remember that one time i wrote a thing

okay just got done typing up a Long Ass Comment for a fic that i love and bc writers Live™ for comments but a lot of ppl seem to find it difficult/scary to write them, here are some tips from me, who has been on both sides of the fence:

  • we will nut over literally any context for how u read our fics, nothing is too specific or embarrassing
    • i once received a long ass essay about the exact circumstances under which someone read the new chapter including action and dialogue and i still treasure that comment to this day
  • if u read the fic a few days ago and are still thinking about it, open that bitch up and tell the author “i read this fic a few days ago and i’m still thinking about it”
    • THAT SHIT KILLS US I SWEAR
  • do not worry about being annoying!!!!! oh my god i can’t overstate this enough you are NEVER being annoying by leaving comments. examples of situations in which comments are Not Annoying:
    • commenting on every chapter
      • this is honestly our fav thing, those regular commenters are the real MVPs and i’d die for them. it doesn’t seem thirsty or obnoxious to us it’s our lifeblood i pr omi s e u
        • also this is guaranteed the #1 best way to get senpai to notice u, if that’s what ur after
    • adding an extra comment w a thought/detail u missed
    • adding an extra comment w a thought/detail u remembered from 4 chapters ago
    • commenting during a reread (this is only ever flattering!!!)
    • commenting an 800-word essay that takes several solid minutes to read
      • this seriously never comes across as irritating, time-consuming, or trying too hard; the author is the one who wrote thousands upon thousands of words in the first place and we eat that shit up
    • (ok i lied, there is one exception to this. the one thing that is annoying is demanding updates, especially if u do it on the same day as an update was published. this makes us sad, avoid this :c)
    • but aside from that: comments, great, always!!!
  • acknowledge how hard writers work. every time someone tips their hat to me for the effort i put in, it’s like the 12 hour binges, inability to think about anything else even while sleeping, longggg inspiration walks, and constant self doubt become worth it!!!!
  • let us know u talk about our fics w ur friends…. this is like, the ultimate compliment……… i’m still lowkey waiting for the day someone pastes an excerpt from a chat log they’ve had about one of my fics because i Know it has happened and i wanna see it……………i wanna know what has been yelled……………..
  • just say thank u!!! a simple thank you means so much more bc it shows us we have actual readers and not just numbers on a screen sfjdgslksg
3

HEY @actualbird HERE ARE SOME DOODLES FOR U from that ficlet u wrote!!! i just thought it was super sweet, i hope u don’t mind!!!!!

The Okinawan Language

Anybody who has studied Japanese and Linguistics will know that Japanese is a part of the Japonic language family. For many years it was thought that Japanese was a language isolate, unrelated to any other language (Although there is some debate as to whether or not Japanese and Korean are related).

Today, most linguists are in agreement that Japanese is not an isolate. The Japonic languages are split into two groups:

Japanese (日本語) and its dialects, which range from standard Eastern Japanese (東日本方言) to the various dialects found on Kyūshū (九州日本方言), which are, different, to say the least.

The Ryukyuan Languages (琉球語派). Which are further subdivided into Northern and Southern Ryukyuan languages. Okinawan is classified as a Northern Ryukyuan Languages. There are a total of 6 Ryukyuan languages, each with its own dialects. The Ryukyuan languages exist on a continuum, somebody who speaks Okinawan will have a more difficult time understanding the Yonaguni Language, which is spoken on Japan’s southernmost populated island.

Japanese and Okinawan (I am using the Naha dialect of Okinawan because it was the standard language of the Ryukyu Kingdom), are not intelligible. Calling Okinawan a dialect of Japanese is akin to calling Dutch a dialect of English. It is demonstrably false. Furthermore, there is an actual Okinawan dialect of Japanese, which borrows elements from the Okinawan language and infuses it with Japanese.

So, where did the Ryukyuan languages come from? This is a question that goes hand in hand with theories about where Ryukyuan people come from. George Kerr, author of Okinawan: The History of an Island People (An old book, but necessary read if you’re interested in Okinawa), theorised that Ryukyuans and Japanese split from the same population, with one group going east to Japan from Korea, whilst the other traveled south to the Ryukyu Islands.

“In the language of the Okinawan country people today the north is referred to as nishi, which Iha Fuyu (An Okinawn scholar) derives from inishi (’the past’ or ‘behind’), whereas the Japanese speak of the west as nishi. Iha suggests that in both instances there is preserved an immemorial sense of the direction from which migration took place into the sea islands.”
(For those curious, the Okinawan word for ‘west’ is いり [iri]).
But, it must be stated that there are multiple theories as to where Ryukyuan and Japanese people came from, some say South-East Asia, some say North Asia, via Korea, some say that it is a mixture of the two. However, this post is solely about language, and whilst the relation between nishi in both languages is intriguing, it is hardly conclusive.

With that said, the notion that Proto-Japonic was spoken by migrants from southern Korea is somewhat supported by a number of toponyms that may be of Gaya origin (Or of earlier, unattested origins). However, it also must be said, that such links were used to justify Japanese imperialism in Korea.

Yeah, when it comes to Japan and Korea, and their origins, it’s a minefield.

What we do know is that a Proto-Japonic language was spoken around Kyūshū, and that it gradually spread throughout Japan and the Ryukyu Islands. The question of when this happened is debatable. Some scholars say between the 2nd and 6th century, others say between the 8th and 9th centuries. The crucial issue here, is the period in which proto-Ryukyuan separated from mainland Japanese.

“The crucial issue here is that the period during which the proto-Ryukyuan separated(in terms of historical linguistics) from other Japonic languages do not necessarily coincide with the period during which the proto-Ryukyuan speakers actually settled on the Ryūkyū Islands.That is, it is possible that the proto-Ryukyuan was spoken on south Kyūshū for some time and the proto-Ryukyuan speakers then moved southward to arrive eventually in the Ryūkyū Islands.”

This is a theory supported by Iha Fuyu who claimed that the first settlers on Amami were fishermen from Kyūshū.

This opens up two possibilities, the first is that ‘Proto-Ryukyuan’ split from ‘Proto-Japonic’, the other is that it split from ‘Old-Japanese’. As we’ll see further, Okinawan actually shares many features with Old Japanese, although these features may have existed before Old-Japanese was spoken.

So, what does Okinawan look like?

Well, to speakers of Japanese it is recognisable in a few ways. The sentence structure is essentially the same, with a focus on particles, pitch accent, and a subject-object-verb word order. Like Old Japanese, there is a distinction between the terminal form ( 終止形 ) and the attributive form ( 連体形 ). Okinawan also maintains the nominative function of nu ぬ (Japanese: no の). It also retains the sounds ‘wi’ ‘we’ and ‘wo’, which don’t exist in Japanese anymore. Other sounds that don’t exist in Japanese include ‘fa’ ‘fe’ ‘fi’ ‘tu’ and ‘ti’.

Some very basic words include:

はいさい (Hello, still used in Okinawan Japanese)
にふぇーでーびる (Thank you)
うちなー (Okinawa) 沖縄口 (Uchinaa-guchi is the word for Okinawan)
めんそーれー (Welcome)
やまとぅ (Japan, a cognate of やまと, the poetic name for ‘Japan’)

Lots of Okinawan can be translated into Japanese word for word. For example, a simple sentence, “Let’s go by bus”
バス行こう (I know, I’m being a little informal haha!)
バスっし行ちゃびら (Basu sshi ichabira).
As you can see, both sentences are structured the same way. Both have the same loanword for ‘bus’, and both have a particle used to indicate the means by which something is achieved, ‘で’ in Japanese, is ‘っし’ in Okinawan.

Another example sentence, “My Japanese isn’t as good as his”
彼より日本語が上手ではない (Kare yori nihon-go ga jouzu dewanai).
彼やか大和口ぬ上手やあらん (Ari yaka yamatu-guchi nu jooji yaaran).
Again, they are structured the same way (One important thing to remember about Okinawan romanisation is that long vowels are represented with ‘oo’ ‘aa’ etc. ‘oo’ is pronounced the same as ‘ou’).

Of course, this doesn’t work all of the time, if you want to say, “I wrote the letter in Okinawan”
沖縄語手紙を書いた (Okinawa-go de tegami wo kaita).
沖縄口さーに手紙書ちゃん (Uchinaa-guchi saani tigami kachan).
For one, さーに is an alternate version of っし, but, that isn’t the only thing. Okinawan doesn’t have a direct object particle (を in Japanese). In older literary works it was ゆ, but it no longer used in casual speech.

Introducing yourself in Okinawan is interesting for a few reasons as well. Let’s say you were introducing yourself to a group.
In Japanese you’d say
みんなさこんにちは私はフィリクスです (Minna-san konnichiwa watashi ha Felixdesu)
ぐすよー我んねーフィリクスでぃいちょいびーん (Gusuyoo wan’nee Felix di ichoibiin).
Okinawan has a single word for saying ‘hello’ to a group. It also showcases the topic marker for names and other proper nouns. In Japanese there is only 1, は but Okinawan has 5! や, あー, えー, おー, のー! So, how do you know which to use? Well, there is a rule, typically the particle fuses with short vowels, a → aa, i → ee, u → oo, e → ee, o → oo, n → noo. Of course, the Okinawan pronoun 我ん, is a terrible example, because it is irregular, becoming 我んねー instead of  我んのー or 我んや. Yes. Like Japanese, there are numerous irregularities to pull your hair out over!

I hope that this has been interesting for those who have bothered to go through the entire thing. It is important to discuss these languages because most Ryukyuan languages are either ‘definitely’ or ‘critically’ endangered. Mostly due to Japanese assimilation policies from the Meiji period onward, and World War 2.
The people of Okinawa are a separate ethnic group, with their own culture, history, poems, songs, dances and languages. It would be a shame to lose something that helps to define a group of people like language does.

I may or may not look in the Kyūshū dialects of Japanese next time. I’unno, I just find them interesting.

Hello sweeties! Sometimes we need our days off, whether it’s a cold or a burnout. But as someone with anxiety, there were moments I was worried too much about the work i’d have to catch up, instead of using the day to relax. Now I can finally be calm when I’m absent, so here are my tips ♥

Contact your teacher:
When I had to be away from school because of anything other than sickness, I always made sure to send an email to my teacher. Especially when I knew it was a busy week. This can get you ahead of work and show you’re responsible. 

Talk to your classmates:
Call or text a responsible friend or the class representative (if you have one) so they can tell you what you’ve missed, what homework teachers have left, etc. Ask about class, tips, presentations, dates, exams, handouts or anything else that could’ve been mentioned.

Back in school:
If by any reason you can’t contact your teacher or your friends, make sure to ask your teacher to give you any material she handed out while you were away, and borrow a friend’s notes. This is important because teachers usually repeat (in the lecture) or write down (on the board) what will be on the test. 

Catch up as soon as possible: 
When you have everything you need, start work right away. Don’t procrastinate, especially now because work will start to pile up and we don’t want that now do we? 

Getting back on track:
here’s a vid that could help you: getting your life together. This is the time to get your post-its, planner, calendars and everything organization so you don’t miss anything. 

Check your priorities:
There’s a few teachers that didn’t tell me to catch up on practice work or things we’ll keep doing throughout the month. Talk to them and maybe they’ll give you more time or duplicate a grade from your next text, especially if you’re good at the subject. 

Don’t forget new assignments :
Is your new assignment for tomorrow and your catch-up work for next week? you know which one to do first. Make yourself a schedule, grab a snack, and work slowly but steadily.

*I wrote each one of these personally, so please don’t repost. I hope this helps you, and remember being absent doesn’t have to mean anxiety! If you have any questions, don’t hesitate on messaging me ^_^ © freepic icon

Love, Yumi 💛

dating yoongi [realistically]

Originally posted by myloveseokjin

jungkook l taehyung l jimin l hoseok l seokjin l namjoon

important disclaimer: please remember that everything I wrote down is my own personal opinion. I do not know Yoongi personally, nor his past relationship experiences, so this is based on my imagination of ‘’realistic’’ only.  This is only my own imagination on how it could be like dating him. If you’re not open to stuff like this, please don’t read.

Keep reading

some nights i’d feel so alone that the only comforting thing was the sky. so id learn a ton of constellations and go and sit outside and find every single one that i could and i would beg the sky to light me up inside because i was tired of burning out and i was desperately in need of some light and guidance. i painted planets on my walls and wrote down my favorite constellations. and on the very worst nights, when i felt like i was drowning underneath all of the blackness, i’d look at the moon and remember that someone, somewhere else was looking up at the sky, at that very moment, looking for the same thing as me. and at times, this is the most comforting thing.
—  you’re never alone. other people feel this way too.

Uncle Gerry’s Family Fun Zone

by reddit user Red_Grin

This is a lengthy story but it is worth it:

I didn’t know Will could draw, I remember thinking as my friend’s hand quickly moved across the page. And then I looked more closely at Will’s impromptu sketch, and I immediately regretted it. I tried to unsee it. I shifted my attention to other things around me, anything at all that wasn’t ink on the page: the blur of Will’s hand, the beads of sweat gathering at his temples, the gentle autumn breeze creeping through the crack of the window.

Don’t look at the page. Just don’t look at it.

But I knew I had to. So I looked. And it was worse than I expected. Much worse.

Keep reading

Greek Gods as things I have said to my siblings

Zeus: why dont people like me? I’m cool. I skateboarded once.
Poseidon: lets play ‘who has the fakest tan’
Hades: I’m starting a new trend. It’s called murder.
Hera: remember that one time you stole my blue lollipop in August of 2009? Because I do.
Athena: WHY WOULD YOU STUFF A SNAIL UP YOUR NOSE?
Ares: Do you see that punk over there? I bet you ten dollars I could beat him up.
Aphrodite: dump him
Hephaestus: why go out when you can wallow in self pity instead?
Apollo: i bet someone wrote me a love poem today.
Artemis: if you dont stop spreading your stupid misogyny I will start an elaborate plot that will end with your ear filled with toilet water.
Hermes: yeah you look great
Demeter: cereal is a perfectly fine thing to eat for dinner
Dionysus: did you see what Oprah said last night? It was biblical.
Hestia: I love you

skam-fest (balloon squad livestream): TRANSLATION

disclaimer: we dunno danish. huge shout out to @maksisskambackwards for norwegian-english translation for the boys and Håkon. (they didn’t want credit and I said hush) grammar fixes by me ;) 

Everybody introduces themselves. And Håkon says that they’re still producing and thats why everybody couldn’t be there. Håkon likes Eskilds character the best.

Mutasim: Hei hei. My name is Mutasim and I play Mutasim. And I don’t know what else to say. My favorite character is Chris - girl Chris. Good actress.

Cengiz: should I introduce myself? I’m Cengiz, its like Ghengis Khan. (pronunciation of his name) I’m 19. And turning 20 today. No yesterday. What else should I say. I’ve never done any acting before. So this is very new for me. But its very fun to be here and speak before you. My favourite actor is many actually. I think like Håkon over there that Eskild has been really good. Chris. Really all, many are good. And I also think Vilde. Of course I like all the characters. Sana is a really important character. I support all of them. All my colleagues are great.

Simo: Hi, I´m Simo and I´m Sana’s brother, Elias. My favourite actor, I wanna say first everyone is amazing. But if I have to choose one it would be Sana.

Yousef: My name is Yousef, and I play Mikael. My favourite character is maybe Even. An (unpredictable?) character.

Adam: Hi everybody, I’m Adam and i play Adam. I’m 18 and really an artist and suddenly I’m an actor. My favourite is Jonas or Marlon. I’ve known Marlon for many years. We used to skate together and are buds. And one day he was like, “Adam I’ll be in this new show on NRK,” and we were like,  “okay… Is that cool?” And it was really fun to watch how it turned out.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

one thing you love about link and sidon? i love links dorky smile and i lovvvee sidons cat-like snoot!

oh heck. 

What’s not to love?! 

Also, are we talking in terms of canon or widely accepted headcanons in the fandom? And is this on individual terms or in their couple terms? Because I could go on for miles with each one. In fact, I think I will! 

Canon Link

- his cute little smile when he’s cooking and peering over the cooking pot

- his puns. His terrible puns. Is he sealious right now?

- how god damn sassy he is in general. (”I want to set things on fire!!”) (*casually goes up and tries to steal the thunderhelm and his excuse is that he wants it*)

- the fact that enough people comment on his nudity and that it was programmed into the game to suggest that Link would definitely do this more often if he could

- his cute little giggles when he’s bouncing on the water bed

- his lack of giving a fuck about gender norms 

- The very heavy implication that Link knows a shitload of languages, despite being mute

- Everyone either knowing what Link is saying based on his facial expressions or everyone in Hyrule just being fluent in Sign Language so Link can communicate easily

Fandom Link

- TWITCHY LITTLE EARS~~~~ <3 

- Selectively mute but still cusses the fuck out of monsters when he gets frustrated 

- (this goes in a different section but is still related: Sidon being so shook when he hears Link using bad words for the first time)

- The bad puns and Dad Jokes intensified 

- THE SASS INTENSIFIED

- Link being very musically inclined

- Like. No, here me out. He carves his own ocarina to take with him. The music you hear on the soundtrack is the music he wrote on his journey because that was one of the few things he did remember was his love of music

- Link filling his house with a shitload of refurbished instruments. Pianos, violins, you name it, he probably fixed it up and owns it now

- JUST GIVE ME MUSICAL LINK WHO USES SONG TO COMMUNICATE HIS LOVE FOR SIDON IT’S ALL I NEED

- Tbh I love everything about Link, Canon and Fandom. 

Canon Sidon

- The Fourth Wall Break

- His motivational speeches (we all need a smol Sidon to cheer us on, let’s be real here)

- The pride he takes for being unstoppable in the water

- Yet the fact that he still allows him to be vulnerable in the times that he misses his sister the most

- Also the fact that he doesn’t deny to Link that he was taking a moment to miss his sister if he gets caught

- That boopable snoot

- THE DORKY LITTLE MARCH HE HAS WHEN HE’S WALKING AROUND THE DOMAIN. HE LOOKS SO PROFESSIONAL AND STRONG. YOU GO SIDON. YOU GO BOIYO.

Fandom Sidon

- HIS TAIL WAGS

- LOOKIT THAT TAIL GO WHEN HE SEES LINK HE IS SO HAPPY

- Sidon making snorting and grunty noises like a cat or some other animal and it’s purely subconscious but it also immediately gives away his mood and it’s precious

- Related, but Sidon’s gills poofing out like a cat when he gets startled. I know that that can’t anatomically happen considering what little muscle in gills actually exists and how it’s supposed to move but STILL

- His pupils getting either really really big or really really small. You could say it’s a predatory response or he’s very excited to see Link again. You choose.

- I’ve seen this in some fic but idk how widely accepted it is but…Sidon being afraid of horses

- Related, this is entirely my own doing but I will go down with this headcanon: Sidon being a book worm. He’s read every single book in the royal library cover to cover. Link can’t keep resupplying him fast enough because he just plows through the story in one sitting. If there are languages within the books that are completely made up, Sidon teaches himself that language because he’s a fucking NERD

SidLink

- Sidon taught himself Sign Language at a very young age so he could talk to Link

- Sidon has been in love with Link since pre-Calamity, he just wasn’t aware

- Sidon is very traditional when it comes to courting. Link is very much not. 

- Everyone knowing that Link and Sidon are helplessly in love with each other except for them

- The first song Link composes after defeating Ganon is Sidon’s Song

- The first time Sidon visits Hateno, Link puts on a little concert for him. Sidon’s Song he saves for the finale

- L I N K I S B I G S P O O N 

- I don’t care that Sidon is twice his height, Link is and will do his damn best to be the best fucking big spoon there ever was

- Sidon fucking LOVES IT

- Sidon hugs are best hugs

- Link hugs kind of crush Sidon’s lungs a little bit

- Holy fuck Link is strong

- Link just casually bench presses Sidon when bored. Shark Prince swoons helplessly

- Link is the best cook. Sidon is fucking terrible. No amount of cooking lessons are helping Link’s poor shark bf. 

- They like to float down rivers and stuff together, but every. Single. Time. Link gets a wild hair up his ass to try to swim and out swim Sidon. And every. Single. time. Sidon has to save this dumbass because he runs out of stamina and nearly drowns. 

- Sidon can dish out compliments but he cannot take. Link loves watching Sidon’s face turn redder than the top of his head when complimented. 

billsweasley  asked:

Dramione + angst + please don't kill Draco and Hermione 💜

pairing: draco malfoy x hermione granger

setting: modern, non-magical, high school au


Everyone finds out.

Everyone finds out they’re fucking, specifically, the Monday after prom, when half the senior class is still trying to wash glitter out of their hair and hide their Plan B receipts from their parents. Yearbooks are being passed around, skinny black Sharpies bleeding ink and ex’s and oh’s and the kind of burning, overwrought nostalgia Draco already wishes he had an eraser for.

It’s just a rumor until it isn’t.

It’s just a rumor until the iPad camera shutter snap echoes and echoes and echoes around the cavernous interior of the empty auditorium—and, oh, Draco will have to remember to laugh at that, later; getting caught, finally, on an actual fucking stage—when he doesn’t have her dressed pushed up and his boxers pushed down and the taste of her tart and sweet and wet on the tip of his tongue—

Everyone finds out.

Everyone.

That isn’t the real secret, though.


It wouldn’t be a big deal, if it was anyone else.

It wouldn’t be a big deal, if it wasn’t Hermione fucking Granger.


“What do you mean, that wasn’t the first time?” Potter’s voice cracks, slightly, on the last two words.

Draco smirks.  


Hermione wore a Yale sweatshirt to school the day she got her acceptance letter.

Navy blue and bright, bright white. Crewneck. Her jeans were tucked unevenly into the tops of her boots, and all Draco could think about was how much better she’d look in Dartmouth green. In Princeton orange.  

In nothing at all.


“After the shit he’s said?” Potter demands, sounding angry in a way that almost—almost—surprises Draco. Almost might as well be the story of his fucking life. “To you? About you? After the shit he’s done?

Hermione’s mouth snaps shut with an audible click. “Yes,” she says simply, before reaching for Draco’s hand.


Draco had gotten better, over the years, at pretending.

It was a learned behavior. A conditional response to a childhood spent digesting the morals of Disney movies and anti-bullying campaigns and half-hearted reprimands to be nice. To be better. Smiles could be faked. Compliments could be forced.  

Letters of recommendation, however—character references, long-winded tributes to his sportsmanship and his discipline and his superior time management skills—those couldn’t be.


“I’m in love with him,” Hermione says, and it’s a little bit surreal how deeply Draco understands her honesty. “People can surprise you, Harry, even when you don’t expect them to.” She hesitates, curling her fingers into Draco’s palm. “Especially when you don’t expect them to.”


“Looks like we’ll be at school together next year,” Draco remarked the Friday before spring break.  

Hermione’s lips parted. Pink and full and bare. “You—Malfoys go to Harvard.”

He shrugged. Her sheets were itchy against his shoulder blades, patchwork red and gold flannel warm with residual body heat. “You’re the only thing I don’t want to leave behind,” he said.


I grew up in a house filled with books.

A lot of them stood there for a long time, patiently waiting for me, before I finally read them. Watership Down was one of them; The Silmarillion was another. It had always stood there, on my mother’s Tolkien shelf, probably the first German edition of it (which is extremely strange, as the entire rest of my mother’s Tolkien shelf was in English). I can’t remember the conversation that must have happened, but since I took so long for me to read it and my mother doesn’t like it, it’s clear that I asked her what it was and if it might be relevant to my interests, and she answered that it was cumbersome and confusing and not like the Lord of the Rings at all. So it remained there until I was sixteen, sullen in its brown fabric cover (the dustjacket had been lost for as long as I can remember; I wonder what it looked like).

When I was sixteen, I went to a new school, where I encountered my first real fellow nerds. They read Fantasy books, and they role-played. I had never heard of RPGs, but they introduced me to them, and I took to them like a house on fire. We played MERP (Middle-earth Role-Playing), and the Gamemaster had never read any Tolkien, and a fellow gamer and I constantly reminded him of it. That fellow gamer did something I was not used to: He kept bringing up Tolkien lore I had never heard about. I had grown up on Tolkien. It was inconceivable that anyone should outquote me. I asked him how he knew all these things, and he told me it was all in the Silmarillion.

So I took out the brown hardcover from my mother’s bookshelf and read it in one go.

I distinctly remember that first reading. It was reading for knowledge, not for pleasure. I kept making notes of things to make use of in RPGs, and struggled with all the names. Some stories touched me (Maedhros was already one of them) but I remember feeling that I was missing something essential.

I reread it, almost as soon as I had finished it. This book had something to say to me, and I had missed it the first time around. I wanted to find it. I wrote down excerpts and lists of Valar and Elves.

Then the English version fell into my hands, and I was blown away, and remain so.

The German version is cumbersome, and bone-dry. In retrospect, it’s surprising I ever got through it. The English one is like music. It’s a composition that has been honed for so long that its language feels effortless and virtuoso. Beneath a single line, a single paragraph of text,  there are whole worlds to be found. This is what amazes me every time I talk about the Silmarillion with others: Tolkien hardly characterises. His characters have very little dialogue. And yet the tiny bits that are there on paper resonate with everyone in the same way.

It took Tolkien a lifetime to write, and I’m happy to spend a lifetime reading it.

~~~

I made it through Inktober! I’m so proud of myself!

The tea

idk where that post about casual magic is, but i wrote a little thing about it. 


Nursey walked out of the kitchen, hanging up his phone and slipping it into his back pocket. He was going crazy; he had about a million things to do and not very long to do them.

Nursey was at the haus during a strategic window of time time when Chowder, Ransom and Holster were all simultaneously in class for a few hours, minimizing intrusive noises and distractions. Nursey threw himself back on the couch with a huff. The only sounds to be heard were the furnace kicking on, Bitty’s occasional soft humming from the kitchen. Lardo was somewhere, probably in her bedroom. Dex was slouched on the couch opposite Nursey. His socked feet were propped on the coffee table in front of him, his elbow on the couch arm, head resting on his knuckles, reading a book. His sweater sleeves were pulled over his hands. It was cute.

Pulling his laptop toward him on the table, Nursey shifted his focus to his next task. He had two essays due tomorrow, only one of which was started. The one he hadn’t touched yet was a creative writing assignment. There was something repulsive about writing creatively when it was forced. He couldn’t make inspiration strike. The writing Nursey lived for was the writing when the premise came naturally, when he was compelled to write by the characters speaking in his mind and an itching in his fingertips. It was as if Nursey could imagine a cloud of words around his head, and all the right ones were in front of him, ready to be plucked out and put on the page.

The times Nursey had tried to start this assignment, it was nothing like that. It was as though he had to walk a mile to find each word. He’d done it before of course; he was an English major, and he had to write all the time, inspiration or no. He would just rather put off the assignment, leave more time for an idea to come to him.

Distractedly, Nursey opened a word document and took a sip of tea from the cup on the table. He wrote a sentence, then deleted it. He felt eyes on him. He turned.

Dex was staring at Nursey, his book closed around a finger to hold his place.

“Wuh,” Nursey asked.

“You were on the phone for like 40 minutes. How is that not cold?” Dex asked, nodding at the tea.

They both looked at the cup a moment, watching steam curl up from the liquid.

“I don’t know. It’s just a thing,” Nursey answered, shrugging. He typed something else into his computer. Closer, but something was still off.

“What kind of thing?”

“Like I can just –“ Nursey waved his hand at the mug. The steam followed his fingers.

“What does that even fucking mean, Nurse? What is this?” Dex mimicked Nursey’s hand movements, his shoulders practically touching his ears.

“I don’t know! But I’ve never had a cold cup of tea.”

“Ever?”

“Yeah. Never ever.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

Dex looked at him, an eyebrow raised. Nursey opened his eyes wide and pursed his lips, shaking his head minutely, looking exasperated. He was secretly happy for the excuse to put off writing.

“Wait here.” Dex got up. Nursey had no idea where Dex thought he would go. He waited there.

Dex came back with an ice cube. Without warning or ceremony, he dropped it into Nursey’s tea. Nursey took a sip. It was warm. He shrugged.

“What the fuck.”

“You don’t have anything like that?” Nursey asked Dex.

“Like what? Impossible?”

“You know. Like, improbable things that happen a lot to you? Like my mom is super terrible at taking care of plants, but she’s never had one die.”

“Um.”

“Or Ransom says that everyone in his labs has him focus their microscopes when they have trouble, because he never turns the knobs the wrong way.”

“When did you talk to Ransom about this?”

“I don’t know, man. Things come up. Or once Lardo told me she always looks at the clock when the minutes are a multiple of 10.”

“Huh.”

Nursey finished the tea, cracked the knuckles of his thumbs, and wrote a paragraph. Three sentences. This time, he only deleted half of the last one.

“I guess I’m good at finding things.”

Nursey stopped typing and looked at Dex.

“Like – “ Dex’s ears were pink. “I’ll forget where I put something, but then as soon as I start looking for it I remember where it is.”

“Yeah, man. It’s all probability, I think. You know, like it’s super probable that you’ll remember where something is, but then the probability of you remembering where everything is when you need it your entire life is super small. But just because it’s small doesn’t mean it can’t happen.”

“Huh,” Dex said, to himself this time. Then, louder, “Like the probability of us being friends.” He smirked.

Nursey smiled back at him. “No. That was inevitable.”

The Show must go on

((Okay, so @doodledrawsthings got me interested in hell’s au, and then the subject of mortality came to be. Then @kitkat1003 wrote an amazing fic, and well… this happened)) . . . .

Dear Bendy,

I guess it wouldn’t have been long before Joey and I would kick the bucket. Who would have guessed 70 years in the studio would go by so quickly am I right?

Anyway, I guess this is just a bit of a sendoff before Joey and I take our dirt nap. If by some miracle by God you start getting a sick feeling in your stomache, excessive ink overflow, or wanting to lay in bed for all eternity and contemplate your existence, then just think of this as revenge for trying to drown me in ink on that Thursday those years ago.

So yes, surprise! People die for real here. It’s a damn slow, natural thing we do, a thing we can’t control. No one lasts forever in this world no matter how hard we try to make them last. So you’ll probably think, “Henry! You sicko! Why the hell are you so nonchalant about this?!” I won’t say anything or course, because you know, I’ll be dead.

And besides, you always said that I was a sort of moody guy. I guess you finally rubbed off on me after all these years.
But hey boss, chin up, here comes the better part. We may not last forever, but you, Boris, Alice, everyone else, you guys sure will.

Now you’re probably getting mad at Joey for making you this way right? Even I still think he’s insane for doing what he did, but after this experience I have realized some virtues in his work. Bendy, you’re a legacy. The people of this world know that one day they’re all going to die. Some like me and Joey accept it, but keep on hoping. But there are others who know it, but they’ve given up all hope. They forget how to laugh and enjoy their time here because they don’t see the point.

That’s where you and the gang come in. When Me and Joey drew you, we wanted to make you all into someone everyone would love. You’d make them laugh, cry, even get scared when you try to drown them in a flood of ink and suffering (I’m never letting this go, not over my dead body). Because what you do reminds them that despite it all, life can be fun.

Wipe that ink off your face bucko, you’re only halfway through the sentiment.

This is for Boris. In case you’re still wondering who’s a good boy, well, I’ve got the answer buddy. It was you all along.
Keep swinging that clarinet of yours like there’s no tomorrow, because you never know when someone’s gonna need some cheering up from a certain good boy. (It’s still you, you loveable pup) Don’t worry about us okay buddy? We’ll be fine. Just make sure Bendy doesn’t cause too much trouble alright?

Now for Alice, who knows, maybe you will end up as popular as Bendy some day (I said might Bendy, don’t get all huffy). In the meantime, keep those boys in line as much as you can. They need you more than they think they do. And remember to tell Boris to turn off the system after recording, no one likes hearing Wally singing “Dancin’ Queen” acapella.

And finally, we’d like to thank you all for bieng our crew. Thank you for the laughs, the pick-me-ups, the random dances, the naggy critics, even the times you tried to drown us in ink. But most importantly, thank you for bieng our legacy. You made our dreams come true, now go on and make everyone else’s do the same.

Goodbye, kiddo.

Your creators and friends,

Joey and Henry.

We’re all really close and like each other, so just through being friends with Dom, I know what she can do and her history being on the West End when she was a teenager in London. So I knew that she could sing and dance. It’s much, much worse. It’s me betraying a confidence, and being like, “Hey, remember that one time we had wine, and you said you could juggle chainsaws? Guess what. I wrote that in.” It’s not like her bragging or giving me a list of things she can do. It’s more just knowing about Dom and what she’s capable of. I did ask her on this one, “Are you comfortable doing this?” And she said, “Yes.” She’s so adorable and always so nervous, but then she totally nails it. But you know what the craziest part is? She filmed the cheerleading sequence and the singing sequence the same week. She was so exhausted. It was crazy.
—  Emily Andras on Dominique’s cheerleading and singing scenes

defenders ep. 1 sentence starters

change pronouns as necessary 

  • “you need to run.”
  • “i think you’re the man/woman we’re looking for”
  • “you know who i am?”
  • “come on, the night’s just getting started”
  • “i’m just saying, you might want to consider it”
  • “you know what your problem is?”
  • “do not say the h-word”
  • “my bad”
  • “these belong to you”
  • “as long as it worked”
  • “i’m not starting over, ____, i’m moving forward”
  • “i’m so happy for you”
  • “mind if i tell you something?”
  • it’s only going to get harder, ___”
  • “no one can give you your life back, ___. you have … you gotta take it back”
  • “are you going to talk to me about whatever’s on your mind?”
  • “you were screaming. again.”
  • “i’m fine”
  • “i think we have different understandings of the word fine”
  • “i’m giving you my professional opinion”
  • “should we get that coffee?”
  • “you got potential”
  • “i can’t remember the last time i hand-wrote a letter”
  • “whatever’s going on in ___, i’m going to find out”
  • “the only thing you need to worry about is you”
  • “i just wanna help people”
  • “do you wish you’d kept your secret to yourself?”
  • “do you miss it? the suit?”
  • “i’m trying”
  • “we are not doing that thing where you come in here like you live here”
  • “you gave me a key”
  • “don’t read over my shoulder”
  • “bet you loved that, didn’t you?”
  • “who the hell uses pay phones anymore?”
  • “i want my key back”
  • “i wish it was that easy”
  • “i think she’d be happy about how well you’re doing”
  • “or maybe she’d tell me that i’m abandoning that life”
  • “there’s nothing wrong with letting people go”
  • “things seem to be going okay”
  • “listen… i can help you”
  • “you could trust me”
  • “i think you should go”
  • “it’s too late for heroes”
  • “hero’s your word. not mine”
Black Consciousness presupposes self-love; self-love presupposes reflecting on being passed over in relationships

Note from BW of Brazil:

Well I must say that it is now getting interesting! What I’m speaking on is an increasing number of Afro-Brazilians, normally women, but increasingly men, who are questioning how romantic choices are made, what certain choices say about the black community as a whole and the effect on how Afro-Brazilians relate to each other. The issue goes far beyond the common question of how it seems some black men and women choose partners of another race and enters into the sphere of simply love, support and unity among black people. Is there a problem here or are people simply making a bigger deal out of this than is necessary? I ask this question as I am increasingly reading material online suggesting that there is a peaking fissure between black men and women in both Brazil and the United States. I’ve been thinking about this for many years and today I read a post by my friend Daniela whose shared a recent personal incident that touched on another angle of the lack of unity between black men and women.

Note cont.
 
Daniela is a black Brazilian woman but the incident took place in Austin, Texas, in the United States. Having grown up in the US, I can honestly say that just 10 years ago, most black men wouldn’t have sided with a white man over a black woman who felt offended by the actions of that white man. The incident has nothing to do with a romantic relationship but it does fit into the ongoing discussion because it approaches the issue of how black men see black women and begs some basic questions. Do we have each other’s backs? Are we in this together? Do we have any unity? Or are we slowly being conquered by a discourse that says “we’re all equal” in terms of race, color and solidarity? As I’ve argued before, Brazil has been there for years, but we are increasingly seeing this idea becoming stronger in the US. With that said written, I must again ask, in what direction are we going black people?

Black Consciousness presupposes self-love; self-love presupposes reflecting on being passed over in relationships


Among so many themes we could write together, and they’re not few, we decided to revisit a thorny subject. Every time a new text appears on the issue of the black woman’s affective loneliness, the black side of the internet goes into a rampage. Black men, in their vast majority, run to say that black women are also palmiteiras, or else to reinforce that they are not palmiteiros. Not to mention the discourse that love has no color. But if it does not, if the diagnosis that black women experience loneliness in a brutal way is a fallacy, how could Ana Clara Pacheco even write a doctoral thesis addressing this topic?

By Winnie Bueno and Caio César 


The social passing over of which black women are targets is not restricted to the labor market alone, they expand to all spheres of society, including in the affective sphere. We have already written about these issues relentlessly. But it’s little. The narratives about the deep feeling of loneliness among black women don’t diminish, on the contrary, it seems, although we are increasing our possibilities to recognize ourselves as subjects, distancing ourselves from the logic that Frantz Fanon explains in Pele Negra, Máscaras Brancas (Black Skin, White Masks) that approaches the connection of citizenship with the performances of whiteness on the part of the black population, even with the strengthening of the black racial identities, nevertheless, black women continue dealing with the feeling of insufficiency.

The idea of this text is to bring a hybrid approach, in which it is possible in a single writing to reflect on the consequences of affective loneliness for blackness in a broad way. It’s necessary to say that affective solitude is not restricted to the passing over of the black women in the affective relationships of the dating and marriage type. The socio-cultural aspect of this question goes beyond the private of the relationships. And that’s where we want to start this dialogue. 

I believe that addressing the subject of loneliness is speaking directly, also, to black men. Talking about how much these men can love and be loved. And understand that this passes, first, through loving oneself, your culture, your people. It goes through understanding imposed masculinity, the stigmas and the stereotypes. Every masculinity that the world imposes on men falls even more heavily on black men. The necessity of being strong, hard, rigid all the time. Not showing emotions, or weakness or feelings. And this reflects also in loving relationships. On how treatment is given between men and women, especially black women. Add to this the construction of the black man’s image as a threat by international society.

Homens negros (black men) are the image of the enemy, that that is regarded as a voracious, uncontrollable animal, which, if not controlled by the coercive force of the state, can at any moment unleash their natural violence (see note one). The idea that these men need to be isolated from society so that it is protected is the projection of a discourse that has such an ideological force that even blackness is conditioned to perpetuate these ideas. Therefore, the deconstruction of this ideology between us is fundamental. Branquitude (whiteness), the media, the white social structure will not do this, it maintains itself from these assumptions and draws power from them. Of them there is not much to expect, but among us, it is possible to potentiate these reflections, talk about them and reduce their impacts on our social relations. 

The solidão da mulher negra (solitude/loneliness of the black woman inevitably passes through the way men see themselves within society and within relationships. All the imposed roles, the social rules, everything, everything counts on how we act next to a woman. Bringing a racial perspective, I have always observed how romanticism didn’t belong to black men. This was like showing weakness, being less of a man. I remember liking to write letters, I remember the other boys saying that this was not a coisa de homem (man thing). It was as if this was denied to me, love was denied me. I remember hearing countless times that “homens negros não são românticos” (black men are not romantic) and things like that. And that is one of the most rigid molds in the male world. Romanticism, the romantic lyric, is absolutely European. It doesn’t match the patterns of bestiality that these same Western standards relegate to black masculinity.

Caio remembers the letters he liked to write. Winnie remembers the letters she would like to have received and never received. While the meninas brancas (white girls), back in high school, were getting pretty notes, Winnie helped the boys demonstrate their interests. She wrote in the letters that were sent to her colleagues, that which she would like to read. The discovery of sexual and affective interests in school age, the narratives of mulheres negras (black women) about their being passed over in this environment, shows that from an early age we have the construction of an image about black women that fixes their social roles in sexual-affective relations. As servants, to serve in domestic activities, to serve fetishized sexual desires, but never to build solid relationships, after all, they are bodies without minds, in the words of bell hooks.

This idea, of a mindless body, is what underlies a series of patterns about relationships. And it is also what constitutes the phenomenon of palmitagem, these men who are constantly described as threats imprint on their unconscious that the affection of a white woman consensually destroys this paradigm. We know, therefore, that not only does it not eliminate it, it strengthens the contexts that represent black women as bodies-objects whose affection is not necessary. After all, if not even their equals are able to bond with these women, how will others do it? 


When you add this to an imposed standard beauty, we may have the least notion of why black women are so abused. Black men taught that demonstrations of feeling are weaknesses; taught that relating to white women brings them a higher status in society, more value and respect among friends. Men, who for not seeing value in black women, deny themselves the demonstrations of feeling. Because loneliness is not only the absence of someone at your side, but also the devaluation of those who say they love us. It is also the one without the use of derogatory jokes, about hair, hips and moodiness. Homens negros que, ao odiarem mulheres negras, odeiam a si mesmos (black men who, hating black women, hate themselves). In this constant is that the social ascension of the black man connects itself with the choice of a white partner, even though of an inferior financial status. Obvious that this phenomenon in Brazil occurs in a mitigated way, the social ascent of black men is insignificant, it occurs almost exclusively from the same means. But to make invisible (the fact) that black men who achieve some social prestige, even if it is hypocritical, since whiteness does not recognize this prestige in a total way, whether in the midst of entertainment or in the academic world, give almost exclusive preference to relating to white women would be, at the least, dishonest.

The affectionate loneliness of the black woman expands. The permanent feeling of solitude is common for black women, to the point of being a constant. We know that we are meant for emotional solitude, yet we are at a time when strategies are being built among black women themselves to overcome the anguish of loneliness. Other forms of affection that are not based on these historical repetitions, but this is a conversation for another text.

The key here is to try, once again, insistently, to talk about the need for mutual recognition, for ways of achieving self-love between us and upon us. The full appreciation of your equal, the consolidation of forms of love that establish themselves from the possibility of affection by the feeling of affection, and only for that. An affection in which the appreciation of negritude is possible. Loving not for interest, not for being with someone who gives us, before society, a value that is empowering of our wills as subjects, of all of them. Love for love of ourselves. Love for self-love. 


Source: Medium.com / @winniebueno

Note: Examples of this stereotype are numerous in Brazil as well as on a global level. For examples in terms of representations in Brazil’s media 

via: blackwomenofbrazil.co/2017/01/30/black-consciousness-presupposes-self-love-self-love-presupposes-reflecting-on-being-passed-over-in-relationships

Just a game pt 8

When a college reunion takes an unusual turn, the reader finds herself amidst a game of truth or dare not knowing that at the declaration of dare would change her life into a spiral of trouble with the mysterious clown that lives in the sewers. Now her thoughts and dreams are haunted by him and she knows he loves to play…

…Pennywise is unforgiving once he’s started and the reader realises her body may not be able to handle the sheer strength of this being. But it doesn’t appear that he is going to let up anytime soon…


Ayyyyy I’m writing really late tonight again but the latest I’ve ever started. But hey, anything for my audience. Speaking of audience, there’s over a thousand of you!!! What the heck I’m so humbled that there’s a thousand of you who would follow me c,: Thank you so much everyone ❤❤ as always, if you wanna be tagged in future works then let me know via dms!

If you aren’t a fan then w ha t are you doing here? Go find some d a n k It memes or something idk. I’m keeping out of the main It movie tags.

He was merciless from the get go. His hips smashed into the back of your thighs to produce an obscene slapping sound that was the only sound in the room. That was except for your cries and sobs that you were unsure if they were because it burned or because it felt so good that you were struggling to handle how you felt.

It was mainly a shocking painful stretch at first for Pennywise had simply thrust inside your cunt right to the hilt. He didn’t move for a moment as your slick, tight walls clung tightly around his cock, a sensation he had probably never felt in the time he had been in existence so he was simply taking his time to really feel. But then he was withdrawing from your body, the hooked tip dragging along your cunt slowly, before snapping his hips back with a growl. You had let out a cry and he giggled roughly, thrusting harder to make you squeal again.

Now you were in a constant state of euphoria, the amount of near orgasms that had been denied was completely unbearable, your body trembling and twitching every time his thumb would swipe your clit and his large cock would hit your g-spot over and over. But he knew whenever you were close, not just by the way your body reacted but also by smell. You sweetened when you were about to reach your orgasmic release so he would grunt and remove his thumb to grasp onto your hips and thrust faster, his own release bubbling.

The first time he had orgasmed his drool dropped thickly all over your body as he roared, an inhumane sound that had you quivering in fear because it was so frightening. He had been sure to be inside of you to the hilt whilst his hot cum pulsed inside of you, bubbling thickly around as it shot inside of you. There was more of the thick goop than there was room in your pussy to accommodate so it squirted out of you around his cock and onto the sheets below your ass. He had laughed gruffly as his chest rose and fell in post orgasmic pleasure but he was soon recovering and picking up his pace again.

You had lost count how many times he had released inside of you and cut off your build up to an orgasm. He would giggle every time and you knew he would stop his pleasuring of your body and a fresh set of tears would roll down your cheeks, only mere whimpers passing through your lips. You were aching and exhausted but his energy seemed to have no end, your session having lasted what seemed like an eternity of pleasure. Your clit was extremely sensitive and swollen, almost painful from the constant rubs of his gloved fingers and your inner walls were raw and tingly from the large spurts of cum and the taking of the hooked tip. Maybe this was his way of killing you, to fuck you until you were so far gone that he was able to end you so easily. By now your vision was dark around the edges as unconsciousness threatened to take you as well.

“P-please, let me cum.” You were barely able to croak at him. He shoved himself fully and leaned down to you, a sly grin across his lips.

“Awww, you’re still going without a single orgasm. I told you I would ruin you. Although, you’re not completely gone…” He trailed off. And then his sly grin curled into something even more malicious, his brows furrowed to the extreme and his eyes glowing gold with a ring of red. “Say, you wanna come, huh?” He asked roughly, his breaths were uneven and his saliva dripped onto your lips. You exhaled and hiccuped, you lips parting slightly as silent tears rolled.

“Please…!” You simply begged tiredly. The clown cackled and sat up straight. The glint in his eye was worse than anything you’d ever imagined, and you bit your lip. Pennywise pressed his thumb to your clit and you moaned as a mix of pain and pleasure stung your nerves. And then he was thrusting again, his speed blinding and near enough paralyzing. Your eyes rolled backwards into your skull as his thumb began to flick and circle in time of his hips and soon you felt it again, the orgasm hastily approaching but now you weren’t sure if you wanted to feel. Your body was too sensitive and deprived that you were sure you’d shatter like glass if this orgasm hit. Your eyes snapped back into place and you met his intense gaze with terror

“N-no wait! Please no!” You screamed but it was too late; your whole body violently seized up and then began to writhe and arch, a loud moaning scream ripping through your throat. This was by far the most intense and almost painful orgasm you’d been forced to experience, and it never seemed to end. His thumb flicked faster and his cock pinned into your sensitive spot until the world seemed to brighten to white, Pennywise’s giggles and taunts mocking you as you entered oblivion with one last jab of forced pleasure and then there was nothing, just darkness. You were gone, your consciousness pulled away.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Everything was sticky you noticed when you awoke from a blank dream. Your whole body seemed to slightly burn as though you’d spent the entire day in the gym repeating everything over and over until you’d passed out. But you’d been to no gym, at least not lately, so why were you so achy?

As you attempted to close your strangely parted legs a shot of pain stabbed into your stomach and you groaned, instantly forgetting to try again. And then you gasped, eyes wide in horror. You remembered everything. Your eyes flicked around the room catiously for any sign of the dark clown but you were able to sigh in relief for there was not even a single thread to indicate he was still there. But you knew it had been no dream, no, the slick cum on the bed and slowly leaking from your painfully gaping cunt and the many bites and scratches littering your body were clear signs that yes you had engaged in sexual intercourse with him and that he was gone.

You tried to move again but your body protested overwhelmingly, the aches and pains turning worse if you moved too much. That clown really had no limits when he toyed with you, experiencing pleasure for the first time in the process and now he was gone completely! Not even a cheesy comment to say good bye or him waiting for you. The thought made your heart ache that he would simply do that to you, but then you remembered he was a non-feeling monster who wanted to play with his food and feast on their fear. But then you felt a piece of paper under your left hand and you carefully lifted if up to see what it was. Your body flinched at the scarlet lettering, your mind considering it to be blood rather than ink. But you read it even so,


Little one, your orgasmic face was the best thing I’ve ever witnessed in all of the time I’ve been here, and when you lost consciousness I knew I wanted this again.


You knew it was Pennywise who’d wrote the letter and it made you shudder and drop the note on the floor. You couldn’t go through that again, you swore you were so close to death that surely next time you’d truly fall into a permanent slumber as your body failed to handle the intense stimulation and never wake up again. You could imagine it now on your gravestone; (y/n), death by intense pleasure. You didn’t want that, you knew it was time to leave Derry while you still had the chance.

It was good half an hour before you were able to sit up slowly and push off the ruined bed, your destination being the bathroom. You needed to scrub clean before facing anyone from the outside world again. The shower was a painful and slow process as you bathed your wounds and carefully washed out cum from your body. Forty-five minutes later and you were wrapped in a warm, fluffy towel and stumbling over to the old dresser to grab some sweats and a long sleeved jumper, turning to the chest of drawers to get a set of underwear too. It hurt to slowly pull the panties up but you felt better wearing them.

Once dressed, you turned to the bed and prepared to strip it but something caught your eye, something that had been placed on your pillow. Biting your lip, you slowly approached it and your eyes widened, along with the piece of paper there was a simple piece of black elasticated string short enough to be a choker and a single, battered and worn bell hung from the centre of it. With a shaky hand, you picked it up. And to your horror there was another note, a smaller one.


Here, something to remind you that you’re mine.


Your eyes were wide as they flicked back to the choker. This wasn’t any old bell, no, this was from his suit directly. You knew you weren’t your own anymore.

=====================================

I’m so tired, I’ve never written so late. I hope it won’t happen again tomorrow. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, the smut was cut off but I couldn’t be bothered with the details. Stay tuned for part 9 tomorrow at a better time!

Tags: @cupcakeatl @kurai-ai @kaylees1414 @perfect-ginger-maniac @deaths-maiden @knaivity @littleroserh @oh-my-gerd @bgt1387 @kiss-my-assbut @negan1993 @mister-babado0k

why this scene is so wonderful

I was looking for metas about this scene, but I couldn’t find anything, so decided to say several words myself.

Firstly, I made one gifset and captioned it as glare of death and people wrote that Bucky looks like he’s about to cry or has already cried. Tbh, I think it’s both. Great thing about this scene, to my mind, is not if he’s feeling anger or pain, but the fact that he’s definetely feeling something here!

As I remember, we only see two moments where Bucky is feeling something. First one is this:

Here, he’s angry af. Before this moment, we see hydra agents shooting wildly, but WS is calm, he casually walks and shoots for like two or three times only. But when Nat breaks his glasses(sorry, don’t know what they’re called), he becomes crazy and starts shooting without aiming properly. He feels anger and frustration.

Second one is a bit of confusion and hesitation:

(not my gif)

Throughout the whole movie, what catches our eyes is how calm ws is. He isn’t running, he never is in a hurry. Of course, he kills people, fights like an assassin, but he is always laid-back and really relaxed.

But in the final scenes, he acts like a crazy. WS’ actions are so brutal. Although he is sent to missions to kill people, I don’t think that winter soldier is allowed to make them personal. I mean that he must finish the missions succesfully, but he must know show his personal attitude towards it.

But here

He slaughters hydra/shield agents in a way that is screams to be really personal to me. He freaking shot that pilot and didn’t even care to throw away the body. He’s just to eager to get to Steve. Yes, it is his mission, but so was that causeway scene and his actions in these situations are so different from each other.

Considering all of these, I believe that in that scene he is not unemotional. WS is about to finish his missions, not only because hydra ordered him, but because Steve makes him feel things that causes him pain and confusion and uncertainity.

Is he angry? Yes. Is he ] eager to kill Steve in the most brutal way? Hell, yes. Is he also feeling pain? He IS! I think that he’s torn between too many emotions and that reflects in his eyes. They are deadly, but at the same time a bit red and look like he’s gonna cry.

To be sure I have to look once again at this moment:

He looks so childish and it feels like he’s suffering. But then:

See how he narrows his eyes for a second? Yes, he’s in misery, but that eye narrowing thing also tells me that WS is also furious and wants to visiously kill his oponent.

P.S. Please, add your thoughts ‘cause I’m so interested in the interpretation of this scene.