finger movements

Okay guys, hear my out here. Deaf witches and wizards. I refuse to believe that out of all the wizards in the world, there are not Deaf ones.

Deaf witches and wizards having to learn silent ways of doing spells, because they can’t voice it. Their way of doing spells being a lot like sign language. Each spell having its own hand and finger placement, wrist movement, and grip. And if one thing is off, you end up doing a completely different spell. Having multiple different ways to do the same spell across different languages and countries.

Deaf first years not understanding what’s going on with the hat they keep putting on everyone’s head, because there’s no interpreter. There being a silence when they’re called up, but they obviously didn’t hear their name. They don’t move until someone motions them to go up to get sorted. Once again, just sitting there for a while after being sorted, because they didn’t hear which house they were put into. Mcgonagall pointing to which table they should go to. The first year then just looks around, even more confused than they were before.

Deaf first years getting overwhelmed with all the new signs they have to learn for all the new magical terms and animals. Them getting frustrated with not being able to do any spells while everyone around them is. A Deaf 6th year coming up to them and teaching them what they did to be able to do the spells.

Deaf students drop out, because they can’t keep up. Coming back to that same school when they are only, and the school has more resources for its Deaf students. Older Deaf witches and wizards going back to school after years of not being able to use magic the way everyone else can. Being sorted for a second time alongside all the eleven year olds. Seeing all the resources for the Deaf that they wish they had had when they first came, but it’s better late than never.

Their hearing peers learning sign language so that they can talk to them, and help them with what’s going on in classes. Students getting together and demanding the school get an interpreter for the Deaf students. 

Deaf magical schools being formed so that Deaf witches and wizards can properly learn the things they need to, to be the best they can.

Deaf wizarding communities with Deaf only shopping districts. Where they can buy all their necessities without having to deal with the hassle of dealing with hearing witches and wizards.


Someone just give me Deaf witches and wizards, because if it’s not a thing, it needs to be.


Nimble fingers moved along the torn edges, drawing the needle back and forth and managing to avoid the daggers that protruded from the ends of his fingers. Each movement was done with such a casual air he could feel the envious and perplexed pair of eyes lingering on them. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He didn’t need to look up. 

“When you’re bored for weeks on end.” he stated, giving the string a tug, thumb coming up two inches up the length to slice away the slack. He didn’t need more comment, her own movements becoming more swift. 

“I would have thought you’d keep yourself busy… I don’t know…” It was his turn to watch her small hands made  rough with living. “Building things. Helping plant crops. Killing demons.” 

“Village man things.” he offered, tying off the strand and tugging to make sure his stitch was secure. 

“Not to say sewing isn’t-”

“I’m mending.” came his sour reply. 

“Pardon?” she questioned, head lifting from her work. 

“Sewing suggests I’m making something new.” The haori was lifted, one of many folded in the basket that was left outside of their doorway that morning. “I mend things. Fix the damage.” 

Her cheeks rounded as a tight lipped smile bloomed over her features. “Is this why we keep getting these jobs?” she adjusted the fabric of the trousers laying over her lap so she could finish the patch over the knee, “You’ve turned into the village mender?” 

He snorted, a dog-like habit but these days he found he enjoyed the little giggle that she offered in exchange for the gesture. “I don’t sleep as often as they do. Don’t have to hunt for food, got a roof over my head if I want it, and empty time. Helps, too, to pull my weight when there isn’t a demon to slay. For the first year or two they didn’t want me plantin’.” 

“Why not?” 

“Half-demon. Worried I’d bring curse to the crops or something. You know how they can be.” he tossed the haori into the basket, digging around for a set of fabric he liked the colors of, drawing it out to begin unfolding it over his lap. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“You like fixing things now.” she stated. Her voice was smooth, relaxed and almost awed. It was as if the very idea was foreign to her and it caused him pause, golden eyes turning up toward her while his ears curled back a bit; he would have looked stricken if it wasn’t for the defiant expression. Before he could offer a retort a gentler smile crossed her lips, her head dipping to return to her work. The motion caused wisps of raven hair to brush over her shoulders and frame those soft cheeks and any anxiety he had felt melted away into an edge of anticipation. He had missed watching her. He still didn’t do enough of it. 

“You always seemed so rough, you know? Temperamental and rude. You’ve grown up a lot, InuYasha, and perhaps it was our time apart that lets me appreciate it more.” she folded the trousers once they were finished, setting them in the basket and fishing out a new garment as well. 

“It reminded me of you.” his voice was quieter now. Eyes down on his work he didn’t want to look up. She had changed much in him but expressing such things was still difficult to face so boldly when being so sincere. “Fixing things, that is. When it was quiet, and there was nothing to distract me, it was hard. I would think about what would come of me. What if you never returned? They never fully accepted me here? Was I going to just live on the outskirts for the rest of my life? Everything was so negative at night.” he paused in his speaking, reaching for the smaller basket of modest threads and spools, fingering through them to produce a more appropriate color and beginning to string his needle. 

“I remember thinking, ‘Kagome would be disappointed.’ one night.” the needle began its dance again, in and out of the fabric along a particularly jagged tear, “ I thought, ‘I’m not working hard enough. She worked so hard to fix the problems she faced. What would she think of this?’” despite himself he grinned, “So I followed Kaede about a bit and took on some of the mending. Found I was pretty lousy at it at first but was for the best. Now I’m the go-to in the village.” Pride radiated from his tone, shoulders squared despite his slight hunch. “I fix things for these people like you fixed me. For a while it felt like you were with me and it made things easier.” 

He started some when he felt her weight rest against his arm, head rested on his shoulder. For an extended moment she said nothing, the two working in a newfound and contented silence before she murmured with a voice full of what he had come to know as love:

“I had nothing to fix.”

Once engaged, and later married, Jack starts unconsciously using his wedding ring as a comfort item. If he’s anxious or stressed he no longer clenches his fists, instead he folds his thumb to run over the smooth band on his ring finger while he takes deep breaths.

“why do you only paint me in blue?” louis asks one day. they’re laying on the floor of harry’s studio and the only thing he can hear is the steady thump of harry’s heart as he rests his ear against his chest.

louis traces the tips of his fingers down the long expanse of harry’s torso and back up. he does this three more times before he hears the hitch of harry’s voice; a tell that he’s going to say something.

“you remind me of endless things,” harry starts, then pauses.

“like what?” fingers stopping their movement on harry’s stomach, louis peers up at harry with an ocean worth of questions in his eyes.

“the first time i heard you laugh i felt like diving into a lake and never resurfacing. that’s when i realized that i could drown in your voice and never miss the air. you’re like…” he trails off and bites on his bottom lip before continuing on. “you remind me of the sky a lot. and i know you hate clichés, but i can’t help thinking that behind the blue is something so grand and extraordinary. something untouched and full.”

harry closes his eyes, leans his head back, and hums.

“what are you singing?” louis presses his head into harry’s chest harder. he wants to hear every piece of harry, from the way his heart beat has sped up to the gentle rasp of his voice.

“you remind me of every song i’ve tried to finish but never could.” louis begins to protest until he feels the gentle scratch of harry’s finger nails against his back.

“i’ve written so many songs for you. every time i leave them unfinished i think of how much left we have to live. how i have endless years of loving you,” harry says, hand moving up into louis’ hair to give a pull.

“i only paint you in blue because you remind me of endless things. i look at you and think of the depth of the sky, the expanse of the ocean, and the infinite possibilities of every lyric i write for you. i see your face and i’m reminded that no matter what happens or where in the world we are, my love for you is eternal.”  

Imagine #15 Daryl Dixon [Requested]

A/N: I combined my last two requests. I hope that’s alright, nonnies. This one’s a long one, so enjoy!

The morning sunlight radiate from the bedroom window, revitalizing warmth descending upon the bare and exposed flesh sprawled across the mattress. The muscles in Daryl’s arm were roused as he twirled a strand of hair around his finger, the movement provoking a content sigh as your foot grazed his leg in a gesture of fondness. He released a feeble grunt, sleep evident in his lethargic movement as he savored the serenity and genuine happiness that lingered in his heart. He could never have envisioned this; feeling comfortable enough to let someone in, to allow someone close enough to touch him, being in a relationship amidst the apocalypse, falling in love. Alexandria became the group’s safe haven but you were his home.

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Character: Dr. Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds

Special Interests: criminal psychology, solving puzzles, magic, Halloween, old films and literature, mathematics, Doctor Who

Stims: touching face, repetitive hand/finger movements, fiddling with hair, pacing, spinning, rocking, tapping feet

anonymous asked:

i studdy flute too, but i'm a young padawan, i have difficulties with first Dó and first Ré. Can you give me tips?

Hi! I am so sorry for the delay in response..

If you are a brand new beginner, I recommend starting on “re,” or D, because it is a more stable note on the flute due to the fingering. Make sure your right hand thumb position is directly beneath your right hand pointer finger. Keep your right wrist relaxed, but forward, so that your wrist and hand are straight and at a 45 degree angle in respect to your elbow and the flute.

When you are at the point of moving from “do” to “re,” or C to D, make sure you have as little finger movement as possible. There should be no change in the main points of contact on the flute, such as your right hand thumb and the space between your left hand pointer finger and thumb. It is extremely important that when you finger “do,” or C, you don’t move or make adjustments in your left hand position. This is a common mistake with beginner flutists. The only major finger position should be that your left hand thumb slightly lifts from the B key, hovering close by to return when going to “re,” or D.

Practicing holding the flute, without actually playing, can help familiarize your hands and fingers to the correct positioning and balance. Try to maintain as much stability in your points of contact on the flute, while remaining relaxed and releasing all possible areas of tension. Practice the fingering changes while watching your fingers move, connecting the kinesthetic with visual understanding.

This is a difficult question to answer without visuals, but I hope it is somewhat helpful. All the best with your practicing!

Omega, The Ghoul, The Myth, The Legend.

That *click* that Omega’s shoe makes when he stomps, though… And his guitar pick dexterity… How does he do that? His graceful hand and finger movements… His solos, rare, but amazing. His height and stature. His immaculate black Gibson RD Signature Series guitar… The way he tilts his head… His unique rings… His sweet tummy during the Infestissumam Era… Peeps… Are they fluffy? Exhibitionist… ABBA! Dancing Queen! Sweet, fancy Lucifer, Omega shall be the death of me. ❤❤❤❤

Language is a weird thing. We as humans rely on a pink squishy muscle to control the air that leaves our throats so we can communicate in sounds we happened to like and solidify those sounds as “words”.