#so it’s like I know where it stems from

[skyenish]

Seventeen - Heathers | Scarabia animatic 🐍☀️

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I love thinking about what JamiKali’s dynamic would’ve been if things had gone differently. I feel like both Jamil’s and Kalim’s personalities would really shine in ways we haven’t seen before of them (though maybe later, who knows! There going through a lot of development in the main story so here’s to hoping 🤞)

Ramblings/analysis under the cut

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This song, Seventeen, speaks of a desire to JUST be seventeen years old, to be normal, to not have damage and scars dictate all you are. I found this song very fitting with Jamil and Kalim, because they’re seventeen, but neither had the opportunity to ever just be normal teenagers. They’ve both gone through a lot, they’re “damaged”, but that doesn’t make them wise, or special, or different. They’re still just teenagers, not yet emotionally developed, young, and not capable of carrying so much weight on their shoulders. The line “we don’t choose who lives or dies” I find particularly applies well to Jamil’s whole, ahum, incident, but also in general to Jamil’s desire to be in control of things (which of course stems from his desire to be in control of his own life, so one could argue that he wants to be in control of whether he lives or dies).

Sometimes I feel we tend to forget how young the twst characters are. Even Leona, sitting at 20 years old, I’d consider relatively young, which just makes everything they go through that much sadder. They’re so young, and though there will never really be an age where it’s easy to handle this sort of stuff, as a teenager it’s even harder because life is already so complicated and difficult for them (speaking as if I’m not a teen myself lol).

Kalim in this song/animatic pleads to just be normal, to do normal teenage things, to set aside all the complicated feelings that have been bubbling under the surface for both of them, all the stupid things their lives have thrown at them, and to just be seventeen. Not the Housewarden and Vice-Housewarden, not Master and Servant, not an Asim and a Viper, but just Jamil and Kalim, just two seventeen year old boys.

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Soooo it’s been a month… I promise I’m not dead and I also haven’t lost interest in twst, I’ve just been hyperfixating on other things, plus I’ve been really busy with school. Drawing can be really hard sometimes :(

I kinda pulled a Wiege (Alien Stage) by including some weird AU of some sorts huh! What a fun episode Wiege was, I totally didn’t sob violently! Also!!! The Scarabia manga has FINALLY released and its so cool!!! Well worth the way. The new Yuu is a Gyaru, and she’s so cool! I had my doubts on the artist they chose, but honesty they really delivered, I’m really happy with how the manga looks :)

[no0dlru]

Read this post a couple days ago, and this morning I woke up from a dream where Mr Spock took me to a room for a word in private, where he proceeded to tell me pon farr was fast approaching for him. I was like oh shit, is he hitting on me? Then he asked me to discreetly prepare a room where he could stay throughout the pon farr, and when I said I would he was like "thank you, ensign". And I was like woah, ensign? I'm joining starfleet?

And it sunk in that I was indeed on the Enterprise (I had wondered at the beginning of the dream why everything looked so groovy), and that Mr. Spock had indeed just been politely asking me to do my job as an ensign (I think I was in engineering?), and I was just so stunned. I left the room thinking, okay, I don't actually know anything about the layout of this place or where to set things up for him, and I don't remember how I got here so maybe I should go to sickbay. But boy was I excited to be a woman in stem! (I had been initially flustered about the pon farr stuff too but I woke up on my period so that explains that)

like a solid 60% of weird fandom tropes were invented by women who needed slightly more avant garde ways to fuck spock.... wanting to fuck spock is in many ways a load bearing pillar of fandom like if u took it away the source code would just break theres like a molecule of wanting to fuck spock or reaction to everyone wanting to fuck spock within the heart of fanfic all fanfiction is about wanting to fuck spock except fanfic about wanting to fuck spock which is about women in stem

[lunar-years]

It's really interesting how Peeta's quiet rebellion in the first games is kind of completely overlooked by everyone, right down to President Snow, while Katniss emerges as The Singular Target. To the extent that by the end of the book when they meet Snow, Katniss can tell right away that only she is to blame for the berry trick, whereas Peeta is quickly dismissed and then for a long time, an afterthought,

Like, yes, the berry trick was Katniss' idea, but it comes to her straight from Peeta's rhetoric!! "They have to have a Victor, Katniss" and before that on the cornucopia, when Katniss asks him why they won't just let Cato die already and Peeta responds "you know why." Like...both statements are vague enough to maybe not seem of any big concern to the Capitol, but Katniss is directly picking up on the undercurrent of his words. And you can't convince me that by the time they actually go to put the berries in their mouths, Peeta isn't fully aware of the same thing Katniss is: the Capitol won't let them both die. They need their Victor, or it falls apart. Yet to Snow and the Capitol, they truly believe Peeta is just a lovestruck idiot carrying out a double suicide so they can be together forever, Romeo & Juliet style. Whereas Katniss, in their POV, is doing it out of direct malice towards the Capitol, not love for Peeta. Even Haymitch doesn't let Katniss and Peeta talk afterwards and only tells Katniss the reality of the situation in the Capitol because he thinks that if Peeta finds out the truth he'll get too upset or won't be able to handle it and things will blow up.

This is after an entire Games where Peeta has been doing something that I have to imagine is pretty unprecedented, and definitely in contradiction to the entire mindset of the Games, which that he neglects his own self preservation instincts and safety to protect and save Katniss. He's kind of playing the Capitol the whole time, because right from the beginning he's refusing to participate in the inherent selfishness and division they try to sow in the Games. And he's doing so in ways he can easily get away, because Snow and by extension the Capitol don't see love as anything other than a form of weakness.

And I'm not trying to say that Peeta is this mastermind deliberately plotting intentional rebellion from page one, because yeah, his actions are largely purely driven by love for Katniss. But the thing the Capitol can't understand is that for Peeta, that love has always been inseparable from rebellion. One necessities and fuels the other. The paragraph Katniss spends lamenting on how horrified Peeta would probably be if he heard the way she and Gale talk about the Capitol in the woods is almost laughable as a reader, because girl, Peeta would absolutely be right there with you. Meanwhile, Katniss is shocked at herself when she so much as thinks the word 'murder' for the first time in relation to a death in the Games. It's just fascinating!

And again, that's not to say Katniss isn't also very much rebellious, especially as the narrative goes forward, but what's key is that her rebellion also stems out of love, and it strengthens over the course of the books as her love strengthens. Her first act of rebellion is volunteering out of love for her sister. And then slowly, her mindset in the game evolves from pure survival as she comes to love Rue, then Peeta. In nearly every case it's love that prompts further rebellion. The Capitol just can't see it because they can tell the star-crossed lovers narrative is on her end, but not Peeta's, a ruse. That's why Katniss is singled out as a threat and Peeta isn't. And by the time the Capitol/Snow realizes the love is reciprocated and that Peeta is the key weapon to use against Katniss, the love is already so deeply rooted that nothing can stop the rebellion that follows.

[shiregoth]

came across this tiktok and had Thots TM. is this anything?

potter!eddie x fem!reader, no y/n, canon compliant so mentions of post!upside down recovery, but mostly tooth-rotting fluff with a bit of steam, 18+

wc: 840

eddie's good at working with his hands; always has been. it's no different now, as he works malleable clay through fingers just regaining their strength. you follow the line from their hypnotizing movement over his wrists up his arms, noting scar tissue over and between beloved ink. you trace along it even where they're covered by his shirt; where you know his skin is deathly white in large patches still, impacting muscles just slowly growing back to their proper function.

he's come so far since that crappy summer of '86, when he'd been mostly chained to a hospital bed and all the hush money from the government couldn't get him any closer to his dreams. sweetheart sits in your lap now, a little battered and dusty, but getting played semi-regularly again. you've never been much good at it, but you can fiddle well enough to restring and tune her; that much, at least, you can do for eddie, now that he's started practicing daily again. the talent, the skill is still there - only the body has trouble keeping up. the pottery helped; a doctor had suggested it as a way to loosen his finger and arm muscles, training that won't lead to cramps and anger and breakdowns. it's good for him; despite the initial reluctance, it brings him peace.

it brings you peace, too. from where you're lounging across the bed, your gaze travels up across his collar bones, up his focused face with bangs slightly matted across his forehead, curls up in a bun. you smile at your boy, so unusually soft in his concentration. can't keep it in any longer. "you're beautiful."

a blush creeps up his cheeks to his ears, the same speed as the grin creeps over your face. big brown eyes meet yours, slightly bashful, very adoring, carrying a glint you almost feared he lost. before you can say anything else, one of his hands dips into the bowl of water next to him to flick some towards your face. fake outrage quickly follows your surprise at his deflection - "and how dare you, good sir?" - before gently laying the guitar by your side on the bed.

"unprovoked attacks!" eyes and mouth go comically round; you stem your fists on your hips for added effect. "that's the thanks i get!"

eddie can hardly contain his snort at your act. concentration now broken, the cast on his potter's wheel looses shape; squeaking as the rotations slowly come to a stop and he turns half towards you. "yeah?" without looking, he fishes for a towel to dry off his hands, with middling success. "and what'cher gonna do about it?"

you make a go for the towel but he yanks it out of your reach, getting you close enough to grab your wrist, pull you into him with sudden strength and nimble fingers.

those nimble fingers spread in your hair, spear in your cunt. you cling to his shoulders, face in his neck, keening softly at every movement. "that's it, baby," he says, and you can feel the satisfied smile against your skin. your hips cant into his hand, pressing it down into his own crotch, creating friction for the both of you. eddie swallows a low moan, huffs. your very favorite song.

you'd sell your soul to keep hearing it.

one of your hands travels down, moves along with him in your rhythm, while one of his moves your head so he can look at you, kiss you, devour you fully. his tongue moves in time with his thumb on your clit, once, twice, three more times before you unspool like loose wire. ecstatic shudders; then you melt, boneless, malleable like his clay. eddie's fingers slip out of you but stay down, wrap around your hand wrapped around his cock. not changing your pace, just holding on; moving together. his head tilts back, eyes shut, and you can't decide what you'd rather sink your teeth into - the skin of his exposed neck, or his quivering bottom lip.

you choose the former, nipping and licking while your hand still works him between you, feeling the vibrations of his growl under your lips. your thumb flicks across his head, spreading precum in a messy pattern down his cock, and the noise eddie makes his heavenly. you play him like he does the strings of his guitar - slowly, this time, but not any less wonderful than any time before. there's so many ways to make music still.

a few strokes, another kiss, and he's coming between you. his beautiful eyes glow when they find their way back to you. you'll worry about the mess later; right now, time feels soft and fluid and sticky in the best way. you lazily pick a sprinkle of clay out of his hair, and eddie's grin spills into a giggle. his arms wrap around you, kneading softly at your hips, moulding you to him. he traces patterns into your back. you hum disjointed melodies into his neck. in the watery afternoon sunlight, a future is shaped.

[zourrystylinson]

28th february fic rec!

so very excited for the 28op drop!!!!

i miss you, i'm sorry (2K) by leivol6

Louis spends some time with zayn in his hotel room after his LA show. they smoke. they fuck.

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love of my life (80K) by likelarry | @likelarryfics

Harry is 36 and recently divorced after he's finally come to terms with his sexuality.

Louis is the 28 year old who helps him find his way and is everything Harry has ever dreamt of.

The one where Harry struggles to really accept who he is and Louis is there every step of the way.

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wildflower (112K) by blueskiesrry | @blueskiesrry

“You look like a wildflower,” Louis comments, shielding his eyes from the sun, the crinkles near them even more prominent in this light.

“What?” Harry’s words stumble over a surprised laugh.

“With your hair all fluffy like that.”

Harry’s fingers automatically find their way into his hair as he silently curses the humidity out on the water.

“He kind of does, doesn’t he?” Elizabeth adds.

Louis tilts his head to the side, smile softening and blurred around the edges. “Our very own long-stemmed wildflower.”

-

or: a 1950s hollywood story spanning half a decade where harry and louis are constantly growing towards, away from, & around each other and everything harry wants are things he can’t have.

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Tattoos and Temptations (67K) by refusethyname | @gonebylouist

“Love,” he drawled, the word dripping with sinful allure, “I’ve got tattoos that are older than you,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper, his breath warm against Harry’s lips.

Harry tilted his head, a teasing smirk of his own tugging at his mouth despite the rapid beat of his heart. “What can I say, I like experienced men.”

Louis chuckled low in his throat, a sound that sent heat rushing through Harry’s veins. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, his hand sliding up Harry’s back to tangle in his curls. He tugged lightly, just enough to tip Harry’s head back and expose more of his neck.

“You’re the one winding me up.”

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Can we please get back to Loving (5K) by umbroshirt

Harry's mad and Louis doesn't know why.

Or, the silent treatment fic I thought of the second Written All Over Your Face came out

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Remember Me Before You (293K) by kingsofeverything | @kingsofeverything

Desperate to find a new place to live after he comes home to find his boyfriend cheating, Harry moves into a loft with three strangers.

A New Girl AU.

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Fragments of Forgotten Lives (160K) by freakingmeout | @freakingmeout28

Louis has been missing for over a year, but the first thing he remembers is waking up just a few weeks ago. Everything before that is a blur - no memory of where he’s been or who he was. Now, trying to rebuild his life in Manchester, he finds solace in therapy and a deepening connection with a fellow survivor.

When Harry, a stranger to Louis but someone from his forgotten past, recognises him on the street, everything shifts. Despite the amnesia, something about Harry feels familiar, like a lifeline. As fragments of his lost memories begin to resurface in vivid, unsettling nightmares, Louis clings to the comfort Harry brings. Together, they embark on a journey to uncover the truth of his missing year, unlocking hidden secrets, unspoken bonds, and a past that refuses to stay buried.

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[series] such a beautiful dream (112K) by staybeautiful | @harruandlou

“I had a sex dream about Harry.” Louis slapped his free hand over his mouth after the words slipped out.

Zayn paused, his hand freezing as he was about to take a bite, his head snapping up to look at Louis. Louis could relate, it’s how he’d felt that morning after he’d woken up. He’d laid in bed for fifteen minutes trying to figure out what had happened, why it had turned him on so much, and then patiently waiting for his erection to go down.

“Like… my Niall’s Harry? Harry Styles?” Zayn clarified, his face bewildered as if trying to comprehend what had just happened. “Do you even like Harry?”

“His last name is Styles?”

or Louis woke up after having a sexy dream about his best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend resolved to never think about it again. He hardly knew Harry, so what difference would it make? But when they are thrown together only a few days later, Louis had to admit, his subconscious might have been onto something.

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I Could Fall In Love With You (55K) by tippitytap

If Louis were asked to describe Harry's role in his life, the answer would have always been quite simple: best friend.

Since last year, the answer might have also been: housemate and co-parent to the cats.

What Louis didn't think would ever happen was that the answer would one day change to: the man he was falling deeply in love with.

or: Right at the beginning of a nationwide lockdown might be the worst time to fall in love with your childhood best friend and housemate. But if Louis knew one thing, it was that Harry and he would always find a way through life together.

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I Can Pull It Together (6K) by louislittletomlintum | @louislittletomlintum

Harry's eyes drifted to where Louis’ arms were slung over the back rim of the spa, exposing his underarms again. This time his fine hair was more apparent, wet from the spa and curling a little where some droplets of water hung.

Harry wanted to lick them.

He blushed almost instantly when the thought came through his brain, hoping it wasn’t obvious and that the general heat on his face would disguise his embarrassment. He’d never thought anything like that before.

or the one where Harry accidentally discovers a new part of Louis he really, really loves.

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Le Sol De La Chambre (60K) by Fandom_Larry

Louis owns a boudoir business. Harry wants some pictures. What happens when an innocent omega ends up posing for an overly handsome alpha? They end up on the bedroom floor.

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💸 -> visual of my wallet after this 28op drop

stat time!

1,095,493 words read (-35% than last month)

19 fics read (-21% less than last month)

19 authors (-5% less than last month)

feel free to send me an ask if you have read a fic ive recommended! i'd love to talk about the fic with you <3

[imagineaspen]

Another prompt fill: Secret Garden

This is basically a 'Sheik works for Ganondorf like in the manga' OOT AU

The first time Zelda saw him in her garden, she was filled with rage.  He had already taken everything from her, and now this too?  Would he rip up the flowers she had planted with her father and Impa as a girl?  The final desecration of the castle that used to be her home.  He’d already changed so much about Hyrule Castle that she found herself getting lost at times when she wandered its halls.

Ganondorf looked up from where he knelt by the ground and promptly got to his feet.  He narrowed his eyes.

“Sheik,” he said.

“My king,” she responded steadily. “I apologize for intruding.”

The first several times he had addressed her, it had filled her with panic.  Does he know? she would ask herself; it would take all of her willpower to prevent herself from trembling.  Does he know that I am Hylian?  Does he know that I am a woman?  Does he know that I am Zelda?

But as the weeks turned to months and nothing happened, she had begun to relax into this role.  Sometimes it felt as though Sheik was real, and Zelda was the lie.

“Do you have news for me?”  Ganondorf asked.

“I have scoured Kakariko Village, my king,” she replied.  “If Princess Zelda or her attendant were ever hiding there, they are there no longer.”

Ganondorf’s eyes flashed with frustration, but he merely sighed.  “Very well,” he said.  “Come see me in the throne room later; I have another task for you.”

“Yes, my king,” she said, then hesitated.  

“Is there something else?”

“No, my king, I was only wondering…”  She swallowed.  “What were you doing when I came in?”

There was silence for a moment as he frowned at her.

“I believe you were dismissed,” he said, and she flushed.

“Apologies,” she said, then fled.

Later, once she was certain he had gone, she snuck back into the garden to find the flower beds intact, watered and weeds freshly pulled.  Ganondorf, she was suddenly certain, had not been ripping them up at all.  He had been tending to them.

***

She continued to sneak into the garden as often as she dared, surprised and confused each time that the plants were so well kept. 

This is ridiculous, she told herself.  You are Sheik, not Zelda.

Sheik did not care for sentimental things like flowers.  He cared only for avenging the royal family that he served, even if that required temporarily following the man he hated more than any other.  He was strong, capable.  He had never been so stupid to have hatched the plan that had led to this.

Zelda had ruined everything.  She was not needed.  And yet, in this garden, it was her that emerged.

Ganondorf had added new plants since she had last been here.  Tall and thin, with small pink flowers growing off the lush green stem.  Pretty, she thought.

“Don’t think that I don’t know about all the time you spend here.”  His voice, as though her thoughts had summoned him.

Zelda startled.  “My king,” she said.

“There is very little that occurs in this castle that I do not know about,” Ganondorf said, stepping into the garden.     

“I apologize, my king, I –”

“It’s fine, Sheik,” said Ganondorf.  He approached her, then looked down at the flowers she was leaning over.  

“I’ve never seen this kind of flower,” Zelda said, tentatively turning to glance at him.  She waited, watching him in silence.

“Warm safflina,” Ganondorf said abruptly.  “They grow only in the desert.”

Zelda blinked, surprised; she had not expected him to answer. “Oh?”

Ganondorf looked away, gritting his teeth.  “Something…  to remind me of home,” he said, so softly she could scarcely hear it.  

She stared, not believing what she was hearing.  He must have been in quite the sentimental mood, to speak of his homeland.   Before she could think twice, she asked a question; one she had been considering for some time now but had not dared speak aloud.

“Why have you not had your people move to Castle Town, my king?”

He frowned.   Zelda smiled, and added, carefully, “Surely you do not enjoy looking out onto rubble every day; perhaps it is time to rebuild.  You have said that the desert is harsh, my king; perhaps –”

“I cannot,” he interrupted.  “Not yet.”

“My king?”

“I cannot,” he said, suddenly fierce.  “Until I know that this won’t be taken from me!”  He whirled on her.   “That is why I need you to find the Princess, Sheik.  Her, and that forest boy!”

“I am trying, my king,” she said.  “I’ve been to the forest, and there is no –”

“Then try harder!” he snarled, chest heaving.  He closed his eyes, clenching his right hand into a fist.  “It isn’t enough,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, she thought.  “I need to be stronger, to be better, to…”   

He raised his head to look at her again, and Zelda felt that familiar fear rear up in her.  He knows.  He knows that I am Zelda; he knows that I have Wisdom; he knows –

“Leave, Sheik,” he said.

She should not leave him in this state.  If there was one thing she had learned about him, it was that Ganondorf alone with his thoughts was a dangerous thing indeed.

“My king,” she started, but he shook his head.

“Leave,” he repeated, nearly begging, and it was that which caused her to flee again.

***

The more time passed, the more erratic and paranoid Ganondorf’s behaviour became.  She found herself in the position of advisor as much as spy, spending much of her time talking him down from whatever insane plot he’d hatched to keep Hyrule in his clutches.  (“Let me speak with Darunia,” she’d begged only the past week.  “I will make him see reason, my king; this dragon plan goes too far!”)  He sunk deeper and deeper into his obsession with power and the Triforce, convinced he would lose Hyrule without it (he’d never said that word to her, but she knew what he wanted).

She often wondered why he seemed to listen to her, of all people, when she came to a realization: He has no one else.

He was a man alone, holed up in a castle surrounded by wreckage and monsters.  She did not think he had spoken to any of the Gerudo in months; he had mentioned once something about mothers, but she had never seen them here.  He was falling apart, and Zelda was desperately trying to hold him and her kingdom together until the hero returned.  And yet more and more she found herself thinking of the hero’s return with dread.

Ganondorf would learn, then, that his only confidant was a lie, and she worried it would break him completely.

Now she returned to the castle after a long stint in Zora’s Domain, and the first place she went was her garden – his garden, now.  He was there already, staring down at the soil with a defeated look in his eyes.  She followed his gaze.

The warm safflina were at his feet.  Brown and wilted.

“They are dead,” he said dully as she moved to stand beside him.

“I’m sorry, my king,” Zelda offered.  “It’s the climate; it is too humid here for desert flowers.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped, then let out a long breath.

“Sheik,” he said.  “Why do you follow me?”

She frowned, confused by the change of subject.

“The Royal Family of Hyrule have treated my people as slaves for generations,” she said.  “I would serve anyone who puts a stop to it.”

It was a rehearsed answer, fed to her by Impa (and so easily that Zelda had to wonder if her attendant saw truth in it).

Ganondorf let out a short laugh.  “And I am better?” he said shortly.  “You think that I do not consider snapping your neck every time that you come to me and tell me that you still have not found Princess Zelda?”

“Yet you have not,” Zelda said lightly.  “And so I must consider that to be an empty threat.”

He laughed again; his eyes were taking on a crazed gleam.  “I have ruined this kingdom,” he said, voice raising.  “The Gorons riot; the Zora are on the verge.  The capital is a broken shell.  The people live in fear.  And my people carry on without me.  They’ve never needed me.”

“My king, you–”

She cut herself off as he looked to her, giving her a savage smile.  “Shall I destroy you next, Sheik?”

Without waiting for an answer, he looked back at the dead flowers, the anger draining from him as quickly as it had appeared.   

“I just wanted,” he said quietly, “something that does not break with my touch.”

She took a step towards him.  He shook his head.

“Leave me,” he said.

Sheik would have obeyed.  He would consider this conversation evidence that Ganondorf was mad and needed to be deposed as soon as possible.

Zelda stayed.  She took another step to him, and rested a hand on his arm.  He looked down at her in surprise.

“I am here,” she said.  “Ganondorf.”

Neither of them said anything more.  But he did not move away.

Tomorrow, she thought, he would hate that he had shown her this weakness, would rage at her, or send her on a task that sent her far away.  And she would become Sheik once again, and hate him, and wish for the day the hero reappeared.

But for now, in this garden, she stayed and offered comfort to a man who, she was beginning to realize, loathed himself just as much as Sheik did Zelda.

[shaunasbigbrowneyes]

3x4 Spoilers

I will say. I know a lot of people are going to hate Shauna after this episode.

But.

I think if anything, Misty’s call to her as a witness and that whole scene laid out exactly why she has a right to be so angry at coach.

He, the only adult, left her in literally her time of greatest need. Shauna has never ever been that vulnerable to the whole group before. It had always been just with Tai, or even Jackie in the beginning. But right then, having her baby at 18 in the middle of nowhere, she was so desperate for support she gave coach one final chance to be the adult in the whole situation and he rejected it fully.

I understand why, don’t get me wrong, he was depressed and starving and generally didn’t know enough to help. But if he had just tried to stay and support her, I fully believe she wouldn’t blame him as much for the loss of her baby. Because this is where the hate stems from, not from him burning the cabin down. Shauna is just using that to fuel the fire for others to be on her side hating him.

She hates everyone who loves the wilderness (as we know from 3x1, she thinks they’re fucking idiots). But she is smart enough to know she can’t go and lose her mind again like she did at Lottie, so she has to jump on the common enemy which is of course coach Ben.

She is grieving she is angry and she is looking for an acceptable reason to spill blood and get some form of justice which is not going to bring her baby back but it might just feel good long enough for her to feel some reprieve.

Anyways I love complicated women. I am not saying she is right, I do like Ben as a character. But I find Shauna’s character arc so much more fascinating to analyse.

[spanishskulduggery]

also what would you say is the best way to memorize the tenses because that’s what I’m struggling with the most honestly

Do you mean the tenses themselves, or the conjugations?

The easiest way to think of Spanish grammar is on a timeline sort of spectrum - if you can divide things between past, present, and future things make more sense

In Spanish there are three moods - indicative, subjunctive, and imperative

-

The imperative mood is commands. They are the easiest to understand, as affirmative commands "do it", and negative commands "don't do it"

In general, the conjugations for imperative mirror the subjunctive with the exception of affirmative tú commands [and vosotros commands if you're using them]

The trick I learned and now I tell everyone about affirmative tú commands is to keep in mind: "Vin Diesel has ten weapons, eh?" and to say it sort of like if Arnold Schwarzenegger were trying to sound Canadian

The irregular tú commands are for venir, dar, salir, hacer, tener, venir, poner, and ser... in addition to their offshoots like convenir, satisfacer, componer etc.

But - Vin Diesel has ten weapons, eh? - ven, di, sal, haz, ten, ve, pon, sé

And those are the irregular conjugations

-

When you're trying to understand indicative and subjunctive, it's easier than you'd think

Subjunctive deals with doubt, possibility, contrary to fact statements, hypotheticals, as well as wishes, desires, and polite requests

Indicative is literally everything that is not subjunctive or imperative

...

Now, trying to make sense of the tenses is where the timeline spectrum idea helps

Tenses [in Spanish tiempos or "times"] make sense on this timeline because they exist to show if something is past, present, or future

-

Present tense, indicative or subjunctive kind of deal with the same things

There's regular present tense which is hard to explain but really obvious. The conjugations are all over the place here though. You have the normal regular -ar, -er, and -ir verbs, the irregular verbs, then you have oddities like the -go verbs, stem-changing verbs, and occasionally some verb endings that imply changes like -gir, -cer, -cir, -uar, etc.

Present tense also includes things like "present continuous" and "short-term future present"

In other words, depending on context:

hablo = I speak [regular present] hablo = I am speaking [continuous present] hablo = I will speak [short-term future plans, but in the present]

And there are ways to specify each one; continuous present is sometimes done with the gerund forms so you might see estoy hablando "I am speaking"; and short-term future is sometimes done with ir + a + infinitive... voy a hablar "I am going to speak"

....

Present subjunctive is largely the same ideas as regular indicative

The key to most subjunctive conjugation is you take the form you know, and you switch the regular endings

In other words, you'd see puede que hable "I might speak" in subjunctive, where hablar is normally -ar, but you take the regular form and switch the endings from -a to -e

...

Most of present subjunctive takes forms from the present yo indicative, which is why you need to know the irregularities

In other words digo, dices, dice, dicen, decimos but then in subjunctive it takes digo

Thus digo -> diga, digas, diga, digan, digamos

-

Past tense indicative is really the preterite and the imperfect tenses which are harder for lots of people to understand

Preterite is simple past, and thankfully its conjugations tend to follow patterns; ser and ir have the same forms, dar and ver share similar forms, tener, saber, caber, estar have similar forms etc.

There are some spelling changes for certain words like -gar, -car, -zar, and -guar verbs, as well as some of the -cir/cer verbs... and some oddities with verbs like leer, caer, oír, and -uir verbs but generally speaking easier to deal with than present tense

Preterite is about completed actions and it's simple action that has defined end points - I try to remind people of veni vidi vici in Latin; in Spanish it's vine, vi, vencí "I came, I saw, I conquered"

It's rather a blunt tense

...

Imperfect is harder to explain but it means "actions not yet completed"; as imperfect in linguistic terms means "not yet past tense", or an incomplete past

These are actions that don't have a set ending, or might still be ongoing

They also describe things people "did often" or "were in the habit of doing" and "used to"

In general though, imperfect tense is about description and narration especially in literature

Imperfect tense tends to introduce a setting, while preterite is action

[it's also the tense used exclusively for telling time in the past]

As far as conjugation, imperfect is the easiest tense to memorize

There are very few irregular verbs - ser, ir, and ver are the main ones

Everything else is -aba for -ar verbs, and -ía for -er and -ir verbs

-

For the future, you have future tense and conditional for the indicative

Thankfully, few irregular verbs

In general, you'll see the infinitive plus a special ending

Future tends towards infinitive + -é, -ás, -á, -án, -emos Conditional is more infinitive + -ía, -ías, -ía, -ían, -íamos

Future is pretty self-explanatory. It's long-term plans or goals that won't change often for the future - viajaré a Francia "I will travel to France" implies a long-term wish or plan further down the line........ as opposed to voy a viajar a Francia "I am going to travel to France" in present tense as a short-term thing or possibly immediate

The conditional is used primarily in "if/then" statements as the "then" and is best explained with imperfect subjunctive

It also gets used as "could've", "would've", "should've" statements a lot

-

Imperfect subjunctive is an odd one to discuss because it can be used for past subjunctive and the future subjunctive

There used to be more distinctions between them - and I can't get into them without a history lesson

Basically though it works a lot like English trying to decide if "could" is past or future.... like "I could have gone" could be past, or maybe you're saying "oh if only I could have gone" which is a contrary to fact statement and imperfect subjunctive

In general you're dealing with a past subjunctive clause [quería que lo hicieras "I wanted you to do it"], or you're doing "if/then" statements with the conditional where the "if" is the imperfect subjunctive

Conjugation-wise you'll see two different forms from when they were distinct tenses

Today they're interchangeable, don't worry about it

Latin America prefers the -ara/-iera tenses, and Spain makes more of a distinction between past and future and for future or hypotheticals will tend towards -ase/-iese endings

Again, they are interchangeable just be aware of them, it's a bit of a regional thing and there's historical background there that does explain it but is also very confusing if you're not there

...

If you're using if/then statements, then you'll see more of the variation

si fuera rico/a, ayudaría = if I was rich, (then) I would help si fuese rico/a, ayudaría = if I were rich, (then) I would help

Latin America would tend towards fuera; Spain probably would say fuese

Imperfect subjunctive is the "if", and conditional is the "then"

The "if" is a contrary to fact statement, something that is not true but IF ONLY it were... and THEN something WOULD happen, and that's conditional

-

There's also the perfect tenses and I don't know how to qualify them exactly. They all follow the basic idea - it's haber + past participle

like it's "to have done" or "to have seen" or "to have spoken" etc.

Except haber conjugates in every tense, so it's not like they're individual tenses exactly... but sort of are?

Instead of hablo "I speak", the present perfect is he hablado "I have spoken"

Then instead of hablé "I spoke" or hablaba "I was speaking", you get pluperfect había hablado "I had spoken"

All "perfect" means is "past", so it just puts everything a little bit further into the past

...

This is a rough explanation so if you need anything explained more in depth let me know

[sunflowervoltwentyeight]

Happy 28th! Here is my February 2025 fic rec, organized by word count, from longest to shortest. You can view my other fic recs here. Enjoy!

Wildflower by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (112k)

“You look like a wildflower,” Louis comments, shielding his eyes from the sun, the crinkles near them even more prominent in this light.

“What?” Harry’s words stumble over a surprised laugh.

“With your hair all fluffy like that.”

Harry’s fingers automatically find their way into his hair as he silently curses the humidity out on the water.

“He kind of does, doesn’t he?” Elizabeth adds.

Louis tilts his head to the side, smile softening and blurred around the edges. “Our very own long-stemmed wildflower.”

-

or: a 1950s hollywood story spanning half a decade where harry and louis are constantly growing towards, away from, & around each other and everything harry wants are things he can’t have.

Through Eerie Chaos Series by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics (103k)

Through Eerie Chaos (102k) For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead. The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process. Peace In Your Arms (1k) The happily ever after ...

I Could Fall In Love With You by tippitytap / @tippitytap (55k)

If Louis were asked to describe Harry's role in his life, the answer would have always been quite simple: best friend.

Since last year, the answer might have also been: housemate and co-parent to the cats.

What Louis didn't think would ever happen was that the answer would one day change to: the man he was falling deeply in love with.

or: Right at the beginning of a nationwide lockdown might be the worst time to fall in love with your childhood best friend and housemate. But if Louis knew one thing, it was that Harry and he would always find a way through life together.

Carry This Feeling by Awriterwrites, dimpled_halo / @a-writerwrites (49k)

There’s something about Louis Tomlinson that makes Harry feel unhinged. It’s in the other man’s stare, in the way he looks at Harry like he knows he’s hiding something. Like he’s not really all he says he is.

Harry’s not so sure it’s fear he’s feeling. Maybe it’s something deeper. Ever since Louis walked into his house, he’s felt on edge. He’s just being himself after all, and that’s usually enough to get just about anyone to drop their pants. But...it’s clearly not working on Louis Tomlinson. It dredges up something oily and unpleasant inside Harry. He doesn’t like it.

He’s got to lock that shit down tight.

*** Harry knows, objectively, that he shouldn't try to get his ghostwriter into bed. He knows. But...he finds it hard to resist temptation when Louis waltzes into his home and his life and turns everything upside down. And, as it turns out, Louis might just need a little turning upside down too.

Salt in Your Wounds by Halos_Boat / @halohamilton (32k)

Harry and Louis have been with each other since university; together for almost a decade and married for seven years when their marriage starts to take a tumble.

Harry doesn't think there's anything worth saving anymore, so he leaves. Louis doesn't see the use of stopping him, so he let's Harry go.

Beige by blueskiesrry / @blueskiesrry (5k)

Harry finds it hot–he always does–the way Louis is so attentive, but he finds himself more drawn to Niall and Zayn, watching as the two of them whisper softly to one another, having their own conversation in the midst of the larger, group one, one of their hands coming up to run soothingly along the other’s thigh. It reminds him of him and Louis in their early days, so completely enthralled with one another, caught up in the novelty and freshness. There could be twenty people in a room, and he’d only have eyes for one.

He glances at Louis every now and again to see if he notices as well, and Louis watches some, but he mostly watches Harry.

 or: harry and louis are in love on valentine's day. louis pretends he hates it. they host game night for their friends.

Different Than You Do by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry (2k)

Louis and Harry have been friends for a little over four years. Louis has been in love with Harry for most of those years, even if he didn’t want to admit it at first.

What happens when he impulsively decides to tell him?

Don't Call Me Baby by 28sunflowers / @vintageumbroshirt (2k)

A short and cliché roommates AU inspired by To Be So Lonely, where they’re both oblivious to each other’s feelings and Harry gets sad and jealous over nothing. It works out in the end.

Happy Valentine's Day, You Cockroach by allwaswell16 / @allwaswell16 (2k)

Harry Styles, new director of the Milltown Zoo, has a great idea for a Valentine's Day themed fundraiser. For a donation, they'll name cockroaches after people's exes and then feed them to the meerkats on a live stream. He just didn't foresee how many cockroaches would end up with his name...

[birdbitch0010]

The civilian has tears running down their face as they fight the hold of Flash, who’s holding them, keeping them away from their loved one. The loved one who had evicerated thirteen others precisely fifteen minutes ago.

Well, technically it had been the demon possessing them, but even with the horror exorcised, Marvel has to keep a firm hold on the poor woman thrashing and snarling with strength magically enhanced by the demon’s residual influence. 

Her brain is utterly fried, barely operational and rendered insane in the last spiteful act of the demon before it was ripped from her. Marvel, Billy, knows from the knowledge gifted to him when his magic was shoved into him that she will never recover, and he’s already let Flash know that JLD won’t be able to help her.

They can’t hand her over to regular authorities, meta cuffs would do nothing to stem her violent abilities, though that’s irrelevant. Billy would never be so cruel as to make someone go on like this when he could help.

Flash evidently feels the same, as he looks at him with a deeply uncomfortable look as he says “Marvel, can you handle this while I escort them to the police?” Referring to the civilian still trying to break free. 

Marvel sighs, he’s always hated having to do things like this, but he’s thankful that Flash recognizes how much worse it would be for the still distraught person -now calling out their family member’s name- to have to watch this.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got it, just make sure they have someone with them. These situations are always worse when you’re alone.” 

Flash doesn’t say anything more, just nodding and walking the openly sobbing person away. Turning his attention back to the essentially brain dead woman, Billy doesn’t let himself dwell on what he has to do before reaching up, applying light pressure, and snapping her neck in one hand.

He feels the same pity he’s always felt for the put-down as she slumps, finally at rest, and he gently sets her on the ground.

Hearing Flash return, he looks up from where he has one knee on the ground just in time to see disbelieving horror dawning on the face of his teammate. 

“Marvel, what did you do?“

Concept:

Billy from a zombie apocalypse universe who gets very used to mercy killing ends up in regular DC where 1) he gets powers 2) killing is a very big issue that doesn't come to light because the Wizard can only see the quality of the pure heart not the actions up to it and chose him + he's so wholesome and optimistic you wouldn't think he'd be so very ruthless at the drop of a hat.

This causes problems down the line with Billy taking the lack of admonisment as approval.

[send-me-a-puffalope]

I know you’ve tackled this a little bit, but how do you think William Afton (loser) parents his children? Like in the games and movies. And if you think there are any differences between universes.

I think the difference between Afton’s actions in the games and in the movie is his intent behind having a family.

In the games, I believe having a large family was for the grand facade he was building. It was a checkbox on his list of requirements he needed for success. I’d like to believe Michael remembers when William was a good dad, all those years ago, but his “love” always stemmed from his need for control. So when Fredbear’s Family Diner came along, William became enchanted with the animatronics: they were predictable, he was able to change the way they behaved. If they ever malfunctioned, well that was just a reflection of his and Henry’s failure. He was barely at home anymore, though he was very much an absent father when he was.

Michael, on the other hand, had hit the age where he acted out more—mostly to get William’s attention. His unpredictability drove William insane. CC and Elizabeth came around not too long later, William’s attempt to feel the same amount of control over them he felt when Michael was young. When Mrs. Afton left the picture, William’s mindset was still on himself and his slow climb to success. Michael had to take on the responsibility of his siblings instead, though he was Bad at it. Because he was a kid and this was never a responsibility he was supposed to hold.

In the movie franchise however, William just has Vanessa. I never imagine a Mrs. Afton really existing in this universe at all, so I usually think of her as died early on in Vanessa’s life—to the point where she doesn’t even remember her. Rather than William choosing Freddy’s over his family life, these two became deeply intertwined as Vanessa never left his side. My main HC about the movies is that, before the MCI, William and Vanessa looked like the “perfect family” to the rest of the town, despite it being just the two of them. William was everything anyone could ever want in a father, he even accredited the success of his animatronics to his daughter’s unwavering support. However, I still think that William’s “love” still stemmed from his need for control. Vanessa was the perfect daughter because she listened.

As mentioned before, I think the big shift in their dynamic happened when Vanessa witnessed the MCI. Suddenly, her perception of her “perfect father” shattered and her childhood and innocence died all at once in those backrooms. Post-MCI, William tried to continue his facade. He acted the same as he did prior, though to Vanessa, it was horrifically jarring to see him smiling and laughing after What She Saw. So she began to act out, began throwing tantrums William mentioned in the FNAF movie. Once William realized the “perfect family” he’d spent so long curating was unrecoverable, did he finally drop the act. This kinda relates to another ask sitting in my askbox rn but I think the first time William physically laid a hand on Vanessa was during one of these tantrums—shocking both of them. The moment William realized he still had control and the moment Vanessa realized she was not immune to her father’s anger. Other than this moment, the extent of William’s physical abuse laid in intimidation. A grab of the collar or face to keep Vanessa’s eyes on him. Or bruising grip on her arm to remind her that he has the power in this relationship. I think William using the anger he knew Vanessa had and turning it into violence (her being forced to become his accomplice) was a form of punishment to make her like him in a way that she couldn’t escape.

Anyways i’m normal about these characters (<- highk not sure any of this is coherent because i wrote this on the way to school)

[austinslounge]

To the venting Anon.

It will be harsh to hear but this is the truth: Austin simply doesn't come across as sincere for someone who is not deep into the fandom. Compared to TC who seems always "on brand" and being himself ( love or hate this) Austin seems performative. For example, in the Actors on Actors video, he has these fake sound hummings, when he says "hmmm... exactly..." Sorry, but this is not seems honest, just an act. I do not like TC but he is never fake.

On the singing: TC sings all of the songs in the Dylan movie, AB doesn't sing all of the songs. Maybe he recorded all of it, but in the movie it's a mix. So there is a no question. Singing by yourself is a bigger achievement. Ramy Malek won an Oscar but he also got backlash for something similar, so since then, people judging harder this type of movies.

On the fame: being an actor and wanting to be famous is 2 different things and I don't like entitled fans who think they have a right to gain access or tell their fave to change profession. Margot Robbie doesn't have an insta, she deleted it and she is just fine and she is bigger star than Austin.

But the main problem is the first one. there is something in Austin that repels people if they are just ordinary moviegoers and not fans. He is like Henry Cavill who literally has no career anymore.

Okay, now see, what we're not going to do is have you, a Timmy Stan Anon (idc what you call yourself), come on to an Austin Butler fan Tumblr account (the blog name and pfp are pretty obvious) and proceed to just insult the man and not get checked for it.🤨

Second, I'll just add that I think it's very sad that people like you (who don't even know Austin), are just blindly following others online like sheep, and hopping on the "let's all hate on Austin Butler!" Train, instead of just thinking for yourself.

Honestly? I think a lot of the hate that Austin gets is not just because he's good-looking, or because of the Vanessa breakup (I've known plenty of actors to breakup with their gfs and they never received this amount of hate online), but also because so many girls/women online stan their favorite actors (like say Timothee), and they're threatened because Austin actually won two prestigious awards before Timothee Chalamet has, in half the time. I think some fans in some fandoms of famous actors are just upset that Austin (in their minds) seemed to come from out of nowhere, and shook things up a little bit, and now, their faves have someone else that they didn't expect to see coming competing in the big leagues right along with their faves. That (imo) is where most of the hatred online (especially from women) stems from. It's just jealousy and feeling threatened on behalf of their own faves if you ask me. Which, I'm not even sure why, because most of these actors don't even view themselves as competing with each other smh.

Anyway --- Before I go into this further, I have to say this:

**Disclaimer: I don't really like making too many comparisons when it comes to actors and comparing them to each other. It's just not really my thing, and it's kind of silly (imo), but for the sake of this post, I'll engage your comparisons.

It will be harsh to hear but this is the truth: Austin simply doesn't come across as sincere for someone who is not deep into the fandom. Compared to TC who seems always "on brand" and being himself ( love or hate this) Austin seems performative.

Umm first of all, Austin has NEVER been fake, EVER in his life. You can even look back to his old Tumblr posts and Tweets. He has always been who he is, which is a very sweet, kind, and down to earth guy. You (and some others on the internet) are the only ones calling him "fake", "pretentious", or "performative". 🙄 Those are your personal labels that you're putting on to him. Learn to know the difference. You don't even know him personally, yet you're putting negative labels on to him like you know him personally. 😒

Everyone who has ever worked closely with Austin has always had nothing but glowing things to say about him as a person, and has never ever called him "fake". From his co-stars on "The Carrie Diaries", his co-stars on "The Shannara Chronicles", his co-stars and even extras on set of "Elvis", to even his co-stars in Dune Part 2 (including Timmy, mind you), everyone has always said what a pleasure it is to be around him, and have never once called him "performative", or "fake". Not once. Not film crew, not interviewers who have interviewed him. NOBODY. Everyone (even directors) talk about how genuine and down to earth he is. Even that woman on the plane said just how "normal" he was and didn't seem like a celebrity at all. He's certainly never been called a "diva" before, unlike your precious Timothee Chalamet.😒

Even fans who have met him just briefly in person have always had wonderful things to say about him, and have never ever said he was fake. ☺️ If anything, they have said quite the opposite -- They've always said just how kind and genuine he is as a person. He's really someone who is attentive to you, listens, takes in what you're saying, and is very present and in the moment with you. ☺️ But yet, we're supposed to believe you, who doesn't even know the man, has never met him, and doesn't take into account what people who actually do know him have said about him? 🤨 Yea, okay.

For example, in the Actors on Actors video, he has these fake sound hummings, when he says "hmmm... exactly..." Sorry, but this is not seems honest, just an act.

Since when has saying "umm" or "hmmm" ever been seen as being "fake"?? Are you serious? 🥴

I do not like TC but he is never fake.

Uhhh actually, there are a lot of people who find Timothee fake. Some people find him (and his team) super calculated. There have even been rumors of him having diva behavior on set, which would negate the whole "wholesome good guy" image that he has curated for himself.

Could these articles/rumors be fake? Sure, they could be. But what I'm saying is that Austin hasn't even had anything of the sort like this come out about him. Yet, he's the one who's fake? 😒

Anyway, make of that what you will.

On the singing: TC sings all of the songs in the Dylan movie, AB doesn't sing all of the songs. Maybe he recorded all of it, but in the movie it's a mix. So there is a no question. Singing by yourself is a bigger achievement. Ramy Malek won an Oscar but he also got backlash for something similar, so since then, people judging harder this type of movies.

Excuse me, but please get your facts straight before making up stuff like this. First of all, Austin prepared to sing all of the songs in the "Elvis" biopic. He's a very thorough person and actor, so it's not something that he would have neglected.

He also sang all of the Elvis songs from the 1950s in the film because the older original Elvis songs were in such bad quality for a modern movie, that Baz simply had him sing all of the younger Elvis material. That included "Trouble", and everything prior to the Vegas scenes.

For the Vegas scenes, Baz shot the film with Austin actually singing live, and they blended Elvis' voice in some of the songs for the latter years of the film, but Austin is still singing. The decision to blend the voices was Baz's idea. Maybe he wanted to pay homage to the real late Elvis (who is dead btw -- Bob Dylan is not), and felt it was a nice way to show honor to the late singer.

But Austin can sing. He's been singing for years on TV shows. He also sang on SNL for Cecily's departure. The man can sing. It's not his fault if Baz wanted to blend the voices of the two singers in the latter Elvis years. That wasn't his fault.

He worked with a vocal coach and a movement coach and trained for a long time to be able to sing, move, and perform like Elvis. The man dedicated a lot of hard work and years to his craft for that film. So I don't really appreciate you trying to undermine his work.

But the main problem is the first one. there is something in Austin that repels people if they are just ordinary moviegoers and not fans.

No girl, that's just you and a few other bitter weirdos on the internet. 🙄 Real people (who can think for themselves) and who actually have met Austin, who know him, and who don't just follow the trends of whatever people are saying on the internet actually love Austin. Even those who aren't fans of Austin love him.

He is like Henry Cavill who literally has no career anymore.

No he's not. Girl, you lost all credibility with this statement alone. And what on earth does Henry Cavill have to do with anything? 🥴

Austin has like 4 projects lined up, has won a lot more prestigious awards than your Timothee, and directors love working with him. Not sure why you're comparing him to Henry Cavill (who just had a baby btw with his partner).

You may want to go back to the Timothee tumblr fan accounts, and please leave us Austin fans here alone. 😤 Thank you.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

A Sister’s Son

I have a lot of feelings about the relationship between Théodred and Elfhelm stemming from 1) the canonical fact that Elfhelm was with Théodred when he died and 2) my head-canonical fact that he was there when Théodred was born and Elfhild, Elfhelm’s sister, died.* So Théodred’s entire 41-year life was bookended by these two tragic experiences for his uncle. *Given what we know of Rohirric naming conventions, the idea that Elfhelm is the brother of Elfhild is thoroughly reasonable!

Some of you may recall that I posted an Elfhelm story last week that included the notion that he struggles with memories of his past tragedies. I had written much more extensive memory sequences for that story and ended up cutting it way back, but I guess why let them go to waste? So I paired them together — the birth and death of Théodred through the eyes of Elfhelm, the one person who was there both at the beginning and the end. It’s not graphic, but content warnings for canonical maternal death and some moments of generalized concern for baby Théodred’s welfare in the first half plus some violence and blood (and, obviously, Théodred’s actual death) in the second half. On AO3 here or below:

Edoras, T.A. 2978

The only voice that mattered had gone silent.

There were others still to be heard — barked commands, stunned oaths, murmured appeals to Béma — but the cries and groans of Elfhild were no longer among them. In the chord of dissonant turmoil on the far side of the bedchamber door, her high, ringing note disappeared without warning and did not return.

The sudden absence of his sister’s voice was deafening in Elfhelm’s ears. Kept just outside the midwife’s domain, he had only the muffled sounds that leaked through gaps in the door frame to tell him how things stood, and he had strained for hours to track his sister’s welfare above the noisy fury of an early spring storm that sent waves of rain beating against the thatch overhead and great rumbles of thunder rolling like an éored in full gallop across the plains outside.

To hear the sounds of her suffering distressed him, but their disappearance was more terrifying still. At least where there was pain, there was life, and in those first moments of absence, he cast about miserably for some other, better explanation. Sister, tell me. What has become of you? But he already knew. Deep within his heart that pumped the blood they shared, he could feel that her life had come to an end, and a little part of his went with it.

The door to the bedchamber heaved open abruptly, and the sharp, eye-watering scent of smelling salts and medicinal herbs rushed out on the heels of a grim-faced midwife in search of more supplies. Candles and torches flickered in the draft, but there was light enough to see a glimpse of Théoden through the doorway, hollow eyed and open mouthed, clinging to the edge of a bed where a still figure lay shrouded in linen, bright red stains smeared into the fine green fabric. Théodwyn pulled at her brother’s arm, and Hyhtgife pulled at Théodwyn’s, a chain of people trying to turn one another away from an unthinkable loss, a queen-to-be caught in the struggle between birth and death and claimed as a prize by the side of grief.

Elfhelm, alight with the sting of razor sharp heartache, surged forward toward the shrouded figure, but restraining hands appeared on his arms and shoulders. All he managed was a single urgent question — the baby, too? — before the door swung closed again, and he was left outside to wait and wonder and mourn and hope.

Minutes ticked by, or hours, or perhaps it was only seconds. People scurried past him in the antechamber, going about necessary tasks as though the world had not just changed forever and for the worse. Attendants arrived with tea and food for those who needed it, and advisors discussed in hushed tones how and when to make the official notifications. Servants stoked the glowing embers in the hearth, trying to coax heat back into a room that had been slowly leached of it over the course of a long, moonless night. He wanted to seize each person by the shoulders, shake them, rebuke them. My sister has just died, he wanted to scream. Her son may be next. What do your petty tasks matter at a time such as this? But his indignant anguish couldn’t stop the business of life from proceeding as it must, and only the recalcitrant fire seemed to share his outrage, refusing to return the bright cheer of a steady flame to a room where it no longer belonged.

Candles flickered again as the door to the chamber opened a second time, and a new voice came forth, a frail whimper from a bundle in the hands of a healer. It was a voice that couldn’t speak words, but it called to Elfhelm all the same, stopping him in his tracks as he paced and igniting his heart with the instinct to love without question, without hesitation, without purpose or reason. He was back at the door in three long strides, ready to lay down his life for that bundle, the last work of his sister. If there was any part of her that could yet be saved, he would do anything, try anything, or give anything to save it.

Let me help, he begged. Please. What does he need?

He had never really held an infant before, something so small and so fragile and yet possessing the power to bring him to his knees just by its precious existence. The healer kept a hand underneath the baby and another on his own arm until she was certain that he would withstand the moment, able to master himself despite the tears that poured freely down his cheeks and the swallowed sobs that wracked his shoulders.

Keep him warm. It was said with authority and insistence, more commanding than any battlefield order of a captain or marshal of the Mark. Then the healer was gone, disappeared back into the bedchamber where the sound of building hysteria attested to the grief of others, and Elfhelm was left with his own and the one delicate fragment of joy to be rescued from the shattered wreckage of a day where all else had gone horribly wrong.

Unprepared to be in the world so soon, baby Théodred was nearly weightless and almost spectrally pale, as though his body was still finding its solid form. His eyes were closed, his features still, but his tiny chest fluttered up and down and his little hand was outstretched, the fingers splayed in search of the touch of someone who loved him. Someone who could give him warmth and comfort.

Elfhelm swaddled the little bundle in the bulk of his arms, pressing the baby to his chest and his flushed cheek to Théodred’s little head, where his tears traced dark, wet paths through the fine sprinkle of wispy, light hair.

Your uncle is here now, he whispered. I’ll be with you as long as you need.

Fords of Isen, T.A. 3019

The mighty voice at the top of the knoll had been silenced.

Three times Théodred’s call had rung out, clear and strong like the sounding of a horn above the clatterous fury of the battle, but the third had been abruptly cut short and there would be no fourth. Though Elfhelm was still clawing his way toward the knoll’s crest, struggling to hear above the roar of the coursing river and the growls of thunder that echoed the beating of axes against broad wooden shields, he knew in his heart what had happened on the rise above him. Somehow, amidst all the chanting and screaming and clashing of weapons, he heard the distant gasp of impact, the small sigh of a lungful of breath released slowly through bloodied lips, and the sound nearly brought him to his knees.

It took precious, panicked minutes to fight his way to that sound, past men face down in the viscous mud or still crawling forward through it, crying out for friends or captains who had disappeared behind the curtains of heavy rain or into the rushing depths of the Isen. When he finally gained the peak, Grimbold was there, wild eyed and missing his helmet, furiously scrabbling to hold onto Théodred, who lay crumpled at his feet.

A soldier of Isengard had Théodred by the ankle, dragging him across the trampled grass with a dark red smear left in his wake, and more ran up to help, a chain of hands to accomplish the unthinkable and claim the prince of Rohan as a prize of war. The sight stirred an immediate, instinctive rage in Elfhelm, a deep and visceral possessiveness without thought or plan or strategy. He is not yours to take. He surged forward, unrestrained, and hacked or stabbed at any strange limb that dared to touch his sister’s son until there were none left, the last remaining enemies either dead or retreating back to their comrades, who promptly vanished into the dark on the far side of the river.

The clamorous sounds of battle faded quickly with the disappearance of the Isengarders, replaced instead by the urgent hum of the Rohirrim taking stock of themselves, their horses, their éoreds. Already some captains were at work restoring order to the ranks, arraying men and arms where they would be needed should the retreat of the enemy be only temporary, but Elfhelm had no mind for those tasks, knelt down in the freezing rain at Théodred’s side. Have pity on us, Béma, he pleaded, equal parts desperate and outraged. You cannot take him either.

Théodred stirred just enough to murmur a few hoarse words, his wish to hold the Fords even in death, and though there was fatalism in the thought, its selflessness kindled a momentary hope in Elfhelm. He is still himself, thinking first of others. If his spirit is intact, he can yet be saved. But the hope proved foolish, too small and too frail to be pitted against the blunt work of a rusted battle axe on skin, muscles and ribs. No bandage or pressure could stanch Théodred’s wounds, which flowed as freely as the river below them, and the chilled rain puddle that lapped at Elfhelm’s knees grew steadily warmer as it became more blood than water. Théodred went quiet again, only flinching as they worked frantically on his battered chest, and a hazy distance clouded his eyes, as though he was looking at something far off that no one else could perceive.

What does he need? Grimbold’s raspy voice was unnaturally high, his usual asthmatic wheeze intensified by fear, but Elfhelm had no answer to give. A paralyzing helplessness crept in from the edges of his mind, the dawning recognition that their efforts were futile and that continuing to push and prod at hurts that couldn’t possibly be healed would only add more pain to the inevitable. He stifled a sob, forcing it back down his throat to burn his lungs instead, and tried to steel himself for what would follow. On a day when all else had already gone horribly awry, he would have to watch as his nephew’s life came to an end, and a little part of his own would go with it.

Théodred’s eyes were closed now, his face ghostly pale in the moonless dark, but his chest still labored up and down and he held out a hand for comfort, weakly returning Elfhelm’s grasp when he found it. Minutes ticked by, or hours, or perhaps it was only seconds, and Elfhelm’s mind cast about in misery, searching for any action, anything he might give or try, that could bring some relief or ease the passing. Sister, tell me. What would you have me do for your boy? And in the midst of this anguished confusion, an old command suddenly surfaced, firm and insistent, from his carefully buried memories.

Keep him warm.

Forty one years vanished in an instant, and he pulled Théodred up to lay against his chest, wrapping his cloak around them both like cupped hands protecting a guttering flame in the wind. Resting a cheek to the top of Théodred’s head, where his tears disappeared into waves of blonde hair already darkened by the river and the rain, he clung tightly to the beloved son of his sister and whispered the only thing he could think to say.

Your uncle is here now. I’ll be with you as long as you need.

It’s definitely not my practice to have two different stories ready so close to each other, but since these started out initially as part of the same project it just kind of worked out that way. But now I’ll be going back into my writing hole for some undetermined but lengthy period of time!

@sotwk

Thanks as always to @quillofspirit for the beautiful dividers!

[thesummerstorms]

Arsinoë de Riva probably could have handled the Blight in Fereldan. The actual Blight parts, the managing allies and dealing with attempts on her life, etc... none of that seems too terribly far removed from Veilguard. She even is used to moving around a country hostile to Apostates while having to use magic to get shit done.

That said, she would have gotten frustrated by her team I think. Veilguard gives us a collection of experts in their field who are personally committed to the cause and/or are motivated to do good; Origins is a collection of unwilling draftees, people who have very specific agendas, and people who joined due to lack of other options. Not that they aren't skilled, but the particular dynamic would not be one that encouraged closeness or trust in Arsinoë.

I think she'd be frustrated by Alistair's lack of direction/ownership especially if she was in the position of being new junior Warden but also if she was still a Crow. Oghren wouldn't last very long before getting poisoned. She and Zevran have had different life experiences in the Crows, so he would likely distrust her if she remained a Crow. Wynne she might leave at the Circle despite the fact that it isn't smart to be running around the Fifth Blight without a healer. Morrigan 's insistence on pessimism and needling people would eventually cause issues when Arsinoë wants to just get the job done.

None of these are positive changes for her ability to bond and form trusting relationships, and in some places it would end up costing her tactically. The other place she'd trip up potentially is the Fereldan politics/convictions as they're tied to it's recent history of occupation, if she was coming in as an Antivan and not someone who had lived there.

Kirkwall? Arsinoë would probably be dead well before the endgame.

Not because she lacks survival skills, but because she has personal hang ups with the Circle and Chantry stemming from her mother and her life as an Apostate. Spite (common noun), misery, and anger are gonna get her ass.

Quite possibly she and Anders could make one another worse. That, or she'd die trying to put a blade in Meredith's throat but do so too early/without support or enough of a plan. The same idea from Veilguard that "Someone has to do something; I may not be the right person, but I'm who's left" works out a lot less positively here.

If she's still a Crow, there's probably a string of pointed assassinations first. If she didn't have House de Riva training to beat caution into her bones, then one day she just snaps. For a mage in a place where the Veil is thin that's Very Bad News... But that's just the story of Kirkwall, right?

Again, I think Veilguard's team is also uniquely situated to bring out the side of Arsinoë that wants to bond with and trust outsiders and I don't know if that would happen with the Kirkwall crew. She's absolutely going to clash with Sebastian and Aveline in a way that's less "rival route" and more "we no longer associate with one another and are maybe actively Hostile", and the lack of any unified common goal means she's going to spend more time managing relationships to make sure they stay workable/useful than actually opening herself to them fully. Add in the emotional environmental debuff that is the Gallows and you don't get the same Rook that was in the Lighthouse.

That said, it was Varric who got her to a place pre-Veilguard where she could step up and be Rook, so provided that she doesn't get cut down by a Templar too early in the game, there's, well, some hope.

Varric himself is a lot younger and has less experience to work off of though, meaning he might not know everything he needed in Veilguard to guide her, or even be interested in the "mentor" role.

For Inquisition, I would almost say that Arsinoë would be like a speed run of "how fast can you PROVE the whole organization is heretical".( Again, so many issues with the Chantry and Circle, which is bad when you are dealing with a Chantry organization as a "Herald of Andraste")

Except in game an Inquisitor who actively tries to undermine their association with Andraste can't manage to do so despite every effort. Which would be a whole different mind fuck.

I think if Arsinoë was going to make it work, she would almost have to treat it like a long term undercover contract. Not just a mask or persona, but a full on false history and name to help her separate the job from her self-identity. "This is a Contract, these are the Objectives, I cannot break character until x y and z are achieved." Saying one thing, and then personally sneaking poison into cups or subtly altering written documents when she thinks no one will notice, using the name Inquisitor as a shield and looking at doubters with big grey innocent eyes.

It would be terrible for her mental health and again, do the exact opposite of Veilguard for her ability to form meaningful, trusting relationships. That said, I think Josephine, Varric, Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Leliana would clock her pretty quickly. Cole would frighten her, not because he's a spirit because of what he sees and is willing to reveal, and would almost have to be kept away. With Josie, Leliana, and Varric she could maybe eventually lean on them at least a little, one liar or shadow to another.

National politics are more difficult for her than interpersonal or organizational ones, so she would definitely need Josephine and Leliana to know and accept what she was doing. There are many reasons she was content being Viago's knife and not his heir, and that's one of them.

In the end, the world does get saved, there aren't too many extra deaths, but the Inquisitor immediately "dies" as soon as Corypheus is out down. Arsinoë will let them martyr her cover story if it means escaping, which is then an issue for Trespasser. The mage who makes it back to Antiva or the Free Marches is now living looking over her shoulder, trying to erase her existence in order to preserve her sense of self.

Rook Introduction Hour 2/17/25

Hello, Heroes of Thedas! 🌟 It's Monday morning, which sucks, but it's also Rook Intro Hour day, which is fun! Yay!

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today's Question(s): If your Rook had been in the role of one of the protagonists of the other Dragon Age games, how would they have have done? Could they have saved Fereldan from the Blight? Become the Champion of Kirkwall? Led the Inquisition? How would it have changed them as a person? Impacted their emotional state?

Answer whatever you want, and have fun!

[neon-danger]

bros my sense of self worth today has PLUMMETED

[mysticruinedme]

I like the idea of Sonic being just as heroic as he is selfish - cuz the core motivation for half of what he does when in regards to Eggman and the world or whatever is going on at the time is cuz he himself enjoys those adventures, and not because he feels some sort of selfless obligation over his natural abilities to do anything that he does.