Breath, breath, breath, breath, breath. If only Winnicott had gone further with that aside about the baby’s first perception of breath, median between inner and outer, its role as the point at which the defences are down. Maybe he did, I just haven’t seen it. So much of his stuff is great, so exciting to read. All that stuff about the sucking-blankets (his ‘guggie’, mine used to call it) ‘transitional objects’ and their elation to culture, the first experience of symbols in time. That ‘potential space’ where play occurs … ‘It is play that is the universal, and that belongs to health.’ Good on you, Mr Winnicott. A very healthy man.[18]

in Winnicott, in leonard, in breath (that which brings together time with flesh), and in play, then, we find the scene of reciprocity:

        this time         breath

        held         between us

        each time         familiar

        each time         new[19]

so often violated – as leonard’s work distils in startling realisation – by institutionalised aggression and belittling, by militarism, by capitalist ideation (‘jesus christ that cunt was a cop!’),[20] in leonard’s poetics, reciprocity is staged through timely proximity, and is a route towards settling into the ‘now’. ‘we lightly hold hands as we sometimes do | until the first to be falling asleep begins to twitch and tonight it’s Sonya’:

        I am aged 51 years and nine months and nine to ten days[21]

reading of one of the longest days of the year from the dim of one of the shortest, i find the milky light of glasgow at 3am in june (‘the sky in the north is translucent like a lake’) illuminating the ‘now’ as a quiet scene of resistance, outwitting interpellation; an experience of the self, of the body, and of time that has evaded capitalist value. ‘from within he came to realise himself as an instance of the universal human’.[22]

> the calendar turns, light thins out and attenuates, darkness creeps (‘The three wise kings, who have travelled | All the way from Burns & Oates in Buchanan Street, | Peer at the infant under a torch-bulb’),[23] but rhythms and habits persist:

       the future, knitting the future        the present peaceful, quiet        as if

       the same woman knitting        for a thousand years

tom, i miss your voice, i miss your wisdom, i miss your knowledge. i miss your compassion, i miss your understanding. your not here-ness is painful.

> and the world keeps turning, the sun keeps rising. the marigold blooms.

                                                                               glasgow, 16 december 2019

~

Text and Image: Rhian Williams

Published: 23/12/19

[1] Tom Leonard, ‘the case for lower case’, Outside the Narrative (Exbourne & Edinburgh: etruscan books & Word Power Books, 2009), p. 178.

[2] See Jane Goldman’s contribution in Tributes to Tom Leonard, ed. Larry Butler (Glasgow, PlaySpace Publications: 2019).

[3] ‘To follow the sun’ and the term for the marigold in Middle English. It is used in a conceit by Ayrshire poet, Alexander Montgomerie (1550-1598) that is used as an epigram to Leonard’s ‘The Present Tense: a semi-epistolary romance’, Outside, p.110.

[4] ‘respite in the reading’, Outside, p. 107.

[5] ‘100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose’, Outside, p. 63.

[6] ‘Plasma Nights’, Outside, p. 196.

[7] ‘100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose’, Outside, p. 63.

[8] ‘An Ayrshire Mother’, Outside, p. 209.

[9] ‘Nora’s Place (14)’, Outside, p. 156

[10] ‘Fathers and Sons’, Outside, p. 54

[11] ‘Pollok Poster 1’, Outside, p. 13

[12] ibid.

[13] ‘The Fair Cop’, Outside, p. 189

[14] ‘proem’, Outside, p. 65

[15] ‘A life’, Outside, p. 214.

[16] ibid.

[17] Robert Burns, ‘Comin thro’ the Rye’

[18] ‘The Present Tense’, Outside, p. 113.

[19] ‘touching your face’, Outside, p. 182.

[20] ‘The Fair Cop’, Outside, p. 189.

[21] ‘June the Second’, Outside, p. 181.

[22] ‘Three Types of Envoi: A humanist (2)’, Outside, p. 213.

[23] ‘My Parents’ Living-Room at Christmas’, Outside, p. 53.

[davidlikestofilm]

Okay, im really fucking tired of dealing with Michael and his bullshit, but im gonna take a few and talk about this post really quick:

“Concerning the drama, yes, the drama” -There is literally nothing to be addressed about regarding the drama anymore. What happened happened and should be left as such, and you making more posts regarding said “drama” is a waste of time.

“but seeing the way David is treating fans has brought me to a point beyond being livid. Believe it or not, there are people that are a part of the fandom that don’t want to see shit like that in the fandom tag.” -OKAY, SURE JAN. YOU HAVE PUBLICLY STATED THAT YOU HAVE THE AUTHORITY TO KICK PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR COMMUNITY IF YOU DON’T LIKE WHAT THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT. YOU HAVE PUBLICLY CALLED FANS THE FOLLOWING TERMS: “DUMB PIECE OF SHIT”, “CUNT”, “BITCH”, “BLATANT DICK”. YET, WHEN I GET A HOSTILE ANON, IM THE ONE TREATING FANS LIKE SHIT? OKAY, SURE MAN. Even though, I’m the one who fought against you for equal creative rights for everyone in the Arkn community. That’s why I made that “Delusion; Reality” post, that’s why I stopped creating in the mythos, thats why it fucking hurt me when Pen & Jordan defended what you had said to me. Because unlike you, I give a shit about people, I give a shit about creative rights. You are narcissistic & constricting as fuck with creating with people in the mythos, and that’s why I posted what I posted. It was one fucking post anyway, a post that shouldn’t have set ANYONE aside from you off.

“I apologized for what i said to David, as I was previously drinking and should not have been talking with him or at least trying to reason with him.” -Okay. 1, alleged underage drinking at 6 pm in the afternoon does NOT EXCUSE ANYONE TELLING ANYONE TO KILL THEMSELVES. 2, “trying to reason with him”? Oh, you mean consistently demanding me and swearing at me, gotcha:

“He laughed my apology off and proceeded to call it harassment.” -Bullshit. BULLshit. FUCKING BULLSHIT:

“Concerned and frankly pissed off at the immaturity of how people are dealing with this.” -You’re referring to how I responded to the anon? You mean the anon that was relentlessly coming after me and insulting me over a post that had (presumably) nothing to do with them? Okay then. And you’re claim that you had nothing to do with it? Well, your words not much to go on lol.

“whomping 29 anons calling me out on this drama cause i want it done with” -Riiiiiiiight, you want this all done with and swept under the rug, thats TOTALLY why youre making this post. You’re totally not trying to make a redeemable case for yourself here, yea man.

“What was private and could have been resolved privately was now put out publicly with the sole purpose of starting more immature drama. This is a fact. ” -No. NO. NO. YOU WENT PUBLIC WITH THIS BEFORE ANYONE, DO NOT SAY I DID. YOU RILED UP YOUR WHOLE FUCKING DISCORD ON ME CLAIMING I HAD BLACKMAILED YOU OR SOME SHIT. I HAD SEVERAL PEOPLE MESSAGING ME ABOUT HOW I “CROSSED THE LINE” BY DE-ADMINING YOU AFTER YOU TRIED BLOCKING ME AND TONY FROM THE WIKI. YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WANTED TO GO PUBLIC AND START MORE IMMATURE DRAMA.

“But that was my apology nonetheless.” -You keep going on about your “apology” like it makes you some great big person. The only fucking reason you apologized to me is so you could tell your friends in the discord that you did, so you could still look like a redeemable person to them. No way in hell did you mean what you said in your rather forceful apology. Do they know you egged me on to kill myself for another 10 fucking minutes after you had said it?:

“Seeing the fans of the mythos treated like shit over anon to these people” -That’s the thing Michael, its a fucking anon. I have NO WAY of knowing thats an actual fan of the mythos when theyre harrassing me on anon, and frankly? NEITHER SHOULD YOU, so why are you doing so much to defend a hateful anon?

“When this drama, and thats exactly what it is no matter how much people try to sugarcoat it” -You mean like you’re doing right now by making this post and leaving tumblr over an anon you don’t allegedly even know?

Okay, PSA: Drunk or not? Whether they mean it or not? No one should ever tell anyone they should kill themselves, fucking EVER.

For those who were in his discord on July 28th, here is what happened: There was no “blackmail” like he claimed there was, I gave him an admin warning, which was supposed to be simple. After this, he attempted to block Tony and I from the wiki, but was unaware I had bureaucracy and could unblock myself. After an attempt like that, I had every right to de-admin Michael and go back on his request. That’s what pushed him into saying what he said to me. There’s no way for him to defend himself from that, and there’s no way for you to defend him, no matter how you word it, or what you claim he was thinking at the time.

This whole “noble leave from tumblr” announcement? He’s claiming this is over an anon that relentlessly messaged me on tumblr the other day. An anon. Anonymous. For all he (supposedly) knows, this could be a fucking troll. His “apology” and this “leave from tumblr” is all him trying to make himself look better after what happened. After reading these accusations he’s made against me, I’m fairly convinced he’ll try just about anything to make himself look good after what happened.

Last thing I’m going to address is this post i made, which is what the anon supposedly was in a fuss about: http://davidlikestofilm.tumblr.com/post/162635418513/delusion-i-made-the-mythos-so-i-have-control

Its a comedic post about Michael’s mindset regarding the mythos. Its a post where, the only person who would probably take a hard hit from this post is Michael, or someone closely affiliated with him. The anon claimed they were someone who has a drama trigger, who is a big fan of the mythos, and does NOT “side” with Michael. Michael claims he currently runs the mythos, but this anon claims they don’t side with Michael regardless of being a fan of it. As contradictory as that is, aside from that, looking at this post as it is? Unless you know something about all the drama that happened, it probably wouldn’t be too easy to determine this is a “drama inducing post.” Let me add that this post also had nothing to do with the whole wiki ordeal on the 28th.

I made the post with good intentions, I know there are creations in the mythos he is using and making the rules over without proper permission. My intentions weren’t negative, or to cause drama, they were defendant of those who have created in the mythos and no longer have proper jurisdiction over their own creations. Michael shouldn’t have the absolute right over everyone to decide what’s canon and whats not. Doesn’t matter where the original creators are now, if you don’t have creative permission over using something, don’t fucking use it in your own content.

This post was a big waste of time for me on my day off, but hey, Michael’s leaving tumblr for a while apparently, so hopefully that’ll give me a break from having to deal with him. Believe it or not, I still do care about the Arkn community and how its treated, and that’s why I wrote this. I want people to see they shouldn’t have to constantly answer to one guy to make something cool, that’s not how creativity works. Creativity is whatever you want it to be. Want a series where the moon is blue in your world? Go for it. Want a series where Slender Man has a face? Who’s stopping you, go for it, its your series. Want a series containing both Arkn content and Slender Man content, or hell, even Fear Mythos content along with that? As long as you get permission over what you want to use, who is stopping you? It’s your independent series. Don’t give yourself restrictions, don’t give yourself boundaries. Those kill creativity. Just go all out, and do what you want with whatever you make! That’s what I want people to see, that’s what i want to encourage people to do. That’s why I made that post.