#...nO

[incomingalbatross]

One of the things that’s really struck me while rereading the Lord of the Rings--knowing much more about Tolkien than I did the last time I read it--is how individual a story it is.

We tend to think of it as a genre story now, I think--because it’s so good, and so unprecedented, that Tolkien accidentally inspired a whole new fantasy culture, which is kind of hilarious. Wanting to “write like Tolkien,” I think, is generally seen as “writing an Epic Fantasy Universe with invented races and geography and history and languages, world-saving quests and dragons and kings.” But... But...

Here’s the thing. I don’t think those elements are at all what make The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings so good. Because I’m realizing, as I did not realize when I was a kid, that Tolkien didn’t use those elements because they’re somehow inherently better than other things. He used them purely because they were what he liked and what he knew.

The Shire exists because he was an Englishman who partially grew up in, and loved, the British countryside, and Hobbits are born out of his very English, very traditionalist values. Tom Bombadil was one of his kids’ toys that he had already invented stories about and then incorporated into Middle-Earth. He wrote about elves and dwarves because he knew elves and dwarves from the old literature/mythology that he’d made his career. The Rohirrim are an expression of the ancient cultures he studied. There are a half-dozen invented languages in Middle-Earth because he was a linguist. The themes of war and loss and corruption were important to him, and were things he knew intimately, because of the point in history during which he lived; and all the morality of the stories, the grace and humility and hope-in-despair, was an expression of his Catholic faith. 

J. R. R. Tolkien created an incredible, beautiful, unparalleled world not specifically by writing about elves and dwarves and linguistics, but by embracing all of his strengths and loves and all the things he best understood, and writing about them with all of his skill and talent. The fact that those things happened to be elves and dwarves and linguistics is what makes Middle-Earth Middle-Earth; but it is not what makes Middle-Earth good.

What makes it good is that every element that went into it was an element J. R. R. Tolkien knew and loved and understood. He brought it out of his scholarship and hobbies and life experience and ideals, and he wrote the story no one else could have written... And did it so well that other people have been trying to write it ever since.

So... I think, if we really want to write like Tolkien (as I do), we shouldn’t specifically be trying to write like linguists, or historical experts, or veterans, or or or... We should try to write like people who’ve gathered all their favorite and most important things together, and are playing with the stuff those things are made of just for the joy of it. We need to write like ourselves.

[chandoo]

[poivrier]

I am myth and legend!

[persona-5-textposts]

[h-older]

Parece que todo o amor que ofereço para você não é o suficiente, mesmo que infinito.

Martin

[dumbass-effect]

[withyook]

sungjae for singles magazine

[julie-su]

WHY AM I LAUGHING SO HARD

[tetsvya]

cw: rusty writing, not properly edited, reader is very upset, tsukishima doesn’t know how to comfort ppl, possibly ooc

As Tsukishima Kei maneuvers his way through one of the less frequented courtyards of the school, he comes to a stop when he notices you sitting on a bench by yourself, head hung low. To somebody else, it probably would've seemed like you were simply enjoying some alone time during your break. But Tsukishima knows you, and he's always been really good at reading you, ever since the two of you were kids. So he knows the tale-tell signs of when you're upset, and right now, every single one of them is as clear as day to him. It makes him contemplate making his way over to you. If it were anyone else, Tsukishima’s sure he would have simply walked past them without batting an eye. But it wasn't just anyone.

It was you. And you've always been different.

You're precious to him, like Yamaguchi. Someone he considers a close friend deep down, no matter what he portrays it as on the surface. But there are certain things he feels for you that he doesn't feel for Yamaguchi, whether he likes to admit it or not. And those are the things that have him trekking through the dewy grass and crossing the courtyard in a few long strides. He comes to a stop just before the bench you're sitting on, but you don't seem to notice. He clears his throat to announce his presence.

"Mind if I sit here?"

Your head snaps up, and you resemble a wild deer caught in the blinding headlights of a car when your gaze meets his. You're quick to turn your head to the side, hands flying up to hastily wipe at your tears. It doesn't really matter though, he's already seen them. You seem to realize that too as your hands slowly slip away from your face, falling into your lap as your shoulders hunch. You still refuse to meet his eyes.

Your voice wobbles as you speak, "Yeah, go ahead."

He silently settles down into the spot beside you, making sure to put a good few inches of space in between the two of you. He sets his backpack on the ground beside his feet before leaning back into the bench, his hands resting on either side of him. Apart from the occasional sniffle you try desperately to hide and he pretends not to hear, a silence settles over the two of you.

Tsukishima would like to say that it was a comfortable silence, the type of silence you'd need to feel better. But then he'd be lying, and he's never really been one to lie.

And he's also never been one to comfort others. So that's why you two sit in a thick, uncomfortable silence as he tries to rack his brain for something to say. He comes to the conclusion that there really isn't anything for him to say, not when he doesn't even know why you're so upset in the first place. He could ask what's wrong, but even if he did, it's not like he'd suddenly know the magic words to make you feel better. He could tell you that everything was going to be okay, but who was he to say that? Besides, he's never been a big fan of hearing those so called "comforting words" while he himself was upset, so he doubts they’d be any real comfort to you.

Suddenly, he's struck with an idea, and as he spares you another glance, he figures it's worth a shot. Sliding his hand into the right pocket of his trousers, he fishes his phone out. Unbeknownst to him, you glance at him through the corner of your eye, watching for a moment as he fumbles with something. Frowning, you’re quick to avert your gaze away from him. A few more moments of silence pass over the two of you before he's clearing his throat and thrusting something out to you.

Blinking, you crane your head to the side, finding his outstretched hand holding an earbud out to you.

Hesitating, your gaze flitters upwards, until your eyes are meeting his. He simply raises an eyebrow. You reach out then, gingerly taking the earbud from his fingers. Your fingertips brush against his as you do so, and while he's sure you don't even pick up on the slight touch, it sends his stomach into an uncomfortable fit of what some might call butterflies (he thinks a nuisance is a better phrase for it). You slip the bud into your right ear before you're silently turning away from him once more. Tsukishima watches you for a moment longer before he's directing his gaze back down to his phone. He slowly begins to scroll through his dozens of playlists, in search of one that he thinks would lift your mood.

He suddenly stops, thumb hovering over a certain private playlist that nobody but him has ever had the pleasure of hearing. Embarrassingly enough, it's titled after you, and despite him constantly telling you that your taste in music was the most unpleasant thing he's ever heard, it's filled with dozens of songs you've recommended to him that he's found himself enjoying. He hesitates, aware that by playing this for you, his secret will be out of the bag and he's bound to receive an insufferable amount of teasing from you. But then he thinks of your puffy red eyes, and he decides he'd rather much see that irritating smirk of yours far more than that melancholy frown he caught a glimpse of earlier.

His thumb presses down on the green play button and not even a moment later, music flows into his left ear.

The familiar tune of a song he vividly remembers you saying you loved plays quietly, and he watches you for any sort of reaction. There is none. He continues to silently wait, discreetly eying you out of the corner of his eye every now and then, but even as the first song fades out and the second one begins, you remain unmoving, face blank as you peer ahead. He frowns at the sight. If you're passing up the chance to poke fun at him, then something must be really wrong. And worst of all, he is officially out of ideas on how to console you. How stupid was he to think that music could help you like it helps him? You were nothing like him. Not in his eyes, at least.

Maybe he should have gone and found Yamaguchi instead. While Tsukki had always been the one to figure out that you were upset, Yamaguchi was usually the one who would comfort you. He'd always been a much better fit for the job. Or perhaps Yachi. The two of you had been quite close since first year. Hell, even that annoying, orange-haired pipsqueak could've done a better job than him, Tsukishima can't help but bitterly think.

Anyone would be better than him.

The sudden thought of sneakily sending Yamaguchi a text instructing him to come meet the two of you crosses his mind, but before he can reach for his phone again, something brushes against the side of his left hand that is still resting on the bench. He pauses, blinking once or twice before he's slowly craning his head downwards. Golden eyes zone in on the way your pinkie finger gently nudges against his before they’re slowly interlocked by you. He blinks down at your intertwined pinkies before he turns to look at you, but you're still not facing him. Your lips part, however, and your voice is soft as you speak.

"Thank you, Tsukki."

Your eyes finally meet his then, and Tsukishima's heart skips a beat when you offer him a ghost of a smile. It's not quite as bright as the one he's used to seeing, but it'll suffice for now. Blinking, it's he who turns away from you this time in a cheap attempt of hiding the way a deep crimson is starting to blossom across his cheeks.

Yeah, you were very precious to him.

"Anytime."

[uhohgottashreep]

something about etho being a 6'2 stick thin just-a-guy who has nosebleeds when he drinks pop and can't tell directions or pronounce half the words he uses...

[softmushroombaby]

Do you just have a folder of sad/distressed cat reaction images

[jiofreed]

[icekirbys]

long hair crowley got me thinking about long hair zira so here’s a dooble

[image description: sketch of aziraphale from good omens. he has chin length curly hair, partly pulled back into a bun]

[arianeoakenshield]

BOTFA - New TV Spot 'King'

[middleofnever]

[bialvindraper]

Taylor Swift for Rolling Stone Magazine (2012)