Yandere Sentence Starters~! ❤🔪

{So this is my try at a few Yandere Sentence Starters! Hope you enjoy! ^^}
{Might be updated!}

(PS: If you ever write something with one of my starters then please tell me! Cause I’d love to read it!!)

~I really want to be gentle to you right now, but you’re making it impossible.

~You lied to me…You know what that means right?

~You’re happy being together with me, yes?

~Should I just break your legs? That way you could never, ever run away again.

~I saw you laughing with him… That’s unforgivable, Darling…

~Why do you think I’m stalking you? I’m only keeping you safe and clean.

~I’m the only one that can kill you.

~If I’m going to die. I’m taking you with me.

~I loved you since I first saw you, much more earlier then… Him.

~If you’re with me. I don’t need anything else.

~Please don’t cry…

~You’re the only one for me.

~You don’t need anyone but me.

~Love me. Love me. LOVE ME! I just want you to love me!!!

~Don’t worry. He’s all taken care of.

~If you will never give me your heart, then we should just die together.

~Why are you trembling? It can’t be because of me…

~You’re absolutely gorgeous when you cry.

~I’d advice you think twice before saying things like that. You’re not leaving me, ever.

~You’re MINE!!! Is it that hard to understand?!

~I’ll break that spirit of yours. It’s gonna be fun.

~There is no escape from me and my love.

~I want to earn your trust. Your faith. Your heart. You will never be deceived.

~I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground, so you can never leave.

~This hurts? Good. Keep showing me that expression, my love.

~Anyone who gets between you and I shall die.

~Am I wrong? You want to be loved, Don’t you?

~I will eat up your heart and you’ll be forever mine.

~I will mark my proof on your entire body.

~I won’t let you run away.

~I will treasure all of these tears that you shall shed.

~There’s nowhere to run, so let’s just get it over~

~Soon I know you’ll see. You’re just like me.

~Don’t scream anymore, my love.

~Because all I want is you~!

~Only I can protect you~!

~I do EVERYTHING for you!!! Why can’t you just understand it?!

~I will gouge out those eyes. Then the last thing you will ever see is me.

~I’ll cut out your tongue, if you won’t stop yelling.

~I want your innocence.

~I want your every step.

~I will destroy everything in my way until I have you.

~Come to me and you won’t regret it.

~I’m not jealous. I just don’t like others watching MY property.

~You’re going to be mine, all mine.

~You’re much more beautiful when broken.

~You’re only my enjoyment.

~I love the way you react.

~You’re lying. You love me, I know it.

~This is all your fault. You have nobody blame but yourself.

~Choose me and I won’t kill anyone.

~I’m not asking for much. Just give me your heart.

~Tell me you love me!

~You’re so cute while sleeping!

~I’ll be watching you…~

~Oh can’t you see~ You belong to me!

~Get Ready! Cause here I come!

~I’ve never met someone who makes me feel the way you do.

~My love is pure and true.

~I’m gonna try to make you love me too.

~Let me in! Just let me in!

~I’m your Guardian Angel.

~Keep crying. I like that sound.

~It will kill me leave when you will leave me…

~You’re beautiful gagged and bound.

~Don’t scream!

~You know I did this all for you and me!

~Our love is caught in your eyes~

~You take my breath away.

~I don’t know what to do besides… killing you.

~I’ll kiss. I’ll touch. I’ll cut you.

~ know you feel the same!

~You’ll see that I’m the only one for you!

~I’ll break you to pieces~

~But you don’t understand! Why can’t you understand?!

~You do feel the same way… Do you?

~Don’t worry! You’re only like that so you couldn’t escape!

~I’ll cut off these wings, so you can no longer fly.

~I will monopolise everything you do~

~I’ll lock you up all for me, in a dark room~

~Even this beautiful hair covering your head. I won’t stop until it’s all red.

~Just looking at the face of the frightened you. Gives me a Thrill that’s unbearable.

~On this hand. On this eye. On this leg. On your cheek. My mark will forever show~

~I’ll make sure this time spent with you will not be ruined.

~I’m the only one who will ever love you.

~My love, keep your eyes on me.

~I am the only one who will treasure everything you do~

Types of Literary Criticism


  • Also known as ‘practical criticism’.
  • This theory was dominant in the US and UK between the 30s and 70s. 
  • A formalist, decontextualised approach to literature where the text is examined independently of other influences.
  • Explores the essential elements of language, imagery, symbolism, figures of speech, ambiguity, irony, paradox.
  • Pretty huge span of approaches - for example, within Shakespearean new criticism you had A.C. Bradley’s character-based critique, Harley Granville-Barker’s study of stagecraft, G. Wilson Knight’s exploration of image and theme, and L.C. Knights’ suggestion that Bradley is a douche and Shakespeare was a poet, not a dramatist. (Yeah, fuck you, Knights.)


  • Funnily enough, this approach believes that historical context influences interpretation.
  • Stuff like: religion, political idealism of the time, cultural shifts, social attitudes, war, colonialism (although that’s a whole other bag of cats, see below), pop culture references and in-jokes, and anything that might have influenced the text during the era in which it was written.
  • Within historicist criticism there should be a distinction between text and context; history is the background that the text passively reflects.
  • Buuuut often this approach reveals more about the critic’s political/social/personal values than the period they are studying. Natch. 


  • Popular at the beginning of the 1900s - literature and art are timeless, revealing a universal truth about humanity.
  • Like, writers are totally free agents whose intentions shape the meaning of their writing, man. 
  • Like, human consciousness shapes language, culture and society, NOT the other way around.


  • A criticial theory systemised in the 20s, based on the materialist philosophy of Karl Marx (1818-83) and Friedrich Engels (1820-95) whereby the material circumstances of life are determining factors in the individual’s experience.
  • So, like, the economic organisation of society shapes culture, politics, philosophy, religion, education, law and art.
  • So, like, fuck liberal humanism; people are shaped by their environment, NOT the other way around. Authors and their works are basically products of society. 
  • These guys believe that art reflects changing economic conditions and class values. There’s a little cross-over with historicist criticism in the approach that literature should be interpreted within the context of the period and its political inflections - often with a focus on the lower classes.
  • Get yourself familiar with the Marxist concept of ‘ideology’ - a function which ‘naturalises’ the inequalities of power through a complex structure of social perceptions which renders class division invisible. 
  • Yeah. It’s heavy, dude.


  • Based on the linguistic theory of Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913)
  • The belief that language shapes humanity, culture, communication, and the way we perceive the world. Yay, go language.
  • Structuralism was a radical theory during the second half of the 20th Century whose central argument opposed liberal humanist ideas (Recap: lib-humans reckoned that human consciousness creates language and culture - structuralists reckoned the complete opposite. At this point everyone is basically being completely contrary for the sake of it.)


  • A critical theory prominent in France in the 1960s, primarily associated with philosopher Jacques Derrida and critic Roland Barthes - a reaction against structuralism as well as a development of it. <sigh>
  • Ok, so this language thing? How about we agree that reality is constituted through language BUT language itself is unstable and beyond our control. Like, language is an unreliable narrator, yeah? Yeahhh.
  • Essentially, it’s language that speaks, not the author. So let’s call it THE DEATH OF THE AUTHOR because we are needlessly dramatic. 
  • So, like, literary texts don’t present a single or unified view and the author cannot claim authority on interpretation. (The curtains are blue…)
  • You can trace a whole thread of critical development here from formalist criticism to structuralism to post-structuralism and later to deconstruction - all of which are concerned with the ambiguity and contradictions within text and language. To make it even more confusing, new historicism (see below) can also be seen as post-structuralist since it places stress on a text’s connection to culture rather than relying on the autonomy of the text itself.
  • Time for a stiff drink.


  • A term coined by Stephen Greenblatt (Shakespeare-critic-extraordinaire) in the 80s - a reaction against old historicism (where text is a reflection of historical background) and a move away from Marxist and post-structural theories.
  • New historicism asserts that the text is an active participant in historical development.
  • So, like, art and literature help to create the cultural values of the period in which they are produced. BUT, we are also formed and tied to cultural ideologies, so it ain’t all about the text. 
  • Involves close reading of the text, taking into account political ideology, social practice, religion, class division and conflict within society.
  • A pessimistic take on Foucault: the belief that we are ‘remarkably unfree’ of the influence of society and socio-political power operates through the language of major institutions to determine what’s normal and demonise ‘otherness’.
  • Seriously. Fuck society. 


  • We can’t let the Americans monopolise this kind of criticism.
  • Goddamn Greenblatt.
  • So consider this: how much freedom of thought do we actually have? Does culture shape our identities or can we think independently of dominant ideologies? Huh? Huh? Are we saying anything new yet? 
  • Basically, a historicist approach to political criticism with a revised conception of the connection between literature and culture. 
  • Culture is a complex, unstable and dynamic creature which offers an opportunity for the radical subversion of power and society.
  • Unlike historicism or Marxism, cultural materialists believe the author is able to achieve a degree of independence from prevailing structures of power and discourse. 
  • Often demonstrates optimism for political change - once again, critical theory reflects the critic’s personal opinions and hopes for change in present day society. Literary criticism can change the world, man.
  • Some crossover into feminist/queer/post-colonial theory, because FUCK ALL THOSE OLD WHITE GUYS.


  • Following the women’s movement of the 1960s, feminist theory was established in the 70s and 80s and founded on texts Le Deuxieme Sex by Simone de Beauvoir and Sexual Politics by Kate Millett.
  • Explicitly political – similarities to new historicism and cultural materialism - challenging the subordinate position of women in society and deconstructing/contesting the concept of essentialism, whereby men and women have intrinsically separate qualities and natures. 
  • Often seen as an attack on the Western literary canon and the exclusion of female writers throughout history. Focuses on female characters and authors, exploring the influence and restrictions of patriarchy, and constructions of gender, femininity and sexuality (both in text and culture).
  • Feminists influenced by post-structuralism tend to disregard the positive discrimination of women writers, claiming “it is language that speaks, not the author.”
  • Feminism and psychoanalytical theories (esp Freud and Lacan) contributed to the erosion of liberal humanist ideas, redefining human nature and the concept of child development, and exploring the psychology of patriarchy and male-dominated culture. 


  • During the 80s, queer theory was influenced by post-structuralist ideas of identity as being fluid and unstable, and investigates the role of sexual orientation within literary criticism from a social and political viewpoint.
  • An opposition to homophobia and the privilege of heterosexual culture and an exploration of themes that have been suppressed by conservative critical theory.
  • A look at LGBQTA, non-binary characters and authors and their influence within a historical, political, religious and social context.
  • The end of ‘gal-pals’ and ‘no-homo’, fuckboys.


  • A critique on the English canon and colonial rule with a focus on canonical texts written during periods of colonisation.
  • An exploration of cultural displacement/appropriation and the language and cultural values thrust upon/developed by colonised people.
  • Post-colonial theory gives voices to colonial ‘subjects’ and looks at the impact on individual and collective identity, as well as the complexity of colonial relationships and interaction.
  • Gonna have a lot to do with politics, history, social ideology, religion and international/race relations, obvs. Stay woke.

weesinginglassie  asked:

Dear Wonderful Mods over here at Imagine.... I am an Outlander Fanfic junkie....I likely need a twelve step program...I stopped reading actual books (of which I used to be an avid reader) and have read nothing but Outlander Fanfic for the last year. It's what I look forward to most very day.... I also like to reread some of the older stuff. I have been desperately trying to find an older fic (can't remember the title or author)... Jamie takes Claire to the stones. 1/2

second part pf question…. they land back in 1743 and try to make the good stuff happen ie: end up married etc., but not the bad stuff. no Wentworth, no losing Faith. Meanwhile at Leoch Claire orders a beautiful sword made for Jamie from a visiting Irish swordmaker. Jealous Jamie thinks C’s spending too much time with Irishman etc… Please! Does anyone know the title to this fic and the author??? Desperate! Please and Thank you all!!!

MOD Note: None of us here at Imagone can place this, so sorry Weesinginglassie. But have some CoC as a soothe for your fanfiction addiction itch. Hope this he helps <3 

Chain of Command - Part 4

It happened very gradually, the steady increase in her size. For a while she managed to hide it effectively with just her skirts and tighter corsets. But soon it became obvious that she was going to have to procure other methods for keeping her pregnancy quiet.

Her time at Lallybroch since her brief incarceration in Inverness had been heavily guarded. Never before had Mama Crook and Brian Fraser been so intent on keeping Claire close to hand.

She’d been kept away from any activities where she was required to leave the house for more than a few moments and her duties in the kitchens had been increased tenfold.

She was under house arrest and she knew it.

Having broken the trust of her adoptive mother, Claire didn’t argue about this silent punishment but it was making her state harder and harder to conceal.

Slamming the book shut, Claire threw the heavy pages onto the floor heaving out a massive sigh as desperation took over.

“I made a vow to keep you safe, and I mean to keep that promise.” She sighed, wrapping the thick cotton around her middle to try and mute the growing swell of her belly.

She had read many pages of interesting advice on pregnancy and care of an unborn baby - but none helped her in the art of keeping it a secret.

Her forays into the underworld of abortion, even as short lived as it had been, had made her incredibly aware of the gift she had growing within her. Guilt also gripped her. She’d come too close to making a disastrous decision and the implications of that made Claire even more determined to do the best for her child - no matter what.

The bairn was precious. Not only was it a part of her, but an extension of her secret love for Jamie. Whatever happened come the birth, Claire would fight with everything she had to raise the baby. Even if that meant losing her position with the Frasers.  

As the seasons turned, the calm quiet at Broch Tuarach broke. The arrival of the MacKenzie party brought a hive of activity to Lallybroch. Ellen’s brothers, Collum and Dougal entered like a tour de force, bringing with them a few of their close relatives. It meant that Claire was snowed under with tasks - from sewing Brian’s best shirts to a constant barrage of cooking and cleaning.

Most of these activities, Claire could cope with. But one unwelcome guest filled her with unknown dread.

Laoghaire MacKenzie was a petite blonde lassie with a wide smile. Given her new house bound status, Claire could only watch through the dusty windows of the big house as the young girl followed Jamie around like a little lost puppy. She watched through wide whisky eyes as Mistress Laoghaire batted her large blue ones, flashing wide toothy smiles and adorning Jamie with sly touches here and there.

Alone in the dusk of the MacKenzie’s first week in the house, Claire slid beneath her well worn sheets, melancholia encasing her. She’d spent the day casting sorrowful glances at Jamie and Laoghaire as the pair had lunged horses in the pastures closest to the kitchen.

Claire had snuck out for an hour, excusing herself to pick herbs in the front garden but the sight of them laughing and joking together had twisted her gut and she’d rushed back inside as quickly as possible, averting her gaze from the action.

“Maybe she’s the one,” Claire sobbed, her hands shaking as they rested on her bloated abdomen, “maybe she’s who he is promised to.”

The babe was more active now, the butterflies morphing into something infinitely more noticeable. As if her unborn sensed her despair, the distinctive feeling of a palm pressed against the inside of her womb.

Holding back a sob, Claire mimicked the motion, trying to capture the hand of her baby. “Maybe,” she whispered, defeat lacing her tone, “m-maybe she’s the one he’ll marry.”

It didn’t take long for Claire to fall into a restless sleep. She tossed and turned, her toes clenching as she dreamed of what her life might be like in only a few months time.

The subtle tang of whisky invaded her senses as she curled her hand around something firm and warm, its human-like heat almost bringing her round. It wasn’t until soft lips touched hers that she jerked awake.

“Hush, Claire,” Jamie soothed, his face a blur in the dark chambers, “‘tis only me…I havena seen ye in so long, a ghraidh…” his voice held such intense longing that Claire felt bad for thinking he was anything less that committed to her. Flashes of his week with the MacKenzie’s, though, appeared before her eyes reminding her in an instant why she had a right to be afraid.

“You know I couldn’t come and find you,” she whispered, her lips seeking his as she felt his breath waft over her face, “Mama Crook has been keeping me busy.”

Jamie wasn’t blind. He had noticed the almost exasperatingly close eye Mrs Crook had been keeping on Claire. Something had happened on their trip to Inverness, he knew that much. But his Da was being annoyingly quiet on the matter.

“That’s why I had to come and see you,” he mumbled, ignoring the need to ask the question. He had a feeling Claire would be equally tight lipped about it. “I’ve missed ye.”

Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, Claire brought him closer, being careful not to expose her stomach to him - lest he notice the newly formed bump that sat in place of her usually flat belly.

“I’ve missed you too,” Claire replied, unable to hold back. “So much, b-but I know you have *duties* to attend to. I know I can’t monopolise all of your time.”

“Yes, mo nighean donn, ye can,” he interrupted, keen to ensure she knew how much he had needed her close by his side. “I’ve had t’ babysit Collum’s niece the whole week. Ye have *no* idea how infuriating the lassie is!”

Smiling, Claire immediately felt mean for being glad that he hadn’t entirely _liked_ Laoghaire’s company. The fact that he never used her name in conversation made her smile all the wider.

“Go on…” Claire begged, tipping her head to the side as she awaited a fresh kiss, “tell me what annoyed you so.”

Chuckling, Jamie ran a lone finger across Claire’s heated brow as he nudged his nose against hers. “Weel, for a start she doesna hush. She talks nonstop about the most absurd things. Baubles, trinkets and shiny things that I have no interest in.”

“But she helped you with the mares the other day, she seemed invested in that,” Claire probed, her heart lightening significantly as Jamie’s tale went on.

“Aye, she wa’ there alright, but she wasna interested in that actual job of it. The whole time I couldna help but wish it had been you out there wi’ me. You’re helpful!”

“I recall last time,” Claire laughed, energised by this turn of events, “you told me that I was a liability with the horses!”

“Ha!” Jamie scoffed, rolling his eyes in the dim blackness, “well now I know better, don’t I.”

“Good to know,” Claire returned, snuggling against Jamie’s neck as the birds began to tweet outside. Morning was coming.

Moving his hand gently down her chin, along her neck and over her collarbone, Jamie made to sneak his fingers beneath Claire’s bedsheets - needing to feel her, desperately seeking her warmth.

Claire’s heart stopped, a deep pounding rattling her bones as she hastily grabbed Jamie, ceasing his movements completely. “Not now, we can’t –not enough time,” she whispered, her mouth going instantly dry.

“Aye,” Jamie replied breathlessly, “I ken.”

She could tell that he was disappointed, and so was she. Even here, alone and cocooned in the dark of her bedroom she hadn’t the strength to tell him. Looking him deep in the eyes, she noticed the pure innocence that radiated from him. She felt a bolt of lightning shoot through her and – in that moment –  she almost told him. Almost.

But the cuckoo clock chimed upstairs, the ding of it reverberating through the floors of the big house causing the floorboards to shake.

“I haveta go, Claire,” Jamie sighed, defeated. He’d felt something change in that moment and he had been *certain* she was about to tell him something. But the chance had gone, broken by the sounds of the house beginning to wake for the day. “But I’ll see ye soon, aye?”

“Yes,” Claire answered, watching sorrowfully as Jamie disappeared back upstairs. “I’ll be here…we’ll be here…”

It wasn’t long after that the MacKenzie’s made their apologies and left - back to Leoch. With Laoghaire gone, Claire relaxed, her fears that she might be bound for Jamie’s affections fading. She could dutifully ignore everything else and the days began to bleed into one another.

Waking one night, alone, she felt her skin prickle with want, her thighs clenching as if Jamie had been there touching her.

“No,” she sighed, determined to fight the urge, “can’t…”

Sleepy as she was, she could feel desire tugging at her, its persistent voice growing only louder as she tried to force herself back to sleep.

Claire could feel him, even though she was certain that he wasn’t *actually* there.

Twisting onto her other side, her face now angled towards the door, she blinked. Her eyes opened slowly, allowing her gaze the chance to adapt to the inky blackness that surrounded her. The door remained closed.

'For the best,’ she thought, blearily. Knowing that she would have broken down – and told him everything before begging him to take her – had he appeared.

Slipping her hand between her legs, Claire calmly slid her shift aside. Temptation was too much, in the end, and she shut out the niggling doubts that whispered at her not to touch herself like this. With Jamie still close by she could ignore the depressing thoughts and focus on the more positive ones.

Brian, she’d overheard once, had often told the boys that although the bible saw it as a sin, they were better off committing acts of self gratification than getting themselves into bother with ladies and intercourse.

Taking this advice, Claire mimicked Jamie’s actions - from what she remembered of them - sneaking her palm between the crease of her legs and applying pressure to where she ached the most.

A burst of lust shot through her on first contact, and she thrust her hips, her teeth biting around her pillow in an attempted to quell the wails she so desperately wanted to unleash at the feeling.

It wasn’t Jamie, but she could imagine that it was. It was his voice that whispered in her ear. ’That’s it, Claire. Aye. Come to me, mo nighean..’

Curling her fingers, Claire gathered the growing moisture using the lubrication to stimulate her further as she wrapped herself neatly around her protruding belly.

She swore she could feel Jamie as waves of pleasure washed over her, the current pulling her under time and time again as her spine flexed and her knees trembled. Faster she moved, sweat gathering on her brow and dripping down the side of her face as she moaned soundlessly, crying out Jamie’s name as a deep throb intensified and rolled through her bones. She felt weightless, tingling beginning in her toes as her tongue peeked out from between her red stained lips.

“J-a-m-i-e…” she panted, her muscles spasming as she jerked and stilled, her body trembling with the pressure of it as she pulled in shallow breaths to remain conscious and lucid.

Claire awoke as the sun burst in through her tiny window, sleep colouring her vision as she rubbed her eyes and stretched her legs beneath the sheets. Morning. The chime of the clock brought her around fully as the telltale sign of life pounded above her.


The irony wasn’t lost on her. A day for church. A day for confession, if she so needed. The night before appeared behind her lids and she blinked away the memory.

She had so much to atone for, and too little time.

Grabbing the large bandages, Claire began to strap herself up, all the while being careful not to hem herself in too tightly. Her corsets felt uncomfortable now, their intricate boning jabbing her in all the wrong places as she tried to ensure her tummy didn’t look suspiciously large.

She could feel the baby flop inside her, the tiny bairn wriggling as if vocally displeased with her new living arrangements.

“I’m sorry,” Claire whispered, looking down at her now (mostly) flat abdomen, “I’m so sorry, sweet one. Not for much longer…promise.”

Following studiously behind Mama Crook, Claire filed into the pews, taking her seat behind the Fraser’s as the priest began the sermon. She didn’t hear a word. The hour passed like a blur in front of her eyes as she nervously jiggled her leg against the cold stone floor of the church.

She knew the priest, they all did. And although she knew he was sworn to secrecy - she was no less afraid to discuss this matter with him.

Someone would now know her secret.

Someone who *still* wasn’t Jamie.

That thought tugged at her heart and she felt distinctly like a scarlet woman.

Waiting quietly, Claire counted the lead lines that lay between each beautiful portrait on the stained glass windows. Images of biblical events filled her vision - the pregnant depiction of Mary being raised to the heavens by God to be the mother of his child cementing itself in her brain as she sat rigidly in the wooden seats.

She was no chosen one. Simply a girl caught in a spot of trouble.

“Claire?” Mama Crook called, waking Claire from her daydreaming, “time for ye, lass…”

Stumbling towards the confessional, Claire gripped her rosary tight. Truly she hadn’t much thought of religion. She had gone to church, confessed and prayed like everyone else but it had never been something she’d either feared or delighted in. It simply was the way of life.

Now, however, it seemed incredibly significant.

“F-forgive me, father,” Claire began, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she shifted against the cushioned seat of the confessional box, “for I have sinned…”

Alone (b1)

prologue; part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; part fourteen; part fifteen; part sixteen; part seventeen; part eighteen; epilogue.

bonus scenes: one

The worst thing about working the night shift was not getting to wake up next to Chanyeol. All you wanted to do was be at home in your warm soft bed, buried under a mountain of blankets, wrapped up in the strong arms of your fiancé and his gentle touch. The moments you got to share with him in your bed, in the mornings when you woke up and in the evenings when you went to sleep - they were your favourites. It was just you and him, wrapped up in each other’s heads without a care in the world.

“But that’s not the case anymore,” you murmured softly to yourself, grabbing your bag out of your locker and slamming it shut. With a quick check on Chanyeol in the back of your head, you bit your lip to fight your smile. He was still asleep. If you raced home, you could make it home before he woke up.

Talia closed her locker beside you, combing her fingers through her blonde hair. “So where do you want to go for breakfast?” she asked, throwing an arm around your shoulders and leading you out of the locker room.

You winced a little, immediately feeling bad. “Can we raincheck? Maybe do lunch instead?” As selfish as it sounded, the thought of getting home to Chanyeol was monopolising your attention.

Keep reading


Marvel Writing Challenge: redgillan vs. princess-basket-case

Prompt: Spaghetti Kiss scene from Lady and the Tramp

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,706

Tags: Fluff, Dogs and more fluff.

Originally posted by imagine-that-marvel

It was a casual Friday night and instead of going to some bar with the other Avengers, you stayed with Steve to watch a movie in which two dogs tried to find their owner. It was a chilly evening, you were wrapped in your American flag blanket that Steve had bought you for your last birthday.

It was like him, fluffy and warm, and you absolutely loved it.

“We should get a dog,” Steve said, leaning forward to get another slice of pizza.

“Oh, yes!” You beamed, then turned to look at him. “Do you think Tony would let us?”

Steve chuckled, wiping his mouth with his paper napkin. “I know he acts like it, but he’s not our father. Plus, I think it would be good for the team.”

“I agree.” You nodded, making a mental note to visit the animal shelter the next day.

You smiled at each other and kept eye contact when Steve leaned forward. Your stomach flipped, you really thought he was going to kiss you. He raised his hand and dabbed at the corner of your mouth with his napkin.

Keep reading

After all this time, Always (Newt x reader)

Originally posted by savemefromthisaddiction

Link to the end

Summary: You always dreamt everything would be alright, you wanted to be happy and you wanted Newt to be happy. But, once again, you’re in the shadow. And this time, you can’t take it anymore.

Words count: 3949

Warning: Sadness and regrets

A/N: Hi! I’m sorry for not posting for a long time, I’m still writing but with school, I just don’t find the time with my studies (I’m the equivalent of a sophomore). But I’m on holidays so I’ll try my best to post stories. Well, I hope you all have a good day! And requests are open by the way!

And just before you start reading:

  1. -Y/S/N: your shop’s name
  2. -The italic stands for the place the reader is reminiscing the past

   You were rummaging through the pile of stuff in front of you, picking up what belonged to you. You were feeling so sad right now. You wished to be angry, to hate her, hate him. But you couldn’t: the only one you were able to blame was you. Because, after all this time, you thought for a brief moment that he would return your feelings.

   After all, you knew him since your childhood: your parents were in good terms with his and you quickly became friend with him. You were always the first one he would talk about his discoveries and you were the first one he told about his dream.

   At this time, you were still toddlers and all you could think -or much all you wanted to think- about was to dream of what you will be when you are older. You absolutely loved to hear him explain his dream to you: he would take care of beasts, just like he took care of his own Puffskein or his mother’s hippogriffs. He would make the world realise their importance and he would make everyone stop treating the poor animals badly. And you trusted him: if someone could do it, it was him! He was always so kind and so patient… Yes, he could do it.

   At the end of this speech, you always asked in a tiny voice « And, will I have the permission to travel with you? Because it would be so lonely without you… » To this, he would perpetually answer with a smile going all the way up to his eyes « Of course, you’ll come with me! You’ll help me and I will teach you about them and you will take care of them with me! »

   All of this started when you were so young… You never expected it to end in this way. And not now. But, to state the truth, you never expected it to end at all.

Keep reading

Staring (normal AU)

I found the start of this a while ago and just started writing more. I know it’s shit but I don’t know. I hope someone enjoys it (I’m really pissed at my writing at the moment and idk what to do, please help/send me prompts, I need inspiration.)

His nose. Merlin, his nose starts much to far up his forehead and all I want to do is reach out and yank it down an inch. I know I shouldn’t do this and I know I really can’t do this but all I want is to pull his nose down. And, suddenly, I am staring at him. I swear, at the moment, all I do is stare at Baz and get distracted by his too high up nose and the beautiful curve of his jaw bone.

Simon is staring again; I think he’s getting obsessed. His bottom lip has fallen open, his eyes half shut and… crowley. This isn’t his normal, standard, zoned out, staring face though. Normally, his tongue just sticks out between his teeth, which I already found difficult to concentrate around, but this new face is at a whole different level. What if he does that face when I’m fight him? There would already be blood then and the lust- that’s the culmination of every fantasy from this year and I don’t know how I’d fight him like that.

And now I’m staring and struggling to concentrate. Now my entire field of vision is the golden boy. Luckily, this is only a Latin lesson, so I’m not missing much that I don’t already know. But, still, it’s not fair that Snow gets to monopolise all of my thoughts in this way. It’s not fair that I am this obsessed with this boy. It’s not fair that his face is so beautiful that I literally can’t concentrate on Latin, which I do genuinely love and am fascinated by. Why does Snow get to control my thoughts in such a way? I fucking hate cute, amazing, beautiful golden boys.

What if I act on this? What if? What is the worst that can happen? Honestly, I barely know the boy and he can’t hurt me too much can he? I may be obsessed and infatuated, but he can’t really hurt me, can he? I definetly know that he is obsessed, so he’s almost me. Half way there at least. I could corner him at the lesson, I could pull him away from everything, from this world where I’m expected to fight him. Or, I could pull him into a corner of the classroom, push him up against a wall and… do things that make me blush to even be thinking about, things that are most definetly not Latin. What is there to loose, I mean, apart from everyone’s assumptions of heterosexuality, obviously?

The lesson ends, we are dismissed and the instant I stand up, Snow is already retreating from the room. I leave the classroom, sprinting through the corridors, pushing tiny year sevens away from me, hunting for Snow. Eventually, I find him in the library, grab his arm and whisper ‘stop fucking staring.’ But, instead of being intimidated, the little shit just tells me to make him.


Baz seems pissed, he has literally fucking hunted me down in the library, grabbed me and told me to stop staring and I don’t know what to do. He is too beautiful and I am too confused and I can’t cope. So, I say the only thing I can think of; 'make me.’ Honestly, I just panicked and couldn’t think of another response.

He dosent seem to have a response to this, instead grabbing my hand and pulling me into a dark corner of the library, where all the queer books are stored.

Initially, I am convinced he said going to kill me, right up to the moment he leans into me. Six million kisses and about five hundred bites later and I literally can’t stand.

Connecting the disconnected: when South Asians accuse East Africans of cultural appropriation 

On August 9th, Yasmin Yonis, a Somali-American writer, caused a Twitter storm when she started a conversation about accusations of cultural appropriation made by South Asian Twitter against Black Twitter. At the core of the debate were headpieces, henna paintings, clothing, ear chains and necklaces worn by women in East Africa and elsewhere that South Asians claimed as theirs.

Conversations about cultural appropriation have since few years been on the rise but have, for obvious reasons, mainly focused on how white cultures appropriate those of people of colour. Debates between people of colour have largely been sidelined to Twitter, Tumblr and other social media conversations. Yonis’s tweets struck a nerve and were shared by thousands, predominately Black Twitter. She argued that most accusations of cultural theft made by South Asians against Africans are expressions of widespread anti-black racism amongst South Asian communities. And she is right.

When South Asians accuse East Africans of cultural appropriation, it is less about cultural relations or power dynamics at play. It’s about brownness and blackness. It boils down to a question of race-relations and border demarcations. Such accusations stem from both widespread ignorance, but also plain old racism. A few months ago, I started my own tweet conversation on the topic, and here’s an elaboration.

The sight of a Somali woman wearing a multi-coloured dirac wrapped around her body, or that of an Ethiopian woman with henna painted on her hands irritates many South Asians because it challenges centuries-old myths about their place in this world and racial hierarchy. It’s a sharp reminder that there are understudied connections between these two parts of the world and many of its diverse communities. But, many South Asians would rather want to sweep those under the rug and pretend they didn’t exist.

Truth being told, most South Asians can’t fathom to be related or share anything in common with Africans.

If you today casually ask South Asians about historic relations and shared cultural heritages with Africans, you will most likely receive a baffled look followed by a prompt and outright negation. We’ve in fact silenced our shared histories to the extent that scholarship needs to be produced outside of South Asia to force us to look into our pasts and face the histories that were never granted its rightful places in our own history books. And when we seldolmy discover them, we treat them as if they were some anomaly, some exotic trope or even human zoo. There’s today little interest in uncovering African-South Asian relations, unless it serves neoliberal projects. This stands in stark contrast to how many South Asians remember and write about their relationships to Arabs, Persians, Turks and European colonisers, and, importantly, how many South Asians claim ancestry based on such long, complicated and often times violent histories. You’ll search in vain for any references that will connect you to the African continent. And you’ll have to search long for any South Asian to claim African heritage on their own (unless they are busy appropriating Black American culture, of course) and find some form of pride in it.

For South Asians, the Indian Ocean that connects us to East Africa is only relevant when talking about Arab traders or European Invaders. African-South Asian histories find no space within it.

Africa is of course not a country and neither is South Asia. The millions of people and communities have different relations and degrees of connections towards each other. Just as their cultures may vary, so do their histories, relationships and genetic heritages. What unites South Asia across the board however, is their embracement of whiteness. The aspiration towards fairer skin drives them towards an ‘Aryanized’ reading of their bodies and histories, which values fair skinned-bodies while equally erasing dark-skinned ones. This reflects in South Asia’s most widespread religion, Hinduism, which vilifies dark bodies by construing them as either symbols of death or demons. Fair-skinned bodies are, on the hand, seen as those of saints and saviours. Any embrace of whiteness/lightness is therefore equally also a rejection of blackness/darkness.

The community I come from, Eelam Tamils from northeastern Sri Lanka, has for centuries been construed as black within the South Asian context, including by other islanders. One of Hinduism’s holy books, the Ramayan, depicts us in its North Indian interpretation, the most dominant one, as barbaric monsters whose island is burnt to the ground by fair-skinned saviours. Diwali, the festival that follows Ram’s return from Lanka, is today still celebrated in the North as a mythical victory over darkness. Eelam Tamil (often also referenced as ‘Sri Lankan Tamil’) is today a codeword amongst South Asians for darkness/blackness, even for Indian Tamils. In light of it, calling someone a Tamil can be used as a slur by fair-skinned South Asians against dark-skinned South Asians.

Within South Asia and its diasporas, we’re next to Afro-South Asians, Andamanese and Nicobarese people one of the main recipients of anti-black racism. Being called anti-black racial epithets however, doesn’t stop us from equally producing and maintaining anti-black racism towards others. Quite the opposite: it makes us even more eager to demarcate our differences.

When I today ask my mother why our hair texture isn’t the same as to that of Indians, she provides me a dry reply that we are not Indian. When I dig a little deeper and talk to her about her hair politics and put them in juxtaposition to those of black women, she usually reacts outraged. When I say dosai tastes like injera, injera like dosai, tibs like meat curries, meat curries like tibs, my family refuses to hear it. When I tell them of the Eritrean waitress who mistook my Eelam Tamil friend and I for a compatriot and started taking orders in Tigrigna, they laughed it off. When a group of Eritrean youths at a refugee welcome party full of white Germans and other light-skinned refugees took their seat on our table to start bond with us as if we’re family, it remained an anecdote without consequences. When an Eritrean friend told me about the many times she has been mistaken for a ‘Sri Lankan Tamil’, they said that’s impossible. When my cousin was approached by four elderly Somali men playing chess in a McDonald’s in Norway in Somali, it was reduced to little more than banal entertainment. When a Somali friend wore a sari and my parents said in delight that she looked like a Tamil girl, they didn’t think about the meaning of their words twice. When white men then called us the ’n’ word, we said we’re not ‘African’. When fair-skinned South Asians addressed us as black, we called them racists. These are just few of the anecdotes we carry around but find no space to articulate or share because of how we’re positioned between fair-skinned South Asians and white people — at the expenses of possible linkages and solidarities outside of both.

When American-Indian-Tamil comedian Aziz Ansari mistook 14-year-old American-Sudanese Ahmed Mohamed, who was arrested in Texas for having built a clock, for a ‘brown kid’ he could project his own bodily experiences upon, it was more than just a simple negation and/or confusion of/over Mohamed’s Black Arab heritage. It didn’t just speak to Mohamed’s type of blackness which sits at the borderlines of erasure and irritation amongst dominant Black and Arab narratives. It also spoke volumes about Ansari’s type of brownness which similarly struggles with erasure and dislocation from dominant South Asian narratives. Ansari’s misidentification shows how colour lines are not static or linear. Neither are black and brown two absolute separates that never collide, historically or in the present day. They can be ambiguous, confusing and even messy because of how racial classifications do not respond to the complexity and diversity of human bodies, experiences and self-identifications.

From attire to jewellery to food cultures to skin colour, there are many things we share. We’ve rich histories that require explorations. Anti-black racism, however, raises us to believe that we monopolise our own cultures, that they are the result of isolation or mingling with fair-skinned others — but never with our dark-skinned brethrens. It tells us that black folks do ‘brown’ things when we’re actually also doing ‘black’ things. Anti-black racism functions as a form of self-hatred amongst many of us that we’re raised with since childhood, and our communities have been instilled with for centuries, much longer than the first presence of European colonisers in the region. It remains deeply intertwined with Hinduism and South Asia’s resulting caste apartheid. Anti-black racism under white supremacy and Brahmin supremacy pushes us to position us closer to lightness than darkness in the quest of surviving racial and caste hierarchies. It makes my family think about the many intersections of our experiences as coincidences rather than results of shared histories.

When in 2004 the tsunami embarked from Ace, Indonesia, to kill tens of thousands on India’s and Sri Lanka’s coastlines, the waves didn’t cease there but continued all the way until they reached Somalia and Kenya’s coastlines. Several hundreds were subsequently killed hours after the first earthquake erupted thousands of km further east, on the Asian side of the ocean. Yet the 2004 tsunami remains to be remembered as an Asian catastrophe and not an Indian Ocean one. Most have in fact never heard about African victims of this catastrophe. It is reflective of our how mental borders, connections and knowledges are drawn, limited and reproduced by colonial mappings; how they erase connections that challenge their very raison d’être and hinder us from thinking beyond the spatialities colonialism has left us with.

But if we’d be able stop identifying by land but, say, the ocean, we’d not be people of two continents but one ocean. If we’d be able to think of the ocean as something that connects us rather than divides us, we could begin to reflect about the relationships, cultures and histories that bind us. We’d be pushed to move away from conceptions of Asia and Africa being two separate entities, but could see them as the fluid, interconnected spaces they are. It would enable us to build meaningful solidarities and embrace our darkness while remaining cognizant of how white supremacy and caste apartheid intersect and organise us to weaken us and see us as strangers, when we are in fact anything but. Our anti-black racism can erase many of our shared histories, even lead us to cry cultural appropriation when seeing Somali women wearing diracs, but it can’t erase the waters that connect us. 

By:  S. Varatharajah

PhD student @UCLgeography |Founder @rootsofdiaspora | Rsr @europapress_Islamrace|diaspora|migration|memory|geography|urbanity|
postcoloniality -  Roots of Diaspora

The Worthy Ciel theory

 Lots of theories have been made to explain the appearances of Ciel’s ‘death’ in the manga. A seemingly monopolising theory is the 2Ciel Theory. However there are other lines of thought out there, and the one I believe has the most legitimate is the Worthy Ciel Theory.
 The Worthy Ciel theory originates from the explanation of the Grim Reaper’s Purpose:

 So if Yana Toboso made this a key part of the existence of Grim Reaper’s, it strongly suggests that someone will end up being, (or already has been) resurrected by this method.

 Ciel was resurrected by the Grim reapers, having been deemed worthy of being a strong influence to move human progression in the correct way. After all, he is the Queen’s watchdog, and it has been proven, especially in the conclusion to the Book of Murder (in which Ciel removed an illegal weapons seller and prominent German banker) and the undertaker’s remark (all the more humans survived because of you), that he has a major impact, on a scale that suggests preventing war.

He can also see Grim Reapers, something only people close to death (or perhaps those will Grim Reaper blood) can do

 Ciel feels unworthy of the affection he is receiving because he knows he will die soon, as per his contract with Sebastian, and that he was meant to die. He acts ruthless, but he seems to be kinder than he believes, - he lets Soma stay close to him and find his worth by giving him a job, and makes sure Snake doesn’t travel the countryside on an aimless trip consumed by loss by letting him stay close to him, and giving him a new purpose, family and home, and digs a grave for the unknown prostitute. He saves Wolf and Sieglinde. He saves the almost useless servants (when he could have just hired more competent servants, as well as mercenaries that didn’t need to be trained from scratch- even the undertaker notes this unusual, Vincent did otherwise). He goes above and beyond his duty as the watchdog, attempting to connect the orphanage to patrons, so it will continue. His actions, and the outcomes of these actions suggest a different intent to his words. Ciel wants to pretend to be heartless, but at the same time makes sure the people he loves are protected, shoeing tough love to Sieglinde to help to develop her own firm conviction and the wisdom and strength to survive in the world of manipulative adults, which no one knows better than Ciel.

 The fact that he was resurrected is one explanation for the immense guilt Ciel seems to often be consumed by. He doesn’t understand why he was the one saved out of all the other children who were abused there, and his parents.

 To minimise these feelings of guilt he tries to be as cold and unlovable as possible, pushing others away so they are not hurt by him, cloaking himself in pride, and acting like his is a ruthless, heartless person, so people don’t see him as anything less than a sinner. 

One major point made by the series about the nature of demons is that Devils aren’t as bad as humans because they don’t try to deceive, they are upfront about their vices (as told at the end of the Circus arc). Ciel is trying to be like this in portraying his ruthlessness, a characteristic that has been exaggerated and controlled by guilt over time. Ciel tries to become as evil as a demon to dissolve his feelings of guilt, trying to match his ruthless persona, believing himself he only keeping people close to him for a benefit, but it is hard to keep one’s true intent and feelings out of one’s actions, especially those committed on the spur of the moment, and under pressure in extreme situations.

because my darling friend @luciansunshine isn’t feeling well and needed some fluff!!!! i hope you feel better sweetie!!

inspired by a post by @chocoblondie that talked about promptis eskimo kisses uwu it had to happen~

(please forgive any mistakes it is now time for me to sleeeeeeeeeeep)


Prompto was lounged across Noctis’s lap in the one seated couch, his legs hanging over his thighs and his fingers thoroughly laced within those of his Prince. It wasn’t often that they sat in silence with one another, given the lack of time any of them had anymore. Not only did they tend to fill their spare time with video games or music, but school had been rough on the both of them, assignments and upcoming exams monopolising any spare time they had. Noctis had also been called to the Citadel more than once in previous weeks. Why, he did not tell Prompto, but assured him it wasn’t anything to worry about. Still, Prompto continued to worry. He’d seen footage of the King, relying on a cane and brace and refused to believe there wasn’t something deeper going on, that Noctis wasn’t telling him.

Sighing, Noctis untangled one hand from Prompto’s in favour of grazing his fingertips along the blond’s smooth jaw, then back up and ghosting over his ear to brush through silken hair. Prompto leaned into the touch, eyes closing, eyelashes casting a little shadow across freckled cheeks. He didn’t need to convince anyone that Prompto was beautiful – except Prompto, on a regular basis – his best friend gaining the attention of more than one classmate since they’d entered high school. He was beautiful enough that when his father had found out about what they had, he’d asked – embarrassingly so – if the infatuation was to do with the likeness to Lunafreya. But, to his delight, his father also accepted and supported them. It is natural to want affection, he had said, and to give it in return.

Noctis tilted his head, angling his mouth against the junction where Prompto’s ear met the line of his jaw and felt the blond relax even further into his lap. He kissed along the skin, over star-dusted cheek bones, to his nose and finally his mouth, soft presses of lips and nothing more. Sweet, gentle, shy, everything their relationship had been. Neither knew where to take their physical affections and neither really wanted to advance to the kind of activity that Ignis had sat them down to warn them about. It had left them red faced in each others company for several days before they’d finally talked about it one-on-one. Prompto… he wasn’t ready yet. And that was fine, Noctis was more than willing to sit back and let it happen when it did.

Hands threaded through his hair and Noctis let out a soft sound of appreciation, breaking the kiss to stare fondly into delighted blue eyes, the tint of violet ever present, ever beautiful. Foreheads rested against one another as they beamed like lovestruck idiots at one another – or, perhaps it was a fitting description of what they were. In the fresh, first few months of their relationship.

With a sigh of bliss, Noctis let his nose brush against Prompto’s, a thoughtless act, unplanned, unintentional, but it drew a soft giggle out of the blond and Noctis considered himself intrigued. He’d seen others do eskimo kisses before, had felt them from his own parents, in all their playful and affectionate ways. He wondered for a moment if Prompto had ever felt one before. He didn’t bother to ask.

He did it again, this time with purpose, brushing the tips of their noses together and enjoying the lilted laugh that burst from Prompto’s chest, body squirming in the small space of the couch. Noctis held him firm and did it again. And again.

And as long as Prompto produced laughter like that, he’d continue until the end of his days.

Le Guide dué.e

1. Ne pas faire dérailler une discussion, même si son sujet vous met mal à l’aise. Il n’est pas question ici de votre confort perso. Il est question ici du sujet de la conversation et des personnes concernées par ce sujet. Vous êtes parfaitement libre de ne pas vous y engager et de laisser les gen.te.s concerné.e.s débattre.

2. Lisez, renseignez vous. N’attendez pas des concerné.e.s qu’iels vous éduquent, faites ce travail de déconstruction vous-même.

3. N’attendez pas que le respect de vos sentiments soient la priorité des personnes qui débattent. Non, le rôle de la modération n’est pas de policer la forme mais uniquement le fond. Le tone policing est une arme de silenciation en ce qu’elle permet de mettre un terme à une discussion en poussant ses participant.e.s à la colère, à force de leur opposer des ~arguments~ horripilants.

4. Apprenez à vous taire quand il le faut. Juste lisez et apprenez de expérience des personnes concernées. Ne prenez pas de l’espace en monopolisant une conversation. Vous pouvez certes participer si votre contribution est enrichissante, ou en posant des questions pertinentes ou qui peuvent faire avancer le débat, mais sachez garder une place marginale.

5. Ne jouez pas aux jeux Olympique de l’oppression. Vous êtes au milieu d’une conversation sur le racisme ? Donc non, ce n’est pas le moment pour parler de votre vécu de personne NA non binaire blanche. Etre oppressé.e sur certains sujets ne vous octroie pas un « free pass » pour ne pas rester dans votre rôle d’allié.e sur des sujets qui ne vous concerne pas. Ne déraillez pas. Il n’est pas toujours question de vous.

6. Checkez vos privilèges. C’est absolument nécessaire.

7. Soyez exemplaire. Ce n’est pas parce que vous vous dites « allié.e » que vous êtes réellement un.e allié.e. Ce n’est qu’au regard de vos actes et de votre attitude que le groupe pourra déterminer si vous pouvez rester dans un espace safe ou si au contraire vous le polluez par vos interventions, par votre manque de remise en question.

8. Dites aux personnes oppressives de fermer leur gueule. Votre rôle d’allié.e est également de combattre les oppressions, d’éduquer vos proches x-phobes x-cistes, sans vous en vanter auprès du groupe, mais simplement dans le but que ces personnes ne diffusent pas leur propos nauséabond auprès des personnes concernées.

9. Ne traitez pas les personnes concernées comme des faire valoir de votre « tolérance » ou comme des tokens. N’utilisez pas vos ami.e.s pour montrer à quel point vous êtes qql’un.e de cool, ouvert d’esprit ou pour vous permettre de dire du caca.

10. Ne baissez pas les bras, le chemin de la déconstruction est long et parfois douloureux. Parfois, votre ego va en prendre un coup, mais sachez faire preuve d’humilité et revenez quand vous le pourrez !

Theory Time

Okay so I have a small and incomplete theory about skam that I want to share so that I’ll hear others people’s opinion about this.

In the episode where Sonja tells Isak that Even is a maniac,to prove Even’s “insanity” she brings up an example of him memorising the entire Quran in arabic.

At that time,to Isak and us,that sounds kinda bizzare.To us the audience,it doesn’t sound strange because we are being a total bitch about it(like Sonja) or because we’re scared of far our crush’s depression can go(like Isak) but because we don’t see the connection.We don’t understand why would Even want to do something like that.Yeah,there is nothing wrong with wanting to learn about an other religion but why Islam specifically and not something else?

And some people on tumblr DID point out that at the 4th season Sana would be the main,because of this specific comment of Sonja’s,among others.

Now we DO have the connection.Everything makes sense(kinda).And Sonja is proven(for once more for some) to be a total bitch.Even had a REASON to memorise the Quran and she called him a “maniac” for doing that.I mean,yeah,for example,if you’re friends with a christian-and you’re not-the first thing you do is not go and memorise the entire bible.But to call your depressed boyfriend a “maniac” for memorising the Quran because his group of friends were muslims,that’s just…wrong.

But in Skam the characters are flawed.They do mistakes,they let their emotions to take control over her actions etc.That’s why we can’t accuse her(lol I just did) because I’m sure she had her reasons.

Now the missing pieces are what happened with Even and Mikael/ballon squad and what were Sonja’s reasons.

At this clip it’s revealed that Even was VERY close with both Sana and Elias.He knows their mother and told Sana that he missed her cooking,so that means that he’s been over a lot-like the rest of the ballon squad.So he was a part of the squad,since he also is concerned about the boys and Elias and asks Sana about them.Both him and the ballon squad looked sad while talking about each other.Like they didn’t like how they’re not friends anymore. Not gonna lie,at first I thought that what happened had something to do with Even being attracted to boys.But after seeing how nice is the ballon squad and how loving they are with each other I doubt that this is the case.Besides,Sana is fine with Evak’s relationship-she doesn’t even look away or disgusted when she catches them making out-and they look really sad.Like what happened can’t be undone or forgotten.If this was about Even being gay/bi I think that the ballon squad would at least consider reconcile with him.But no,Even moves on,joins the boy squad and the ballon squad continues as usual. But I do think that Even’s sexuality has a lot to do with it and a lot of people on tumblr have pointed out too. Remenber the interview of Even that Mikael filmed?And in Even’s story,Captain America and Putin were in a relationship and the barbie doll(I don’t remember the name) didn’t want them to be together. As I said a lot of people have already pointed out that Even’s story is actually HIS story.And we can safely assume that,since Skam does give us a lot of little signs like that. So it’s pretty obvious that-most likely-the barbie doll was Sonja and Putin and Captain America were Even and Mikael(or Elias? THAT WOULD BE A HUGE PLOT TWIST!) What’s still not clear though is what was “Putin’s” and “Captain America’s” relationship.Did Even had feelings for Mikael?Did Mikael also had feelings for him?Were they in a relatioship?! I mean,it’s not that crazy,since that’s exactly what happened with Isak.First,the whole “kiss in the pool” happened and then Even broke up with Sonja.AND THEN,he kissed in the fucking party. Anyway,what is clear though is that the “barbie doll” didn’t like/approve of “Putin’s” and “Captain America’s” relationship. What happened didn’t have to do with Even and the balloon squad,but rather with Sonja and the balloon squad. Sonja didn’t like the balloon squad.Because she wanted to have Even all for herself,she wanted to control him,to monopolise him.That’s why a boy which Even had feelings for,was threating her position as Even’s closest person.She wanted to shame Even for memorising the entire Quran in arabic by labeling him as “manic”.And maybe even threaten the balloon squad/Mikael just like she did with Isak. The difference between Evak’s relationship with Even x balloon squad’s relationship is that Even didn’t have the courage for himself and the one he likes and that Isak didn’t give up on him,while the balloon squad did. I don’t know and I can’t imagine what happen between Sonja and the balloon squad,but please tell your opinions on it.I would really like to hear them!

Lore of the Day

The northern Breton port city of Farrun has a melancholy and sinister reputation, stemming from a long and bloody history that stretches all the way back to its infamous foundation as the foremost centre of the slave trade in northeastern Tamriel.

Originally named Fal’Ruhn (or “Snow Run” in the Altmeris), the city’s vast dockyards and processing halls were built to enable first the local ruling Altmer clans, then the Direnni Hegemony to monopolise the lucrative westbound trade in human captives from the wars of the Falmer and Chimer to the East.

The city’s name quickly became a byword for dread and desperation across the continent for Nord and Nede alike, and even today, millennia after the original city was destroyed in a slave uprising that helped usher in the end of Direnni rule in High Rock, the modern city of Farrun has never been able to escape its sordid past.

The more recent history of the Kingdom of Farrun has been blighted by invasions of Orcish hordes, civil war, betrayal of sacred oaths and economic ruin. Some even whisper that the very land the city is built on is forever cursed by the evils committed here so long ago, though the rulers of the city are quick to punish such superstitious talk.

Mon ew has had enough screen time right?

He got majority of the screen time in 2x09 and 2x10..

So therefore, he’s filled up his quota right?

No more mon ew for the rest of the season huh supergirl writers?

Wherever natural forces can be monopolised and guarantee a surplus-profit to the industrial capitalist using them, be it waterfalls, rich mines, waters teeming with fish, or a favourably located building site, there the person who by virtue of title to a portion of the globe has become the proprietor of these natural objects will wrest this surplus-profit from functioning capital in the form of rent.
—  Marx - Capital Vol 3 Ch.46 1894

amunofmany  asked:

What about Zenyatta in the Ganster Au? (Sorry if this has been asked)

See I don’t really see Zenyatta exactly being a gangster but maybe he works for Mondatta…who…owns a casino. Zenyatta sorts out deals, helping Mondatta monopolise, and pays money to Vishkar perhaps to keep them safe.  

Emma Woodhouse // Sana Bakkoush

Sana Bakkoush of ‘Skam’, Norwegian drama TV series directed by Julie Andem, 2015-2017  

Emma Woodhouse of ‘Emma’, novel by Jane Austen, published 1815

I will do a more complete version of this once the season is over and we have a better understanding of everything. For now, I just highlighted some of the most striking comparisons between Emma and Sana’s personalities. I am studying ‘Emma’ for my Leaving Cert Engish exam (final exam before leaving secondary/high school in Ireland).

credits: thanks @altfordeggirl and @hjertetssunnegalskap for first introducing me to this! Check out this post: x 

This got longer than I expected so if you’re interested:

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