#this gets a bit longer than I expected

[lyculuscaelus]

Answers

(My EtM secret Santa gift for @betterbekind ! Merry Christmas!)

Sometimes, he would dream of the bright sun, the fleeting cloud, and the forested mountain that lay above the waves.

Sometimes, he would dream of a verdant branch of olive, casting a shade on him, blessing him with a sense of safety.

Sometimes, he would dream of a large fleet, radiant with high spirits of its crew, launching into the rosy-fingered dawn with many oars ploughing a salted field that was the wine-dark sea itself.

And sometimes, he would smell the fresh scent of soils, blinking his eyes bright with innocence, wondering why the donkey had suddenly halted by his side.

And sometimes, he would feel the warmth of the cradle, hearing his own name in his sleep, when a tender voice whispered gently, “…then I shall keep you far from war…”

And sometimes, he would notice the song of winds, wordless, like the sobbing of two parents.

But sometimes he would dream of those suitors. They always came in groups, playing, yelling, cramming his father’s palace with their filthy forms and noises of revelry.

And sometimes he would dream of their words—haunting, like the neighing sea.

For they said, “fight, little wolf; entertain us like you always do.”

For they said, “cry, little wolf; only your misery will comfort you.”

For they said, “die, little wolf; your incompetence will be the end of you.”

And he would think of those times when he failed to punish the suitors; and he would mourn the old days when seas and forests were all he could dream of; and he would grieve for the journeys he failed to start—the journey to prove himself worthy. Worthy, as the son whose blood echoed the name of a great hero.

But he never felt like it.

Odysseus would’ve killed them all so long ago, the moment they revealed their intent to woo my mother; Odysseus would’ve taken the crown and reigned over this kingdom already, instead of sitting in the courtroom mourning for a king forgotten, a father lost; Odysseus would’ve done so many feats before he even found himself stuck in a bedroom, dreaming of all the things he could never do.

And he would scream silently, in a dream that felt like reality.

Or was it the other way around? He didn’t know that anymore. Days were only pretenses of joy, while nights…

Well, only nights knew his silent tears, when he mourned for his father…when he mourned for himself.

I am no legacy of my father. When he thinks of me, I will only be known as a failure.

Because that’s what I am—a failure. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be the son of Odysseus.

Please. Just tell me I’m wrong—tell me, before it becomes all I can remember, all I can believe…

Please. Somebody…anybody…

And it was always silence that answered him.

Silence. Just another name for loneliness.

And sometimes, it was the very silence that shall wake him from his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Telemachus opened his eyes to stare into the dark ceiling.

The dream still felt vivid. It was just like every other nightmare of his—full of taunts, full of grief. He was almost used to them at this point. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt me.

No. Not on the outside, of course; but Telemachus couldn’t face what lay within. At least, not now, when the suitors were still—

Wait. No. He corrected himself quickly. The suitors are dead already. Killed by the very man I wish to meet for the first time in twenty years, only two days ago.

Telemachus shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. I know my life is different now, but somehow it still feels the same—as if the suitors have never truly gone; as if my father has never really come back; as if there hasn’t actually been any victory.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? 

He let out a heavy sigh.

Guess I’m just not used to happiness like this.

Climbing out of the bed, putting on a chiton quickly, he walked to the door before realizing it was only in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t matter. As if I’m not used to waking up at this hour already…

He pushed open the door to welcome a silent hall, where only darkness would be his company. Sometimes breezes too, if the gods were keen enough to send those.

If only…so that he’d make it home so much earlier. So that we’d need to face no sorrow like this for years.

He paced quietly in the halls empty of the living.

If I start humming, will it startle anyone from their sleep?

He wasn’t sure. But a tune had already flown out from his mouth, dissipating into the air. It was a song Phemius used to sing.

It was about the Nostoi—the return of heroes. There were all the Achaean kings—Diomedes, Nestor, Idomeneus, Agamemnon…and eventually, Menelaus, when he became the last Achaean hero to make it home—

Before my father did, that is. He mustered a smile. But surprisingly, there isn’t any song for him…yet.

Telemachus was musing when he came across a huge pillar.

Maybe there will be. In days to come, perhaps, when people weave their memories into songs, songs into epics…

“Can’t sleep?” a new voice came suddenly, startling the young man. Telemachus almost raised his fists before realizing who it could only belong to.

It was the voice of a fresh old man, a bit hoarse due to years of seafaring; but there was a commanding tone lying underneath, for it probably wasn’t a stranger to war-cries and orations. There was only one man who could wield a voice like this, Telemachus knew.

Even though it wasn’t a voice he was used to hearing.

“Father?” he called softly, trying to locate the source with no success.

“The moon is still young,” he heard his father murmuring. “There’s nothing to see but the stars. Stars who relate their stories, who keep the night sky from loneliness, who are keen enough to guide the sailors home, if the sailors are still keeping their eyes open to all this.”

“Where are you, father?” Telemachus prompted with a question.

“Somewhere, in the dark, where my rest lies alongside my vigilance.”

That’s not a helpful answer… Telemachus thought to himself. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, father?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sleep. Last time I fell asleep letting go of all my worries, it ended with…well.” that was all his father replied.

Telemachus waited for a moment, but his father didn’t continue. So Telemachus spoke out again. “But you were in your bedroom—with mom,” he said, walking a few more paces to the direction where he heard his father answering. “Why did you come out here?”

He heard a heavy sigh, then came a sound almost like sobbing. Telemachus almost found his way there before hearing his father’s reply.

“I���I was afraid. Afraid of hurting your mother by accident,” the great-hearted man muttered.

Afraid of hurting mom? Telemachus remarked in shock. What could it possibly be—a nightmare? Just like one of mine?

No. Maybe father’s was way more eventful. But still…

“What were you trying to do, father?” he asked again.

“Hiding,” there came the reply—Telemachus was almost certain it’s the right spot— “No. But that wouldn’t be necessary…she’s not here—she can’t lay her hands on you anymore, Odysseus,” the sacker of cities was whispering to himself. “No, you’re safe now. That’s Penelope by your side—yes, Penelope. The one who loves you. The one you love. You’re home now, Odysseus. It’s your own son you’re talking to. It’s alright. It’ll all be fine…”

The next step brought Telemachus to a turn where he felt someone suddenly approaching—

—and ran into a fierce embrace, as his father held him so tightly that he couldn’t even stretch out his arms to return a hug.

“It’s alright now…” he could still hear his father murmuring. “You’re safe now. You’re safe at last.”

“Father?” Telemachus could only muster the strength to ask. The hug felt even heavier than the first one they ever had, only a few days ago. But his father was so aware of himself then, not like…this.

What could have happened to the man of twists and turns in his days of missing?

It was after a moment that lasted like years that Odysseus decided to let loose the embrace, finally facing his son in the darkness, still putting both hands on his shoulders, now speaking in a tone so much softer. “I’m sorry, Telemachus…I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. This isn’t what a father should act like…I’m so sorry…”

“Father, don’t be,” Telemachus reached over to hold his father’s hand. “Just tell me what happened, maybe? If you wish to, that is.”

His father sighed. “Nothing…just some bad memories. Something that haunts me in my sleep—picked some of them up in these years of wandering.”

Telemachus lowered his head and mused. Just like those dreams of mine…

Then he felt a touch on his face. Telemachus raised his head to meet his father’s gaze in the darkness, as Odysseus continued slowly. “But I might tell you all my stories…maybe some other time, when our hearts aren’t so laid down by the weariness of sleep. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before, really. But what about you, Telemachus? You did not go through a long trek with all the hardships—what could’ve woken you in the middle of the night?”

This time it was Telemachus who heaved a sigh. “It’s…nothing. Just bad memories.” Something that haunts me, too, in my sleep. Something I picked up in these years of waiting, wondering, dreaming.

“Of those suitors, I presume?” Odysseus prompted.

“Yeah,” Telemachus replied with a nod. “Maybe more. But for the suitors I dreamt of their faces, smirking in mockery; I dreamt of their words, saying nothing but taunts…”

“What did they say?” he could tell his father’s eyebrows were creasing when saying this.

“Father…” Telemachus didn’t expect this. Should I tell him or should I not? Only the night keeps my secrets—should I let father know this, too? “It’s pretty much just nonsense, really. It’s not like they can hurt me—”

“But can they?” 

Well…yes. A lot, actually. 

But it’s just something I don’t want to admit.

“Father, trust me—I can tackle them, all of them—I mean, most of—some of them…I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” his father only responded.

I know…but I just don’t want to bother you with this…

Telemachus lowered his head.

“Father, there are enough matters kept in your mind now. I just don’t want to trouble you with yet another problem…a problem I’m supposed to overcome on my own. But instead I just keep failing…”

“In that case,” Odysseus was saying. “Why not share the burden with me? Share it with your dear father who’s been waiting for ages, to help you out in your time of need—something I failed to do for so long…but no longer. Share it with me—let us carry your load together. What better thing is there to do as father and son?”

A smile was playing on Telemachus’s trembling lips. A smile that tasted bitter, like the sadness of tears.

Yes, he’s here now, Telemachus—your father is here at last, after all the years of hoping—hoping he’d hearken to your distress, wishing he’d give you his counsel, dreaming he’d comfort you with a smile…he’s here now, ready to help, as a father he always wanted to be, reaching out to the son who lives beyond his memory.

And how can I reject something so beautiful, like this?

“Thank you, father, thank you so much…” Telemachus could only mutter. “It’s something I never thought I’d need…”

His father only replied with a gentle pat on his shoulder. It felt warm, like the heart of a hearth, where home lies.

So Telemachus took a deep breath, facing his father at last.

“But I just want to know…do you think I’m a failure, father?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Odysseus’s expression was almost unreadable in the darkness. But Telemachus could tell he was apparently surprised. “A failure? Who has been keeping your mom safe while I was making my way home? Who has been my aid when we slaughtered suitors? If anyone dares to call you that, Telemachus, I swear I’d—”

“Father? It’s me,” he cut in before Odysseus even finished that curse. “I call myself a failure, in my dreams.”

“Telemachus…”

“I know I might’ve proven my strength, my courage, when days ago we slaughtered those suitors. But I couldn’t help but think back to those times when I failed,” his voice was cracking a little when he answered. “And I know that all this happened because of me: it’s my fault that I failed to dissuade all those suitors to leave with my speech; it’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them from wasting our wealth, our livestock; it’s my fault that I didn’t take vengeance upon those suitors, something I could’ve planned out already…”

“You did what you had to do as a host,” Odysseus answered calmly. “You gave them Xenia like any noble man would do. It’s never your fault that they overstayed your welcome—you rewarded them with death, something they deserved from the start—you did well, Telemachus, son of mine.”

Telemachus blinked his eyes in surprise. But is it…true?

“Do you…really mean it?” Telemachus almost broke into tears. “But I failed to live up to your name—gods, I failed so miserably. I didn’t carry the crown young, something you have done so long ago. Do you content yourself with stories only? No, you’ve sought out adventures, winning so much glory…”

“Telemachus,” his father cut in, murmuring in a voice so weary. “You know I mean it with all my sincerity. You know I’m proud of you as who you are—not who you want to be. Have I ever spoken of the weight of the crown? It has deprived me of the joy of childhood—does that sound familiar to you? And have I ever told you how I left our homeland against my will, forced on a path to seek glory in war, to add weight to my name with all my sufferings? I do not ask for any of these—but they come to me. They always find me when I do not wish for their presence. They haunt me just as your nightmares. Do you think I can hide my tears behind a strong heart? No, I weep even more than you ever could. What you just saw that happened to me…it’s only an echo of what haunts me from within, of all the things I’ve seen and gone through—something I pray that should never happen to you.”

Telemachus listened quietly, his head dizzy. If only I knew…if only I knew all this so long ago.

“Father,” he replied softly, a moment later. “Father, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, son,” he felt the caress on his face, as his father reached out again, sharing the warmth of a weary palm. “Know that I’m right here with you—that would be enough.”

Telemachus smiled—just a little.

“But…there’s something else,” he could feel his heart aching as he said this. “This might sound ridiculous…but deep down I dwell on it, a lot. I know how everyone tells me how I resemble you in form—something I have no way of knowing…until now. But do I ever have your strength in me? They said that I have your eyes—but do yours blink with naïveté? They could hear you in my voice—but does it ever echo your authority? They saw your shadow in me—but isn’t that all there is? Just a shadow, living in the light of your glory…”

“And does that make you any less the son of mine?” his father responded gently. “You don’t have to be me—you don’t need to be like me to be known as a hero. A hero that you already are. Don’t you see? I don’t wish for you to lead a path like the one I treaded, with so much sorrow and pain. I don’t want you to end up like me, suffering too much for something so easily achieved for others. No, you deserve a life so much better than the one I left you with. And you know what, Telemachus? We’ll make it a reality—just you and I, your mother too—this is something only meant for you.”

This brought a gasp from Telemachus. How do I only get to feel the comfort of family so late in my life?

“I couldn’t take from you all the sorrows you’ve been through,” his father continued. “But I can make sure the same thing never happens to you, ever again. Know that I’ll find every opportunity to give you happiness—you deserve it, Telemachus, and now I finally have the chance to give it to you, after all the years of my absence from your life. On this I give you my promise—know that nothing will stop us. Know that all your waiting wasn’t fruitless, after all. And know that I’d trade the world, Telemachus, just for you.”

Telemachus finally gave in to his sobbing—was it joy? Was it sadness? Telemachus didn’t know, but it was the best feeling he could ever have asked for, really. It was the realization of the fact that his family was actually complete, at last. It was the hope that nothing grievous would’ve happened to them, ever again. It was the knowledge that he had found the reassurance from his father—the acceptance he most needed, coming from the sacker of cities, the great honor of Achaeans, the hero he most admired—his very own father.

And wouldn’t that be the best kind of relief, after all?

So he buried his face in his father’s embrace, putting his head against that sturdy chest, feeling the shelter of those gentle arms. Tears streamed down his cheek like plowing, laying down two trails of solace. In his laxness he noticed his father joining him too, as his own hair felt the tender touch of teardrops, drenched in happiness, at last.

And he was joyful, for it was no longer nothingness that answered him.

And he was grateful, for silence could no longer haunt him, in his dreams, in his reality.

And he immersed himself in that embrace, rejoicing in the very answer from his father, after all the years of questioning.

Maybe tonight was different, after all.

[sleepymccoy]

This feels like a secret but I'm telling you

I've always been a spones girly (and I still am, I love their arguments) but mckirk week is strong on the dash so I tried my hand at it last night and ooh! Jim is a fun pov to write! Knocked out 3k before it even got romantic (the desire is filtered throughout, I'm not writing platonic w a twist ending. He has a crush).

Hope I can finish tonight or tomorrow morning and post still within the week, but even if it's late I know I'm mutual w a few diehard mckirkers so just giving you a heads up ily ❤️

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok, I think I have a pretty good idea of why a lot of Akechi's dialogue is... like that.

So, even before his confidant truly started, I noticed that he has a real knack for directing the flow of a conversation. This is very fitting for someone who is both a detective and skilled at interviews - when there is a topic and a goal, Akechi is in his element.

All this to say, he's actually kind of controlling when it comes to conversational flow. He probes for information, or turns the conversation around to a particular topic, usually the Phantom Thieves. He manages to take a few of Joker's dialogue options and spin them so they sound mildly incriminating in the context he's placed them in - the only way to truly get around this is to pick answers that feign indifference, and even then, that's more than a bit telling. He's clearly very good at this kind of thing.

But then, we get conversations where either Joker does something he didn't expect, or else he doesn't have a particular goal in mind - and the conversation stutters. In the first instance, Joker does something (a particularly egregious example is putting his glasses on him and fluffing his hair in rank 3) which both leaves him wrong-footed and no longer in perfect control of the situation. He just kind of... freezes, for awhile. It's hilarious. He has no idea how to respond.

He picks up control again in the phone call afterwards, having chosen to play into it, turning this "fooling the crowds" into a kind of game or secret between them. Nice save.

But in instances where there isn't an obvious topic and the goal is somewhat nebulous, for instance, that one Leblanc scene, it becomes pretty apparent that Akechi doesn't have the right "script" to go off of. Again, it's particularly notable in that scene, because I'm fairly sure he didn't have any specific reason to be at Leblanc, other than him looking for a quiet spot now that public opinion has turned on him. And because there isn't anything specific he's digging for, he kind of just ends up throwing things at the wall to see what will stick. Probing for any kind of recognizable reaction that he can jump on and work with, and that just doesn't really happen in this scene.

He references Sae, a woman in a respectable position, to Sojiro, but instead of that netting a welcome, it earns his ire, given Sae's recent actions against him. He then tries to greet Joker, his... rival? friend? enemy? person who at least seems to somewhat enjoy spending time with him? But Joker's responses are somewhat short, and Akechi practically wilts. He tries to commiserate by oversharing. He tries to involve Futaba and reaches out for the only topic of interest he can think of around "young people". He compliments the coffee. He compliments Joker. He tries to invoke that connection between them. None of it is really sticking, nor does it serve as a jumping off point for him to steer the conversation, or even really start one.

So, he basically just ends up having a one-sided chat with himself and then leaves. Hilarious. Also a little sad, if I'm being honest. It's really giving "guy with no friends who only knows how to speak to adults" energy. If there's no specific purpose to the exchange, or he is not in control of its direction, he seems to be kind of out of his depth. He succeeds only in being a little awkward and confusing, more than anything.

[stormbreaker-290]

Mer Mal on the mind,,,,,,.,..,..,.,,,,

Oc and au design by @bumble-the-sun-bee <3

[maudsaysstuff]

thinking about Thorin, Fili and Kili ending up in a coma instead of dying at the end of botfa and while Fili and Kili wake up after a few days, Thorin still hasn't woken up after two weeks. Bilbo can't stand to keep waiting, knowing that Thorin might pass away in his sleep and never wake up again.

So he leaves, he goes on his way home and restarts his life there. He tries to forget about Thorin and the others and settles down again, although it's not easy. It's not until a year and a half later that he gets an unexpected visitor.

Thorin.

Apparently, the King Under the Mountain had awoken a week after Bilbo left. He had then spent several months fully recovering from his injuries. He'd wanted to follow Bilbo immediately and call him back to the mountain but in his injured condition, he couldn't. And then he had to take the role of King as a responsibility while the kingdom was being rebuilt. All of that together had taken over a year and while it was far from done, he couldn't wait any longer. All the dwarves knew that their King had met his One and was itching to go after him, so as soon as he had the chance, he embarked on his journey to The Shire.

When they saw each other again, it was awkward for about an hour before they both broke down and confessed their love. Bilbo never truly found happiness and comfort again in The Shire, too used to a life filled with adventure and excitement now, so he ended up joining Thorin and returning to Erebor as a consort to the King Under the Mountain.

[laugtherhyena]

What a lovely group of students, i sure hope nothing bad happens to them ever ❤

For now, things are kinda chill tho

[rheafilms]

A FLOWER BORN IN HEAT.

pairing. rhea ripley x fem!reader

synopsis. rhea fucks you.

tags. this is literally just smut. dom!rhea. sub!reader. blurb vibes. wlw.

warnings. eighteen plus — sexual content, penetration (strap use), dirty talk, mommy kink.

“God, you’re such a good girl for me. Aren’t you, baby?” Rhea purred clearly content with the view. It was all she needed all fucking week. The sweet honey located between your thighs. She dreamed of it. Having to fuck herself with the vibrator you gifted her but, at the end of it, she was only whining for you. 

Now, she finally was where she was dying to be. Strong hands gripped your hips, nails digging into the delicate skin. “You’re being so loud tonight, babygirl. Did you miss Mami?” 

The only thing you could offer was soft yes, unable to utter anything else. Her pace was ruthless, fucking into you, the strap she wore filled you to the hilt. 

“This pussy is mine. Isn’t it, babygirl?” Rhea laughed cynically as you whined. 

Moving a free hand, she pressed on your lower back, face buried in the silk sheets as she fucked you within an inch of your life. 

“It’s all yours, forever baby.” You admitted freely, only stating what was true. There was no one else you’d ever want to be with again. You weren’t even sure if she could hear you, face flush against the pillow. 

She fucking loved it. Knowing you were hers, knowing you needed her — begging for her. The possessiveness in her took over, pulling you up as your back rested against her chest. Playing with your nipples as she fucked up into you. 

Rhea’s lips found purchase on your neck, nipping at your sweet spot as you rested your head against her shoulder. “Rhea, I’m so close. God.” 

“God can’t save you now, only Mami can.” She brought her thumb until it rested on your bottom lip and instructed you, “Suck, baby girl.” 

Willingly accepting the invitation, your tongue swirled around her thumb before letting off with a pop. She found purchase on your clit as her pace settled into a brutal pace. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Mami’s good, little slut. Taking my cock, splitting this sweet pussy, giving to you just like you like it.” You felt her breath kiss your neck as she whispered in your ear, bringing you closer to where you craved to be. 

“Mami knows just how to take care of you. Pretty baby like you just needs a strong Mami. Are you going to be a good girl and come for me?” Her pace was more than you could take, but she gave it to you anyway. 

Hard and fast, her thumb playing your clit like a fiddle — one she knew every tune to. She needs to feel your body convulse against her, the soft cries of Rhea she knew would slip out. Once she’d punish you for later. 

“Shit — yes Rhea — shit, shit, shit. Mami, I-I’m coming, fuuuck.” 

Her strong arms kept you up as your body threatened to fall over. The blinding pleasure shot up your spine and straight to your core as Rhea eased you through it. Filthy, pure hot shots of your cum soaked the dildo as she continued to fuck you through it. 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby girl. Give it all to me.” She wished she could feel the pulse of your pussy, how it clenched around the dildo. She knew it did. 

She slapped your ass, wanting to hear you whimper once more, and it was like you were on autopilot. 

“Rhea, please.” A small squeak you managed to release, until she was setting her pace again. As if she knew what your body craved, regardless of how spent you felt. 

“Let’s see how many times Mami can make you come tonight, baby girl.” She laughed before letting you go, and you were once again face first into the silk at your lover’s mercy.

[tyliocellier]

Closed starter for @noiranamnesis

To direct a truly great performance is difficult. To direct the perfect performance is impossible. That was what he had been told by his mentor years ago and rather than take it as the humbling piece of advice it was intended to be, Tylio had internalized it as a personal challenge instead. Because he knew that it was possible. Perfection did exist. He witnessed it with his own eyes when he visited the Palais Garnier for the first time and saw his first ever ballet performance. To simply call it a performance would be a disservice, it had been a lifechanging experience for him. That day, he had the pleasure of bearing witness to what turned out to be the most skillfully performed rendition of Odette he'd ever see and it was also the rendition he would spend the rest of his life training people to recapture...

...with mixed results.

Finding the right swan was difficult. No, it was grueling. Last year's Odette was good, perhaps even great but she was not perfect. This year he was once again holding auditions. It was the second round today, and he honestly wasn't sure what to expect. There had been a few decent candidates but he had yet to find someone who was capable of capturing the essence of both the white and black swan. Most people believed they were capable of only one. It was his job to find the exception.

"It's your turn, miss...", he briefly glanced at the paper in his hand, before looking up and back at one of the dancers who'd been waiting by the sidelines. "...Beauséjour." A faint smile showed on his face as he realized the name was French. Dancers from all over the world traveled here for a chance at a proper education, it was not a given that his students were French. Most of them were international, which was why he held his classes in English. He gestured towards the dancefloor with one hand, while the pianist on one side of the room began to play. "Show me your white swan."

[jaspersfeelinartsy]

Gladiator -- RnS Helsknight Animatic

Tis finally finished! This took me so much longer than I was expecting...I hope you enjoy!

Credits:

All art by me

Song: Gladiator by Jann -- YouTube | Spotify

Redstone & Skulk (RnS) Helsknight Characterization by @silverskye13

Original Helsknight character by Welsknight

[asphodeline-lutea]

How Forgetting Almost Everything can Help You Reach Tomorrow: The Importance of the "Amnesia Plot" of Book 12 (and how it might be Dissociative Amnesia)

The amnesia plot at the start of Book 12 is more than often seen as out of place, unnecessary, or even ridiculous. Sure, why have the main character lose his memory all of a sudden? To make the story more intriguing, perhaps, or to show his determination to become king and his willpower?

But as we all know, accidents happen for a reason.

The same applies to the amnesia of Book 12.

Suppose that Hiccup did not get amnesia, he will know that he had lost the Things, and the possibility of him becoming King has been severely reduced.

It has always been one of Hiccup's deepest fears that the Lost Things he had found would fall into the wrong hands, enabling Alvin to become king, causing the destruction of dragons, and the suffering of the humans. Now, it seems that this fear is very close to becoming reality.

To add to all of it, Snotlout had just sacrificed himself so that Hiccup could live and become King. If Hiccup did not become King, then Snotlout’s death would be in vain, and he would be failing Snotlout's trust and faith in him. We see more than once in later parts of Book 12, where he repeatedly states that he is doing this because of Snotlout. (“The very least that Hiccup could do was to make absolutely sure that Snotlout's sacrifice was worth it./ He HAD to do this.”-Book 12, p188; “I take this Crown in honor of Snotlout.” -Book 12, p221) (Not to mention that he was probably traumatized by Snotlout's death -any thought about this must have been very painful.)

But how, exactly, was he going to do so in this situation? He had none of the Things, only about one day's time until the coronation, and the borders of Tomorrow will be closed, so he would not be able to enter. This really seemed hopeless now- He had been in seemingly hopeless situations before, but none as dark and with stakes as high as this one.

If Hiccup was to go on without amnesia, then he would be under great pressure to become King, while facing serious difficulties, and yet this burden of fear and grief and guilt would be so much heavier than anything he had ever experienced. He could easily fall into the “all my fault” loop of self-blame and despair. If so, then how hard would it be for him to gather all the remaining strength in him to make himself continue to go forward?

Even if he had all his memories, he might have to try to suppress some of them (“I’ll think about it tomorrow”-Book 11, p308), in order to prevent himself from sinking into the pain of them, and keep himself going.

So, ironically, the amnesia could be seen as the kindness of Fate, or a rare example of the remaining bits of kindness in Cressida.

So you see, the amnesia plot was necessary to the story.

But wait- there's more to this plot.

What if the amnesia was not, or not only, caused by a hit to the head?

What if Hiccup himself, consciously or unconsciously, induced that amnesia on himself, to block out the pain, so he could go on towards Tomorrow? Though this would imply that he already knew he lost the Things before he woke up. But it is possible that he had already realized it subconsciously.

(I know I'm going more into speculative grounds now, but since Cressida wrote it as so, then it is open to interpretations, as long as they are logical enough within the story.)

Searching on the Internet, I found this:

Dissociative amnesia.

You see how this could actually fit into the story?

(I am no expert about dissociative amnesia, if I get anything wrong feel free to correct me.)

Forgetting one’s identity; memory loss of everything within a long period; amnesia affecting events but not learnt skills (such as speaking Dragonese or tying a kind of knot)- these are all characteristics of dissociative amnesia.

Especially the part where Hiccup regains his memory with help from Toothless- all memories returned, suddenly and forcefully, like a door swinging open. This happens with dissociative amnesia, where the memories are intact but blocked from consciousness to protect the person, but not with organic amnesia, where the memories are damaged, and usually cannot be completely cured.

(A small detail: with this approach, the fact that his memories about Snotlout returned later than the rest, might suggest that this was part of the trauma that caused the amnesia.)

In addition, in his amnesia state, Hiccup still seems to know that he must get to Tomorrow. Even though he was exhausted, ragged, barely alive, and had no conscious idea of why he was doing this, "something within him" made him push on towards Tomorrow. This fits in with the dissociative amnesia hypothesis.

Of course, I'm not saying that this is the "correct" explanation, Cressida might or might not have intended it to be dissociative amnesia, but since she wrote it in such a way, then it is open to this kind of interpretation.

However, this approach, interpreting the amnesia plot as dissociative amnesia, would be logical and connected with the previous events and Hiccup's character. And of course, it brings forth much more pain and emotional angst.

[pasdetrois]

some nosferatu 2024 thoughts 🖤

this is the first jonathan (well, thomas in this adaptation because stoker estate lawsuit) that i have actually enjoyed watching—which was very much helped by his character not being shunted off to the corner after the castle arc, and by him being played by nicholas hoult instead of harry styles (yes, apparently he may have been the original casting choice. thank goodness for small miracles).

one of the few van helsings i've enjoyed watching as well. dafoe brought a compassionate earnestness to the role, which is an important element for setting him apart from a generic researcher/healer figure that would otherwise fade to the background (as the '79 version did for me, personally)

ellen being the lynchpin of this film from beginning to end—her loneliness, fear, desire, shame, defiance, and strength. (of course it's not ideal to blend mina and lucy into one character, because it does almost imply an interchangeability between them, but i can give some leeway here due to timing constraints.) there's an out of time and place aspect to her (she and others refer to her "fae" ways several times)—which is undeniably in part due to being a woman in a world like this, especially one who has experienced what she has and is offered only shame and silence for it—but also a fundamental Otherness that ends up becoming the salvatory key to a benediction only a few will ever know of... there was something touching about the doctor recognizing her power and how in their time it could offer everyone but her salvation. and while depp may not have quite the haunting presence adjani does, i still enjoyed her performance. the way she spoke of her wedding to death dream, caught between a laugh and a sob was so 🩶

the tragic pas de trois element of the story and the faustianesque covenants ellen and thomas enter into with the count were awful and fascinating and even poignant. this gluttonous, rotting corpse who can not love, but is the only one to hear ellen's pleas, who speaks to her through the conduit of her token of love to thomas, whose castle recognizes thomas and never willingly releases him. and thomas and ellen, standing together in the wreck, no longer talking past each other, for how little it matters now beyond these precious few moments. i'm still thinking about the harrowing scene in the third act where they simultaneously invoke and rebuke his spectre. "show him our love"!!!

beautiful visuals, when i could see them (unfortunately, it did occasionally suffer from the lighting problem that most of its horror contemporaries do, in that i probably resembled the squinting lady in pink trying to decipher what exactly was on the screen at times). the shadow work was sublime though (and i assume inspired by the '22 version). loved the shots where the count's fragmentary silhouette appears in billowing curtains or looms ever closer over thomas and ellen's wide eyed stares. significantly more evocative than the later scenes where we actually saw the count's physical form.

the visceral physicality of it all! lots of blood and sharp, staccato contortions lending a presence and urgency to the scenes.

harding's character didn't really work for me (there was just a bit too much of the cliche, especially with some of the trite landed gentryman dialogue™️), but i can appreciate that he and his family were likely intended to be the Victorian Ideal foil to thomas and ellen, and the cost that ultimately incurred. and to be honest, the coffin scene was still more poignant than the equivalent in fennell's 2023 attempt at gothic horror.

the film mostly follows its predecessors and the novel with regard to the treatment of the villagers. not ideal, to say the least, but from a straight adaptation position, you're in a tricky spot given how much the "fear of the uncivilized, foreign invader" bigotry is baked into the text itself. it likely wasn't egger's priority, given how short this chapter was in the film, but i feel there's more that could have been done here.

lovely string work in the soundtrack, especially the pendulum swing between a sense of poignancy and foreboding. these were a couple of my favorite tracks:

[purecalcium66]

I WENT SO FERAL ONCE I GOT THE UPGRADED GRAVITY GUN

i feel like it's a bit empty expecially at the top, but this is the best background i've ever drawn so im proud anyway since im terrible at backgrounds

[intertexts]

what doesnt kill u permanently makes u weird at intimacy

[overly-verbose]

UPDATE: NO LONGER 'SHADOWBANNED' WOO YES

(Apparently the blog was wrongly flagged for spam, but Staff fixed it so woo yea)

My (new, everything until now doesn't seem to) stuff will actually appear in the carefully curated tags, and reblogs, and stuff just woo yeah I'm no longer invisible

(Also I can answer comments normally instead of in the tags woo yeah again!!)

Also I just realised I have no link from here to my fic's Main Series proper lol

Full title: "SIkuna's guide to not fucking up perfectly good children (look at them, they could get anxiety!)"

Ao3 whole series summary:

(alternative title: "SIkuna's guide to catching a cyclops cat by the throat in the KFC parking lot at 3am")

'Holy shit someone needs to hug those kids. Some adults too, to be honest', once thinks a fan of Jujutsu Kaisen, the definitely and absolutely only fictional franchise

Then, he abruptly finds himself at the beginning of the story as Sukuna, mister Basically The Devil, of all things

Completely blindsided by the weird cards given, he tries his best to prevent some things from affecting the characters-turned-people he already cared about even before they turned real

To better or worse results.

.

(It's an ongoing (there's still a LOT to go through lol) fix-it fic for the Canon Series so I feel like I'm contributing a little bit to the prevention of Lobotomy Kaisen getting even worse rn lmao)

I'm gonna leave the old Pinned Post for archival purposes/context of what's up with the tag-answers though

[Old pinned post under the cut]

I made up a way to answer comments here

(though it's annoyingly limited and inefficient and doesn't give notifications)

whilst I can't do it normally

(hey Tumblr staff I've been waiting on that email back for like three months now! :D)

- IN THE TAGS!

yeah it's kinda oof but modern (hellsite shadowban for no reason) problems require modern (hellsite shadowban for no reason) solutions!

*perishes*

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Who is your favorite character from Undertale?

Howdy! Despite my preference for Sans AUs, my favorite character is actually Chara! It's actually been them even when I was originally into Undertale the first time!

I'm a big fan of when they're a bit of a flawed character that's influenced by the player's actions, which I would love to ramble about but want to keep this short, but I can also see the appeal of making them an evil irredeemable child!

[kiwikarpart]

Shorties with Sleevies

Just some human designs for some former JustNotters. From left to right it's Naily, Price Tag, and Cake.