#butterfly motif strikes again

[centaur-dreaming]

Has anyone done this yet

[bluenerdtastemaker]

The Backless Revelation

We Miss You sequel (2)

--

Esteban Ocon x Pierre Gasly x Charles Leclerc | 1.3K

--

Esteban wasn’t sure what had possessed him to agree to this. Maybe it was the earnest sparkle in Erina’s eyes when she’d asked him to model for her fashion design project. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d known her for years—she was his neighbor’s daughter, a sweet, determined fashion student with a dream of making it big in haute couture.

“Please, Esteban,” Erina had begged, clutching her sketchpad like it was her lifeline. “I just need one male model for my final collection. It’s bold and unconventional, but I think it’s perfect for you. You have the frame, the poise... and you’d look stunning.”

He’d laughed nervously at her passionate pitch, unsure of what he was signing up for. But Esteban was nothing if not a people-pleaser, and he didn’t have the heart to say no.

Now, standing in front of the camera in Erina’s tiny makeshift studio, he was starting to regret his decision.

“Trust me, Esteban,” Erina chirped as she adjusted the fabric of the suit, her fingers deftly arranging the black material over his shoulders. “You’re going to look amazing. This backless design is the centerpiece of my collection—it’s daring, elegant, and androgynous. It’s meant to break stereotypes.”

Esteban glanced over his shoulder at the mirror, taking in the plunging backline of the suit that left most of his spine exposed. A temporary tattoo—a delicate butterfly and rose motif—sat perfectly at the center of his back. It was bold, yes, but undeniably beautiful.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, fidgeting slightly. “I mean, it’s... a bit much.”

Erina gave him an encouraging smile, her warm brown eyes filled with gratitude. “You’re perfect, Esteban. Just trust me, okay? And thank you so much for doing this—I owe you big time.”

Her sincerity melted his nerves a little, and he sighed, nodding. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The photographer, a fellow student with a talent for capturing raw emotion, guided Esteban through the poses. Erina fussed over every detail, ensuring the suit draped just right and that the tattoo caught the light beautifully.

“Lift your chin a little,” the photographer directed. “Now turn your head slightly to the left... perfect. Hold that.”

Click. Click. Click.

As the shoot went on, Esteban found himself relaxing. The initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a quiet confidence he didn’t know he had. Erina’s energy was contagious—she radiated pride and excitement every time she looked at the shots on the camera screen.

“You’re killing it!” she exclaimed after a particularly striking shot. “You’re going to make my collection stand out at the showcase.”

By the end of the session, Esteban was actually smiling. Erina handed him a bottle of water and beamed up at him like he’d just won her an award.

“You were amazing,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes. “This is going to be the highlight of my portfolio. And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get credit when it goes public.”

Esteban chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. “You’re the real star here, Erina. I just stood where you told me to.”

She shook her head fiercely. “No way. You brought my design to life. I’ll send you a copy of the magazine when it’s published, okay? Thank you again, Esteban. You’re the best.”

As he left the studio that evening, Esteban felt a strange mix of pride and trepidation. He couldn’t deny that the experience had been fun, but he also couldn’t shake the thought of how Pierre and Charles would react when they saw him in that backless suit.

Little did he know, their reactions would be far more dramatic than he anticipated; The morning started like any other in their home—a comfortable quiet broken only by the sound of birds outside and the faint hum of the coffee machine. Pierre was the first to stir, padding barefoot into the kitchen with his hair sticking up in every direction. Charles followed not long after, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he joined Pierre at the counter. As for Esteban, he was still asleep due to overtime at work, it seems the new project Alpine in seems to take more time than he expected.

Their peaceful routine was abruptly interrupted when Pierre’s gaze landed on something new resting on their coffee table. A glossy magazine sat there, slightly out of place among their usual stack of car and sports publications. The cover featured models in bold, modern designs, but what caught Pierre’s attention wasn’t the magazine itself—it was the image tucked inside.

“Charles,” Pierre called, voice sharp with intrigue. “Come look at this.”

Charles leaned over Pierre’s shoulder as he flipped open to a page bookmarked by chance. And there he was. Esteban. Their Esteban. In a sleek, black backless suit that hugged his slim frame perfectly. His back was exposed, highlighting the delicate arch of his posture, while a temporary tattoo—a striking design of a butterfly and rose—decorated the center of his spine.

The suit was bold, unconventional, and effortlessly elegant. His face was soft yet captivating, lips slightly parted, as though daring anyone to look away.

“Mon dieu…” Charles murmured, jaw dropping slightly. “That’s… our Esteban?”

Pierre couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more breathless than amused. “Why didn’t he tell us he did this? Look at him! He’s a work of art.”

Esteban, of course, was still asleep upstairs, blissfully unaware of the effect his photo shoot had on his boyfriends. Charles immediately grabbed the magazine and started flipping through it for more pictures. Sure enough, there were a few pages dedicated to him—poses that showed off his lanky yet graceful frame, the elegance of his hands, and the soft tilt of his head.

They didn’t even bother finishing their coffee. Instead, they marched upstairs, the magazine in hand. Pierre was the first to push open the bedroom door, revealing Esteban still curled under the blankets, his hair a messy halo on the pillow.

“Esteban,” Charles called gently, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “Wake up.”

Esteban stirred, blinking up at them groggily. “What’s going on?” His voice was still thick with sleep, making him look even softer in their eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” Pierre said, smirking as he sat on the edge of the bed. He held up the magazine, flipping to the now-infamous page. “Care to explain this?”

It took a moment for Esteban’s sleep-addled brain to catch up. When his eyes focused on the image, his face turned scarlet. “Oh my god,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands, mumbling. “I forgot I put the magazine at the coffee table.”

Charles slid into the bed on the other side of him, pulling Esteban’s hands away from his face. “Forgot? How could you forget something like this? You’re stunning. Breathtaking. Look at you.”

Pierre leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should’ve warned us, though. How are we supposed to focus on anything now?”

Esteban couldn’t find a way to defend himself. His heart was racing as Pierre and Charles took turns teasing him, flipping through the magazine to point out their favorite shots.

“You’re wearing our shirts for the next week,” Pierre finally declared, his hands tracing a path up Esteban’s arm. “No one else deserves to see you like this.”

Charles nodded, pressing a kiss to Esteban’s temple. “Agreed. We’re keeping you all to ourselves.”

They started showering him with kisses, soft and lingering, trailing from his cheeks to his forehead, and down to his lips. Esteban was quickly overwhelmed, his protests dissolving into quiet, breathless laughter as they cornered him in the bed.

“You’re ridiculous,” he finally managed to gasp, though the fondness in his tone was unmistakable.

Pierre grinned, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from Esteban’s forehead. “And you’re ours.”

As Esteban sank back into the pillows, utterly spoiled and glowing from their attention, he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t mind being their doll after all.

[dragonitepaw]

Hi! I love your super paper Mario AU, could you tell us more about it?

Waaaah Im glad you like it 🥹 i havent got too much on it as of right now but I have plans to develop it more once ive finished my uni project !!

as right now though here are some of the details/character roles:

Mario - Kirby Luigi - Bandee Bowser - Dedede Peach - either Tiff/Fumu (from the anime) or potentially Adeleine I haven't decided on that yet, originally i went straight for Fumu but i got a comment saying Adeleine would be a great fit too !! it all depends on whether i wanna include anime characters or not

Count Bleck - Meta Knight Tippi/Timpani - Galacta Knight (its their love story bc metagala forever 🫶) Nastasia - Sailor Dee O'chunks - Mace Knight Mimi - Javelin (the other meta-knights would be present too but have less of a role in the story as those 3)

Dimentio - Marx ^^^ originally i was gonna have vul as dimentio as i wanted all of count bleck's minions to be the meta-knights, but it also makes sense for the one non meta-knight character to be the one to betray them and marx just fits perfectly thematically >:)

as a little extra Merlon would be Morpho Knight which is my explanation for why Galacta Knight appears as a pixl butterfly, Morpho having the butterfly motif is my justification for the sense around galacta being their own butterfly that isnt just the morpho butterfly :)

okay now with characters done with,, the general narrative is the same destroying the world after galacta/tippi is "gone" but more fit around the ancients and heroes of yore lore being the driving point for meta and galacta meeting and forming a bond which then leads to the events of the game:

Meta's family (the tribe of darkness) were responsible for trying to end the world before using the dark prophecy (to make their own world and have the power to govern it) - meta being younger at this time had no say in what happened, Nightmare is the head of the family and the one who attempting to end the world (but thats not too important as nightmare plays no role in the main story anyways its just context).

The heroes of Yore (which includes Galacta as the hero of heart going off of my own personal hcs) were the ones to stop the family and strike some sort of deal that prevented them from using the dark prognosticus, saying if they were to try such a thing again then the heroes would be less merciful and banish the entire tribe away, knowing the heroes were more than powerful enough to live up to their threat the nightmare gave in, and the dark prognosticus was hidden away by the heroes to prevent the dark prophecy from being initiated once again.

Years down the line (much like in the original story) meta ends up getting injured and galacta comes across him, nursing him back to health. Meta didnt know about the heroes of yore and their threat to the family so wasnt aware of who galacta was, vice verca with galacta they werent aware meta was part of the tribe of darkness at the time. the two bond and eventually fall in love <3

Eventually nightmare finds out about and becomes enraged about his son and the enemy in such a relationship. He scolds meta and tells him not to go near Galacta again as the heroes 'ruined everything for them' and 'befriending them will only ever bring trouble to their family' in attempt to protect his son from them. however, meta doesn't listen as he's head over heels in love with Galacta at this point. In retaliation, Nightmare uses all of his magic to produce a strong spell to seal Galacta away in a crystal, in a far off dimension so Galacta and meta cannot meet again, as a way of protecting Meta and stopping any trouble from coming to their family.

Like in the original, Meta becomes devastated but enraged by the loss of Galacta, thinking they're dead and not seeing worth in a world without them. finding minions through the meta-knights and tracking down the dark prognosticus, Meta decides to bring about the dark prophecy and spawn the void, starting the beginning of the end.

Morpho comes across the crystal with galacta sealed within it. The amount of power needed to unseal them is a lot, and so Morpho not being powerful enough by themself, inwardly uses galactas life force alongside their own magical ability to unseal them, though this results in galacta becoming very weak and in order to save them, Morpho turns them into a pixl, and like tippi in the original story galacta loses all memory of who they were before being a pixl.

--

thats the main stuff i have for now which when looking over it,, is quite a bit 😅 there are still some aspects i need to adjust/change, the main one being the formation of the chaos heart bc if i have tiff/adeleine in peach's role i am not having them get forcefully married to king dedede 💀 for obvious reasons

^^ my initial thoughts are just having the chaos heart form from meta's pain and emotions, we will see i will be developing and thinking about it more once i have the free time :)

Thank you for the ask and I hope this was interesting to read :00

[barbielore]

Mattel has continued to launch Dia De Muertos Collectors Edition Barbies annually since 2019, but 2021 was the first year that there was a Ken in the line.

Barbie and Ken were separate releases, but with matching attire.

2022 expanded the collection still further; not only was there a matching Barbie and Ken still designed by the original designer of the line Javier Meabe, but also a Member's Only Barbie designed by Javier Meabe in collaboration with Mexican fashion designer Benito Santos.

Although Barbie and Ken for this release still have some cohesive design elements, they look a little less like a matched set; either can stand on their own.

Meanwhile, the Benito Santos collaboration Barbie has a strikingly different design, making heavy use of red, black and white

2023 again has three dolls in the collection - a matching Barbie and Ken, as well as a Members Only Barbie. This time the Members Only Barbie was designed in collaboration with Paola Wong from Pink Magnolia Mexico.

She is certainly one of the most striking dolls to have ever appeared in the range, in my completely inexpert opinion.

Barbie and Ken are also the most visually distinct they have ever been, with completely different colour schemes - though both are using monarch butterflies as a motif.

[noisycowboyglitter]

Personalize Your Style with Boho Butterfly Moon Phase T-Shirts

The Boho Butterfly Moon Phase design encapsulates the free-spirited essence of bohemian style while incorporating celestial and natural elements. This unique concept merges the transformative symbolism of butterflies with the mystical allure of lunar cycles, creating a visually striking and meaningful motif.

Buy now:19.95$

At the heart of this design, a series of moon phases arc across the composition, typically arranged in a crescent or circular pattern. These phases, from new moon to full moon and back again, represent the cyclical nature of life, growth, and transformation. Each phase is intricately detailed, showcasing the moon's shadows and craters.

Intertwined with the lunar sequence are delicate butterfly silhouettes. These butterflies, varying in size and position, appear to dance around and between the moons. Their presence symbolizes metamorphosis, beauty, and the fleeting nature of life – themes that resonate deeply with bohemian philosophy.

The overall aesthetic often embraces earthy, muted tones or contrasting black and white for a more dramatic effect. Intricate mandala-like patterns or celestial elements such as stars and constellations may be incorporated to enhance the boho feel.

Buy now

This design finds its way onto various mediums, including:

Tapestries and wall hangings

Tattoo designs

Jewelry (necklaces, earrings, rings)

Clothing prints

Home decor items (cushions, rugs, curtains)

Notebook covers and phone cases

The Boho Butterfly Moon Phase concept appeals to those drawn to spiritual symbolism, nature-inspired art, and eclectic, free-spirited designs. It serves as a beautiful reminder of life's constant evolution and the interconnectedness of all things in nature.

"Be Kind Moonchild Cottagecore Chic" encapsulates a whimsical lifestyle aesthetic that blends gentleness, celestial wonder, and rustic charm. This concept embraces the idea of kindness as a core value, combined with a dreamy, moon-inspired sensibility and the cozy, nature-focused elements of cottagecore.

Buy now

The style is characterized by soft, muted colors, floral patterns, and celestial motifs. Clothing might include flowing dresses, oversized sweaters, and delicate accessories adorned with moon phases or stars. Home decor features vintage-inspired pieces, handmade crafts, and natural elements like dried flowers and wooden accents.

This aesthetic celebrates simple living, sustainability, and a connection to nature. It encourages activities like gardening, baking, and stargazing. The "Be Kind" aspect emphasizes compassion towards others and the environment, creating a harmonious blend of style and values.

Butterfly memorial gifts offer a meaningful way to honor and remember loved ones who have passed. These thoughtful presents symbolize transformation, hope, and the enduring beauty of life. Options include personalized butterfly-shaped garden stones, delicate wind chimes, or custom photo frames adorned with butterfly

Buy now

motifs. Memorial jewelry, such as butterfly-shaped lockets or pendants containing ashes, provides a personal keepsake. Butterfly-themed sympathy cards, memorial candles, or plantable wildflower seeds also make touching tributes. These gifts offer comfort and a lasting reminder of cherished memories.

[besttropeveershowdown]

Since the bracket screenshots are very hard to read, here's a list of all the matchups for round 1!

Side A

Found Family vs. Soulmates

Foil vs. Mirror Character

Decon-Recon Switch vs. Our Trolls Are Different

Rousseau Was Right vs. Historical Badass Upgrade

Science Is Good vs. The Artful Dodger

I Owe You My Life vs. Bait-and-Switch Tyrant

Badass Pacifist vs. Battle in the Center of the Mind

Gambit Pileup vs. Buffy Speak

You Did Everything You Could vs. The Team

Moral Dilemma vs. "Not So Different" Remark

But They Stayed In the Car vs. Self-Sacrifice Scheme

Starfish Aliens vs. Outlaw Couple

Dream Sequence vs. Silly Rabbit, Cynicism is for Losers!

Drunk Hookup-> Hilarious Morning After vs. Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?

Storyboarding the Apocalypse vs. Break The Cutie

Murdered Cousin vs. In Medias Res

Fire-Forged Friends vs. First Contact

Time Travel vs. Self-Inflicted Hell

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits vs. Your Days Are Numbered

Time Loop vs. Unreliable Narrator

Friends to Lovers vs. Everyone Is Bi

Important Haircut vs. Came Back Wrong

The Anti-Nihilist vs. Mono No Aware

Shadow Archetype vs. Hurt/Comfort or Whump

Knight of Cerebus vs. Prophetical Semantics

True Companions vs. The Trickster

Locked in a Room vs. Magnificent Bastard

Beethoven Was an Alien Spy vs. Genre Savvy

Evil Twin vs. Minor Injury Overreaction

Grey-and-Gray Morality vs. Body Swap

Enemies to Lovers vs. Accidental Parental Figure

From Zero to Hero vs. Horny Scientist

Side B

Berserk Button vs. Caper Crew

Flock of Wolves vs. Team Pet

Five Man Band vs. Disguised as Male

Shapeshifting Trickster vs. Anthropomorphic Personification

Dramatic Irony vs. You Can't Go Home Again

Subverted Kids' Show vs. Badass Bookworm

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass vs. Isekai/Genre Refugee

Wham Shot vs. Unseen Evil

Little Miss Con Artist vs. Punch-Clock Villain

Mama Bear vs. Internal Reveal

Sleight of Tongue vs. Enemy Mine

Guile Hero vs. Tsundere

Memory Gambit vs. Recursive Crossdressing

Disguised Horror Story vs. Wham Line

Secret Identity vs. Terror Hero

Students' Secret Society vs. Mugged for Disguise

Road Trip Plot vs. Fantastic Fauna Counterpart

Opposites Attract vs. Amnesia

Heel-Face Turn vs. Rewriting Reality

Bavarian Fire Drill vs. Butterfly Effect

Morality Pet vs. Cloning Blues

Tragic Villain vs. Clipboard of Authority

The Con vs. Battle Couple

Beware the Nice Ones vs. Animal Motif

Hitman with a Heart vs. Big Damn Heroes

Friends to Enemies vs. Hurricane of Puns

Affably Evil vs. My God, What Have I Done

Swamp Monster vs. Chekhov's Gunman

Fake Dating vs. Gentle Giant

Stupid Sexy Flanders vs. Non-Human Head

Sea Serpents vs. Furry Reminder

Children's Covert Coterie vs. The Creon

Side C

Arrested for Heroism vs. The Dragon

Unreliable Expositor vs. Well-Intentioned Extremist

Friends to Enemies to Lovers vs. Undying Loyalty

Precision F-Strike vs. Powerful, Fucked-Up Family

Pragmatic Villainy vs. Big, Screwed-Up Family

Ape Shall Never Kill Ape vs. Tragic Bromance

Just You and Me and my GUARDS vs. Tomato in the Mirror

Lovable Rogue vs. Refusal of the Call

Second Law My Ass vs. Batman Gambit

Not Quite Dead vs. Sapient House

Call A Human a Meatbag vs. Faux Affably Evil

Nice Job Fixing It Villain vs. Conversation of Ninjutsu

Beach Episode vs. The Gadfly

Beware the Silly Ones vs. Jedi Mind Trick

You Are Better Than You Think You Are vs. Superpowered Evil Side

Murder Is The Best Solution vs. Comedic Sociopathy

The Power of Language vs. The Power of Friendship

Face Death With Dignity vs. Prolonged Pining

Too Dumb to Live vs. Central Theme

Suspiciously Specific Denial vs. Deadpan Snarker

Blessed with Suck vs. Setting as a Character

Cast Full of Gay vs. Heel-Face Revolving Door

Aliens Speaking English vs. Stumbling Upon the Lost Wizard

For the Evulz vs. Spare to the Throne

My Powers are Gone vs. Reformed But Not Tamed

King and Lionheart vs. Marriage of Convenience

Even Evil Has Standards vs. Then Let Me Be Evil

Delirious Misidentification vs. Big Beautiful Man

Playing Nice for Now vs. Teeth-Clenched Teamwork

Intimate Haircut vs. Arranged Marriage

Dating Catwoman vs. Incurable Cough of Death

Ambiguous Gender vs. Kill the Gods

Brackets for BTES

Brackets are out, everyone! (that was quicker than expected)

We have 192 submissions, so the plan is to have 3 sides of 64 tropes each, the champions of which will make up the final three! Polls for side A will be released sometime this weekend, with side B and side C coming shortly after.

Side A:

Side B:

Side C:

[luminecho]

I was gonna say 3 and 20 for lucina so if you don’t mind answering the same questions again for a different character ? 👀 oh! And 11 and 16 maybe? :0

I know you haven’t played her game so I tried to go for more general ones ehe <3

YESSSSS I DONT MIND AT ALLLLLL. ESPECIALLY question 3 I'll answer question 3 for literally every single character please ask me about music choices for characters always at all times

3. A song that reminds me of them

I haven't yet found The One song for her yet,,, with certain characters I'll eventually just find a song that I put at the very top of their playlist because it feels like their anthem, their identity. I haven't really found any that FULLY encompass Lucina yet so you get a few ones that I feel like match <3

Pompeii by Bastille. Obligatory world-ending catastrophe song, surprising to no one probably, but like... come on. Do I even need to say anything else. Pompeii. ough.

Heirloom by Sleeping At Last. okay this is like,,,, a song to any of the future kids from their parents actually, but it fits her of course. It's basically the point of view of this parent singing to their child about the burden of their heritage and how they shouldn't let that define them. It references wars and fights a lot. "You are so much more than the wars you've won."

You pressed rewind For the thousandth time When the tapes wore through So you memorized Those unscripted lines Desperate for some kind of clue: When the scale tipped When you inherited A fight that you were born to lose It’s not your fault No, it’s not your fault I put this heavy heart in you

yeah....... yeah. yeah. yeah.

Bright & Early by Sleeping At Last. This song is, in the more literal sense, about someone who lost their home to a fire. Generally, it's about loss, and how unfair it feels that difficult things have to happen to us ("But why couldn't I have been safe from the start?"), and how things that used to be comforting are now only reminders of what we've lost.

Like sparks in matches Blink, you'll miss it The future's up in smoke Though dust has settled I still smell the ashes Buried in my clothes

It's..... houououogh.

11. What’s the first thing you think about when thinking about the character?

Aside from the obligatory butterfly motif? Blue fire. I can't even elaborate. I probably don't need to. Just... blue fire.

16. A childhood headcanon

Kind of the opposite of a troublemaker in the traditional sense? Could not imagine breaking the rules and rarely ever got in trouble. Not in the goody-two-shoes sense but more in the "rules are good and I like following them. Acting out sounds stressful" sort of way. Probably still always found a way to get underfoot though, tailing her father around at all times

20. A weird headcanon

Another childhood one but she strikes me as the kind of kid to wish on yellow ladybugs. Idk why

(Send me a character and a number/several numbers and I'll answer)

[multifandomterrors]

The Orpheum Theory

This little essay is inspired by my own post and the additions made by sunsetnerve and norakeinwitz. Thanks for your additions to my little theory I loved reading them.

Now, I understand that at the end of the day, this is a kids show. It’s made for kids. However, the demographic didn’t really end up what they thought it was going to be. So this is just a theory I came up with because I think like a college student, so I analyze like a college student. At the end of the day, it’s a theory. Could be a reach for a kids show, but it’s a thematically sound theory when analyzed like a regular piece of art.

Julie and the Phantoms is full of hidden symbolism and many different motifs. The motif we will be discussing today is: The Orpheum Theater.

As we know, the Orpheum is a huge component of the show and the big climax revolves around the Phantoms being able to play “the show they never got to play.” At first glance, it’s just a theater where musicians play. Well, your friendly neighborhood creative writing major is here to show you otherwise.

First, let’s talk about motifs and symbols for those who are unaware of the difference.

Symbols - signify an idea or emotion e.g. red stands for blood

Motifs - a recurring element or idea that repeats throughout a piece of work e.g. stairs in Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite.

A motif is a symbol, but a symbol is not necessarily a motif.

The biggest motif present in JATP is the use of butterflies but that’s a different discussion for a different post.

Another motif that may go unnoticed is the Orpheum Theater.

This venue is mentioned multiple times throughout the season and is the climax of the show. Let’s talk symbolism.

If it were any other theater, I would’ve just went “Nah they just want to play the show of course, it’s their dream.” However, what stuck with me was how the Orpheum is presented in JATP. (It looks nothing like the actual Orpheum Theater in LA by the way).

The theater is tiny. It looks like it could have a capacity of 50 people. 75 if we’re being generous. This begs the question, why this Orpheum? Why not the Roxy? The Dolby Theater? The Greek? Why specifically this tiny venue? Why not aim for a larger theater?

Next, we have to look at its name. Orpheum. Does it look familiar?

Orpheum means “House of Orpheus.” As in the Orpheus of Orpheus and Eurydice. For those of you who are not into Greek mythology and stories or if you just haven’t heard of the musical, Hadestown, let me give you a (very) brief rundown of the story.

Orpheus is a musician who is in love with Eurydice. Eurydice dies a tragic death and finds her way to the Underworld to be with Hades, god of the dead. Orpheus, understandably, is heartbroken by this. So he finds a way to travel to find Eurydice and Hades. He strikes a deal with Hades. If he could lead Eurydice out of the Underworld, she’ll live again. The catch? Orpheus cannot turn around. He just has to trust that she’s following him. In the end, Orpheus doubts himself at the last second (like literally “maybe a few feet away from the exit” last second) and turns around. Eurydice was actually following him the whole time, but he failed. She stays dead.

Now let’s discuss parallels.

Julie = Orpheus

talented musician

in love with a person who died tragically

desperate to save them

Luke = Eurydice

dead

trapped by a person who controls the dead

Caleb = Hades

controls the dead

Caleb owns the souls of the people in the Hollywood Ghost Club

Hades is the god of the dead

therefore, Hollywood Ghost Club = Underworld

Now this is where I explain how this parallel and motif play into the show with my own original theory and the modified theories due to the additions of sunsetnerve and norakeinwitz. Again, thanks for reblogging with them!

Theory 1

We’re aware of the parallels. We’re aware of the original story and how season 1 played out. Originally, I felt as if this motif would play out further into the show. I felt as if this were the foundation of a bigger fight between JATP and Caleb. Eventually, Julie would have to try and save Luke from the HGC and Caleb and ultimately fail (because I love angst but I will throw in some “kids show” magic and say that Luke is fine in the end). But let’s go with a happier ending.

Theory 2

This was brought to my attention by sunsetnerve. In her reblog, the Orpheum theory made its run through the first season only. This also makes sense, taking into account the scene with You Got Nothing to Lose. This is when Caleb takes hold of Luke and the other Phantoms. Julie brings them back (somehow) for Stand Tall. Here is where JATP will diverge from the original Greek story. Orpheus fails. Julie succeeds. If you’re an Harry Potter fan, think of it like that old Tumblr post that describes how Harry and his friends were parallels of James and his friends, only they were better and they learned from the past. Julie is Orpheus, the difference is that she knows better. Now we introduce the lyrical genius of the songwriters.

Let’s take another look at the Orpheus and Eurydice summary. In order to save Eurydice, Orpheus cannot turn around.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the lyrics to Stand Tall.

“Cause everything is rushing in fast

Keep on going, never look back.”

Julie sings a line about not turning around. Once again, Julie is Orpheus, she just knows better.

She thinks she can help free them from Caleb. Julie already thinks that she’s lost the Phantoms. Orpheus thinks he can help free Eurydice from Hades. He refuses to believe he’s lost her. Julie is at peace, Orpheus is not.

Julie performs at the Orpheum even though she thinks it’s too late. She doesn’t hesitate. And when she was tested and she doubted, she did not let it overtake her. Orpheus was tested and he was consumed by the paranoia.

Julie kept going. She didn’t turn around.

Orpheus stopped. He turned around.

The result? Julie saves the Phantoms from Caleb. Orpheus loses Eurydice to Hades.

Julie wins.

Theory 3

This was presented to me by norakeinwitz who noticed the Orpheus connection too. They added on to both mine and sunsetnerve’s points. Except they played more towards the idea that despite the fact Julie knows better, Julie is still Orpheus. She can’t help it.

Julie performs. She doesn’t stop. She erases her doubt. The Phantoms perform at the Orpheum.

Julie doesn’t turn around then. She turns around later.

At the end of the day, Julie is still Orpheus.

She goes back to the studio anyway. She turns around to look at them one more time.

Now here are my thoughts about this.

Julie turns around, but not for the same reasons as Orpheus.

Orpheus let doubt into his mind. All he had to do was trust that Eurydice was following him. He was tested, he panicked, he looked back. He turned around before the tunnel ended because he was afraid that she was gone.

Julie erased her doubt. She didn’t let it in. She pressed forward even with the idea that she’s never seeing them again. She was tested, she panicked, she didn’t look back…yet. She looked back after she left the Orpheum and went straight to the studio instead of going straight to bed. She turned around after the tunnel ended because she made peace with the fact that they were gone.

Orpheus turned around because he was clinging to fear. Julie turned around because she let go of fear.

She made peace with death. As a result, she saved the Phantoms.

Orpheus was angered by death. As a result, he lost Eurydice.

Julie is Orpheus, but Orpheus is not Julie.

They follow the same path, but Julie made it to the end.

[boom-fanfic-a-latta]

Ideas for Amazon Letters' videos

Post Darkblade

-A video theorizing about Goggalor's Miraculous and what animal it could be (Theories include a beetle or a bluebird, or some animal featuring goggle-like markings. Raccoons are mentioned at least once)

-Something about the Love Square.

Post Caretaker

- Theories about Raz using "Aquato" as his hero name. I'm thinking that Caretaker might not reveal the "Raz is adopted" thing, so most of them are pretty lighthearted, from being the name of a cat he may of owned, to being named after a True Psychic Tales character (TPTWriter does actually incorporate this idea into her works, with an Agent Lane "Black Cat" Aquato with a cat motif. She jokingly gives them a fear of water in reference to this, which becomes darkly funny after we learn about Raz's hydrophobia)

-A video analyzing Leia Dartagan and her Akuma The Caretaker. There is a running gag about how creepy she is, with Alan occasionally being startled by a little jpeg cutout of her that pops out of nowhere with a little sting chord. It also looks into what history we get about Leia at this point, which may-or-may-not include a little bit of the Orphanage Fire.

-"Goggalor is Raz?" theory, with a brief joke about how if he is Goggalor, he at least has a consistent theme of having a very random hero names, with Aquato appearing from the side of the screen.

Post Tiffany Wrecker

-Tiffany Wrecker analysis. There are a few theories as to why he hates Fake Tiffany Lamps, but to teaching Raz how to shoot in the past, Alan chalks it up to the Dartagans being from AMERICA!!! F*** YEAH!!!

Sometime before Aquanaut

-"Goggalor's EVIL???" and "Goggalor's a FAKE???" videos. The prior is very short, and it's made clear that Alan doesn't believe it

- "What even is Archie Dartagan?", a video about Archie and everything relating to him, with a running gag of Alan just saying "why?" at random things related to Archie, getting louder every time until he's shouting at the top of his lungs.

Post Syren

- A video theorizing on the new Akuma, we know their name is Aquanaut, so maybe a scuba diver? "I bet it's Raz. He hasn't showed up the entire episode. I mean, he's far from the only one, but it's his turn, right?" /j (There's a comment later on about how he called it)

-Syren Analysis

Post Aquanaut

-The Deluge of Grulovia video. This was originally meant for later, but was worked on/released early for obvious reasons (There were a few hints at it in previous episodes)

-Aquanaut analysis. There is a callback to the Archie Dartagan video, where he pauses for a few seconds and just yells "WhY?!?" in response to Akuma!Archie (Puddle? Water Boy? Hydrohelper? Big Scary Butterfly-Pants? Maybe Floodgate if we want something a little more serious) and his ability to transform into a giant butterfly.

I have more ideas, but I'll leave it for now.

—Anonymous Submission

My Comments:

Yes. All the yes. So much yes that I’m tempted to write scripts for these video ideas and get a friend to record as Alan and literally make these real videos.

Seriously, I love these so much.

Now to each of these a title cause why not (and some comments):

- “Examining Goggalor: What’s His Miraculous?” He never did tell them which Miraculous he had XD. A lot of theories to talk about, definitely. Also, when going over the Raccoon theory, I feel there’d be a mention of his weapon looking a lot like Sly Cooper’s cane.

- “Trying to Explain the Miraculous Love Square” This is gonna be one of those videos that keeps getting new parts released with every season, I can feel it.

- “The Meaning Behind Aquato?” TPTWriter strikes again XD. Also, wondering if you using “Lane” was a nod to my Psychonauts ‘sona Mint Lane, cause if not, funny coincidence.

- “Creepy Doll: Analyzing The Caretaker” I feel like the fire would be at the very least alluded to, yes. And yes, silly jumpscares XD

- “Examining Goggalor: Is He Raz?” One of the points for the theory potentially being true has to be “they both wear goggles”

- “Knockoff Lamps: Analyzing Tiffany Wrecker” Some of the lamp theories are “someone died because of a knockoff lamp” levels of insanity

- “Examining Goggalor: The Villain Theory!” Could totally be an April Fools video where it’s just clips of Goggalor but with an evil goatee edited on

- “Examining Goggalor: Is He a Fraud?” Honestly I hadn’t even considered this idea, but it makes sense! Some fans being suspicious that Goggalor might not actually have a Miraculous…

- “What the Heck Even Is Archie?” Comedy Gold right here. “HE’S MADE OF PAPER HOW THE HECK CAN I EXPLAIN THAT?!”

- “Mermaid and Surprise: Analyzing Syren” There’s probably an analysis video for every episode tbh but I can tell we’re sticking with the major ones for now. Also, imagine if there was a small missable background detail near the start of the episode where Raz is in the background at the pool…

- “Who is Aquanaut?” Alan gives a pretty good argument for it being Raz and lo and behold he’s right

- “Everything We Know About The Deluge Of Grulovia” Including all the other random things we’ve heard about Grulovia as well

- “Raz Confirmed: Analyzing Aquanaut” This would have such a high view count, admit it. Also Alan starts off by happily yelling “I WAS RIGHT IT WAS RAZ”

I can’t wait to see what other ideas you have! This was so much fun to read!

[bisluthq]

Heey I never said Karlie = NY lol. That was just one aspect of my argument my main point was that Taylor not symbolically referencing New York along with her other homes is a no no. Like I cannot see that happening because if it did it pokes a lot of holes in the meaning of the rest of her album/ albums. To the point where if there’s no references to NY to be found AT ALL, beyond a shadow of any doubt then it’s highly doubtful that the other references were intentional references to her homes. I was 100% confident in this because when a writer has a recurring reference/ symbol (motif) the way that Taylor does with New York, at the very least the reference holds some significance otherwise it wouldn’t keep coming up. Either the writer is trying to connect the works thematically or the reference has a specific significance on its own to the writer and that significance holds true, it might not be a reference to a specific person but NY sure represents some significant & consistent concept to Taylor (that really is just how figurative language works). My issue was that I believe New York is significant to Taylor even after Lover because she continues her trend of mentioning New York and places around NY multiple times in folklore and then again in evermore. NYC doesn’t have to equal Karlie, not at all. My whole argument was essentially that Taylor places far too much of a significance on NY for it not to be referenced along with every other place/ city/ home in some mv if she’s referencing every other home she has. My whole argument was less about Karlie or Joe’s significance (that was me just objectively throwing out possible thematic connections) and more about New York’s significance and how there’s no way NY isn’t referenced in that mv.

P.S. I was right about by the way. I hadn’t planned to watch the mv again to search for a reference but I felt I had to. I started to watch over the mv but didn’t have to watch beyond 16s for the reference, guess everyone missed the cobblestones in the VERY VERY beginning of the mv (I’m not judging, maybe I am a little but not too much lol). The colour full cobblestone road that the snake was crawling along right up until the 13second mark (yes 13 seconds - watch it over if y’all don’t believe me lol), where it pauses for arguably 2 or 3 seconds then strikes at either the 15 or 16 second mark, at which point it explodes into a butterflies. Anyways cobblestones have historic significance to New York ( y’all can google that to be confirm I’m not just bullshiting). Also the west village and Cornelia street feature cobblestones as well. I’m even more certain that if I watch the entire thing again I’ll find even more symbolic references to New York. Initially my stance was either y’all missed the NY references or there really were no references to NY which would mean that the other references were truly not symbolic of her homes/ cities (because it wouldn’t logically make sense)

Nice thanks for finding a NYC reference! I like the cobblestone idea.

I still don’t think she considers it home anymore - for a host of reasons - but she doesn’t really consider PA home either and she subtly referenced it too so this makes sense.

[chapitre7]

tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Canon divergence, Wei Wuxian does not die at the Burial Mounds

Read on AO3

Based on the prompt:  The people who lived on the farm were friendly, always wearing a smile despite the smell of rot.

Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it.

― Richard Siken, Crush

   They say the people who come from the Burial Mounds are strange. Not exactly ill-spirited, not quite mean. They’re friendly, when they show up in town, always wearing a smile, despite the smell of rot.

 That’s how they knew who they were. Not by the simple clothes on their backs, or the healthy vegetables they sell. It creeps up to you while you’re distracted, thinking that maybe there ‘s a dead animal in the vicinity, or a bloodied sword carried by a serious man, or maybe even a resentful spirit, until you smell their breath. It’s why they rarely speak anything, just laugh, the sound loud in the crowd, like merchants often do, except their sound carries too far, shrill and unpleasant, just wrong in the way that it makes people turn their heads. And then you blink and they aren’t there anymore.

 “Bullshit,” a man with a mustache says, spitting green and thick on the tavern’s floor. “No one’s seen anyone from the Burial Mounds in years.”

 Or maybe they’ve just learned the right time to come and the right time to leave. They used to come with a little boy who liked to play with wood swords and paper butterflies, they say, and no one suspected a thing, not until the dirt beneath their soles gave them away, black, black like the blood of corpses, leaving an imprint on the grounds of Yiling, before the wind was merciful enough to blow it all away.

 “Hah! And have you ever seen what the dirt from the Burial Mounds looks like?” The man pats his fat belly, throwing his head back to laugh at the crowd.

 But who hasn’t seen the dirt from the Burial Mounds? After the battle at the top, after those brave cultivators narrowly survived all those years back, unstable on their feet, eyes still wide and reflecting the other side of the bridge. Who didn’t remember their screams along the streets of Yiling, only those few who escaped the clutches of the Patriarch, who crawled along the dirt, uncaring for the pretty motifs on their chests, not as long as they got away, as far away from the massacre as they could.

 “You don’t even fucking like cultivators!” A man says as he hits the back of another’s head, and the yelling is deafening in the tavern, the air thick with the stench of cheap alcohol and filth.

 Cultivators or not, they were people once. They were humans once, before the Patriarch lost his mind, and those who didn’t make it down the Mounds, they say, those whose blood watered their crops, they say, all of those dead, all of that meat, they—

 “Fucking bullshit!” They yell and they laugh and they drink, but the people in Yiling lock their doors at night and they never lose track of their children. Once a month, the women leave baskets just at the border of His land; they leave him alcohol and lotus seeds and just a little bit of silver, too, whatever they can spare to keep him away.

 And when they light their incenses and talk to their dead, they plead the Patriarch to spare them, their ancestors and successors alike, from his fury, up in his Burial Mounds. For these days still, if someone finds an unnamed, unclaimed body, they still bring it up to the Patriarch’s Burial Mounds, where countless Cultivators once died, where the tales say they were once devoured, so the Patriarch can be abated, satiated, or, if they dare to hope, domesticated.

 “What about the Lightbringer?”

 The voices die down at the name, at the memory. More than folktales, everyone knows someone who has a story of someone who was saved or protected by the Lightbringer, his sword as sharp as ice, as brilliant as moonlight. They don’t remember his voice anymore, so little he spoke in life, or even what he looked like. They say he was the most beautiful man alive, once. A jewel, a precious gift.

 Some say they heard the Patriarch yell his name until he went hoarse, until he was more darkness than man. Opposites, they had been, destruction and salvation. If one fell, overthrowing the balance, what did it mean?

 “His body was never found,” an elderly man speaks from the shadowed corner, and the silence grows stifling, suffocating like smoke.

 Some say the Patriarch keeps him as a trophy, or a talisman, or whatever it is Cultivators keep when they fall off their path.

 But in the end, nobody knows shit when they’re drunk and scared. Nobody knows the dark.

 No one lingers out after the night has fallen.

 The Patriarch is watching from his perch above.

 Breathing, breathing, while his people feast on the dead with smiles on their lips.

 ***

 “Lan Zhan, look.”

 He places the flower on the Lightbringer’s ear, the red striking in all of his white.

 “They keep growing a little ways down the cave.”

 The Patriarch’s fingers tap against smooth skin, trembling, but those cheeks are still warm, and air still blows out of his nose. Those cold, bony fingers move down, down, trailing across the cloud patterns, once bloodied but now pristine white again, to touch the spot where the golden core pulsates life through the Lightbringer’s veins.

 “Lan Zhan, I’ll grow them white for you, please wait for me.”

 White is all he deserves, white is all he should ever be, never red, never again, they’ll never touch him again, not any of them, not Gusu Lan or Lanling Jin or whomever or whatever, never, ever again.

 “Wake up,” the Patriarch says, contradicting himself, eyes red not with power but with sorrow, with the desolation that never makes it into the legends. “Wake up,” he speaks to those lips, as if he could breathe life into them, but all he breathes is death.

 The Lightbringer sleeps for one more day, with red flowers in his hair, the Patriarch draped over him like the moonless sky.

 ***

 It shouldn’t be fitting, to open his eyes to that cave. It shouldn’t hurt, if he’s already dead. But what does he know? He knows only the fight (get lost, get lost). He knows only the pain, the blood in his mouth (Wei Ying wouldn’t cry, so why does he think about it, why does he see it in his mind’s eye?).

 He must be paying for his mistakes, then. Must relive his last moments over and over again, so he can die for him, kill for him, and make up for all that Wei Ying lost. Wei Ying’s family, Wei Ying’s heart, Wei Ying—

 He’s staring at him, a few steps away. Behind him, there’s light where there was once darkness, it’s day where it was once night. From a distance, he looks just as Lan Wangji last saw him, or maybe before still, from a day spent together in Yiling, once upon a time. But with every step that he takes, Lan Wangji sees the years in his eyes, in his faltered steps, in the bones that cast shadows on his face. The last time he saw him, his hands were drenched in blood,

 (hands that frame his face now, tremble on  his face now)

 and his voice repelled him, his every being repelled him.

 (He’s breathing laboriously, and his air fans on Lan Wangji’s face, causes the Lightbringer’s eyes to widen, his heart to swell with hope—)

 “Wei Ying?”

 There’s only a hitch in his breath before Wei Ying wraps him in an embrace, crushes him against himself, squeezing, his life pulsating against him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, he chants, pitch ever higher, growing in emotions Lan Wangji could never name. The last time they had seen each other, he had been nothing to him, not anymore. But now,

 (in afterlife? post-life? post-death?)

 his every touch and every uttering speak of something else.

 It’s almost like—

 (Wei Ying doesn’t want to let go.)

 “You came back.”

 His laugh is nervous, breaking out of him, and there’s not a breath between them, Wei Ying willingly touching his forehead to his own.

 (Do you—?)

 “Wei Ying,” he says, tilting his name with a question, his hands tentatively moving around Wei Ying’s middle to his back. The fearsome Patriarch pulls him closer, places his head to his chest, from where Lan Wangji can hear his erratic heartbeats,

 (that’s when he knows it’s real)

 and he speaks into Lan Wangji’s ear, perfectly, perfectly clear, “Don’t leave me again, don’t ever leave, not you.”

 He died for him once. Fought for him once, killed for him once. And in this future that’s gifted to him, that he doesn’t deserve, for all of his mistakes and all of his shortcomings, the Patriarch cradles him in his embrace, showers him with flowers and praise, and all of his people laugh at how he can’t seem to let go of his Lightbringer.

 Lan Wangji breathes in his air, drinks the blood from his tongue. When he beds him, the Patriarch holds him so strongly, his fingers a vice grip around his own, that he almost breaks, but he doesn’t. He cannot be broken. Not when he’s already been mended by Wei Ying’s acceptance, by his confessions that never die. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, he chants, in his ear, in the dead of night, in the light of day, with a smile on his face, with desperation in his fingertips. Don’t ever leave.

 Why would he?

 Where there is darkness, there is always light.

 ***

 They say the people from the Burial Mounds are celebrating.

 In the market, voices have claimed that the Patriarch has a betrothed, and that they’ll be married come Spring, but no one has been able to pinpoint exactly who had said it. Some say that it was a young man with a kind smile and round eyes, or even a tall man with ash-like skin, but who can say for sure?

 When people wake up in the morning, the streets are awash with picked, red lilies, a fragrance in the air that is nothing like corpses, but still so much like death. The women sweep it all away quickly, not really knowing that those flowers haven’t grown in the area since before the first corpses were buried. They were there first, they lived there first, before the blood and the scorn, before the fear and the legends.

 They’re so busy gossiping among themselves that they completely ignore the man with the thin, silk blue ribbon around his wrist, the golden ornament catching the sunlight.

 He bargains potatoes with a grin on his face before running his eyes through the numerous hair ornaments, just to the side.

 “What are you looking for, mister?” The seller asks, a brilliant smile on her face.

 “A present for my bride,” he says, tapping on his lower lip with a finger.

 “Do you have anything in mind?” She asks, pointing to what she has of most elegant.

 The man gives a grin, and his eyes reflect an imperceptible, impossible red light.

 “Only the best.”

 Come spring, the Burial Mounds are covered in red and white lilies, and the people of Yiling whisper and shake on their feet, knowing they grow with the blood of the fallen.

 It matters not to the Patriarch what they think.

 He drinks their blood-red wine and he kisses his bride, the Lightbringer he’s never giving back.

 And if the wind blows the news that the Lightbringer is alive in his hands, then let them come.

 Let them try.

 See if they can take him away, after a lifetime.

[kittinoir]

Echoes of You Ch. 3

Read on Ao3

Akuma. 

The word flit around the ruined studio like a butterfly from flower to flower. Marinette could finally see fear beginning to bleed into the studio as people backed away from the girl. Marinette crawled behind the fallen lighting fixture, using it as cover as the girl descended into the room. The closer she got, the more details she could make out. Her skin, Marinette saw, was also a deep shade of purple, but her long pony-tail was stark white, as were her eyes.

She laughed as her bare feet touched the ground, swinging the needle around like a sword as she took them all in from the point of it. 

“I am Scream-ripper,” she announced, swinging the needle up. Marinette felt her mind blank, totally still and silent as she took in the sheer size of the thing. “Where is Dominique Valencourt?”

The needle swung down again, stopping once it was pointed at the lady who had been manning the craft table. The woman squealed, backing up. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Aw, too bad.” Scream-ripper lunged. Marinette threw a hand over her mouth as the needle pierced the woman’s chest, but for a moment nothing happened. No blood, no screams of agony, no nothing. Sream-ripper withdrew the needle and leapt after someone else, leaving the woman in her wake.

The violence of it shocked Marinette back into action. She twisted onto her hands and knees and crawled towards the woman from the crafts table. She was still sprawled behind the over turned table, tugging at her t-shirt where the needle had gone through. 

“Are you ok?” Marinette whispered as she reached the woman. 

She shook her head, curly red-hair flying. “Something’s wrong! I can’t - I can’t - ”

Marinette frowned. As she watched, the woman’s movements became less frantic, her limbs stiffer as she felt her abdomen. “What is it,” Marinette asked, reaching out. “How can I help?”

“You…can’t…” Marinette recoiled as her fingers touched the woman’s bare arm; it was hard and cold to the touch. “Only…Ladybug…”

Marinette could only watch in horror as the woman finally stilled. It seemed an uncomfortable position, leaning back with only one hand behind her for support, but she didn’t move again. Her brown eyes stared at nothing. The sun shone through the ragged hole in the ceiling, glinting off her skin.

No, not skin, Marinette realized as she touched the woman’s cheek. Porcelain. Real porcelain. That thing, that girl, had turned this woman into…

“A mannequin.”

The words slipped out unbidden, a horrible truth Marinette couldn’t unrealize. 

“Dominique!”

Marinette whipped around, scrambling backwards as that girl, Scream-ripper, made another circuit of the room. Several more people had found themselves on the wrong end of the needle. She counted at least seven pairs of unseeing eyes.

“You.” Marinette looked up to find Scream-rippers’ needle levelled at her own chest. “Where. Is. Dominique?”

“I…I don’t know,” Marinette said as she desperately felt around for something to defend herself with. “I haven’t seen her since the shoot began.”

“Yes, that would be about the time she fired me,” Scream-ripper hissed. “Too bad. So sad.”

Scream-ripper abruptly leaned back, angling her needle in. She lunged. Just before the needle would have pierced her, Marinette rolled to the side, throwing herself over the table as Scream-ripper sailed by her. The needle glanced off the floor, sending up sparks, but Marinette was already running.

Scream-ripper howled behind Marinette as she sprinted back towards her toppled chair and the purse she’d left behind. If she could just reach her phone, she could call for help. She risked a glance behind her to gauge the monster’s progress. It turned out to be a mistake. 

No sooner had she looked than Marinette felt her toe catch on something for the second time that day. This time Adrien wasn’t there to save her. She sprawled across the floor of the studio, some loose sand barely breaking her fall and grinding painfully under her hands. 

A lightbulb went off, and Marinette grabbed a handful of sand as she flipped over. Scream-ripper had risen into the air once again, apparently taking Marinette’s avoidance of her initial attack as a personal failing. 

Marinette bit her lip, pushing herself closer to her purse by her heels as Scream-ripper advanced on her. Her violet eyes blazed as she bore down on Marinette.

1…2…3… Marinette waited until the last possible moment, then threw her fistful of sand as Scream-ripper prepared to lunge again. 

Marinette staggered as she climbed to her feet. Scream-ripped shrieked behind her, clawing at her face. “I will end you!”

Marinette felt more than she saw Scream-ripper take a wild swing at her exposed back. There was no avoiding it this time. Her luck had finally run out. 

Clang!

“Attacking someone who’s unarmed?” someone said. “Tsk tsk. Not very sportsmanlike.”

Marinette stumbled to a stop, snatching up her purse as she spun back around. She nearly collapsed at the sight of the boy in black standing between her and the monster, a metal baton held at Scream-rippers chest like a sword. She met a pair of glowing green eyes that sent tingles rocketing over her skin as the boy glanced back at her. Her blood rushed in her ears, and she wondered if he could hear her heart pounding from where he was standing. From the way the black ears on top of his head twitched and he grinned at her, she had a sneaking suspicion he could. 

“Sorry I’m late,” the boy said before turning back towards Scream-ripper. “But I came as fast as I could. Pretty sure I beat my purr-sonal best.”

Marinette frowned as warmth and joy and…and…familiarity crept through her chest. “Do I…know you?”

The boy looked back at her again as he advanced on the monster. She thought he looked confused, but his expression suddenly cleared, as though catching on.

“Find a place to hide,” the boy said as he avoided a strike from Scream-ripper. “Ladybug will be here soon. She’ll fix everything.”

Deja vu. The feeling of it swept over Marinette as she crouched back behind the fallen lighting fixture and watched the cat-boy fight the monster. Like she’d seen this, or dreamed this, before. 

‘Do I know you?’

She was sure she didn’t. After all, she didn’t think she’d ever forget someone like that. But more important was the screaming feeling that she should. 

She watched the boy fight, watched him dance across the room with Scream-ripper, the two of them thrusting and parrying and and dodging. The boy fired off cat-themed quip after quip, his rakish smile never faltering. An earlier conversation drifted back to her.

‘Ladybug and Chat Noir had a close call…they would never let anything happen to you.’

Then this boy must be… “Chat Noir?”

One ear flicked back towards her, as though he’d somehow heard her speak over the clash of the needle against his baton. His suit did remind her of that girl from the picture on Alya’s blog, and he seemed dead-set on keeping Scream-ripper from turning anyone else into a creepy statue.

Marinette made herself focus on her breathing, on relaxing her fingers, which had gone white and stiff wrapped tightly around a metal pole on the lighting fixture. She didn’t know when it happened, but her terror had burned away, supplanted by a burning desire to do something.

But…no, that wasn’t right. Dizziness swept her as war raged between her instincts. She was always running away, from everything. Why was she suddenly, desperately afraid to leave this boy to fight Scream-ripper on his own?

“Starting the party without me? Now that’s a faux pas!”

Everyone froze, even Scream-ripper, as the voice echoed through out the room. Chat Noir took advantage of the opening to land a kick on the monster that sent her flying across the room, her needle clattering to the ground. 

“You’re timing is impeccable, as always, m’la…”

Chat Noir trailed off as he stared the girl that had appeared on the edge of the jagged hole Scream-ripper had left in the ceiling. There was no mistaking the red and black suit, but there was something about her, something different from the photograph on Alya’s blog. Her hair, though still jet black, tumbled down around her shoulders. A single red ribbon held it back from her face like a hair band, the loose ends twisting through the loose waves. 

The suit, too, seemed different. Swaths of black covered her arms and legs like gloves and boots, leaving just the torso red and spotted. Still, there was no missing the ladybug motif. The longer she looked, the more sure Marinette was: this was Ladybug.

A shout from Scream-ripper thrust Marinette painfully back into the present. Her heart leapt as the monster came dangerously close to nicking Chat Noir with the point of her needle. Even so, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from his partner as she swung down into the fray, his ears straight back and flat. 

Marinette could only catch snippets of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s conversation as they pressed Scream-ripper back.

“…who you think you are…anything happened to her…” Chat Noir’s eyes flashed as he attacked, fiercer than before.

“…what you’re talking about…” Ladybug grunted, stumbling out of the way of Scream-rippers needle. 

“…not her! You…Ladybug!”

“…my choice…with it, Kitty.”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT.”

Marinette flinched as Chat Noir’s voice ricocheted around the room. Even Ladybug seemed paler. She lowered her voice as she leaned into her partner, her face hard. Chat Noir stepped away from her, leaping to Scream-rippers other side, apparently choosing to fight the monster separately. Ladybug seemed content to let Chat Noir choose, but it quickly became apparent that Ladybug needed his help more than he needed hers.

Scream-ripper kicked out abruptly, sending Ladybug flying. Marinette ducked as the super heroine sailed by her, suddenly realizing how much closer the fight had come to her hiding spot. Chat Noir took advantage of the move, but he was more reckless than before. In a strike too quick to see, Scream-ripper hit Chat Noir’s baton with a clang that made Marinette’s ears hurt and sent his only weapon skittering away across the mannequin strewn floor, leaving an opening so wide you could drive a truck through it.

Marinette didn’t think; she just leapt.

It didn’t hurt like she’d expected it would when the needle tore through her left shoulder and across her back. It felt like ice, like the beginning of a wound that never started to hurt. The porcelain spider-webbing from the mark, however, was a different story. It didn’t hurt, but it tickled as it rapidly spilled across her skin, and then it didn’t feel like anything at all.

“Marinette? Marinette!” Chat Noir’s face was right in front of her, panic filling those beautiful green eyes. “No! I…I promised I’d… I promised…!”

“I had to…stop her,” Marinette said. Her lips didn’t seem to want to work. “Ladybug needs you…to win.”

For a moment his face hardened, and Marinette thought he might refuse to work with his partner, but then he gave her a single nod. “I’ll save you,” he swore, helping her sit down. 

“I…know,” she managed, but it was too hard to say anything else. Her hands rested uselessly in her lap. Her head tilted back until it rested against a the light fixture and stilled. Marinette stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. 

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 65: Like Peeling an Orange

Chapters: 65/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature Warnings: NSFW

Relationships: Loki x Reader (There We Go)

Characters: Loki (Marvel),  

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Gets A Scolding, Sometimes Loki Should Not Do What He Wants, This Armor Looks So Cool In My Head You Guys, And A Fun Time Was Had By All

Summary:   Loki helps you into-and back out of-your new armor.

Your armor was finally ready. Loki pored over it, examining every minute detail. It had to be perfect. He had to make sure it was perfect.

The weavers and tailors had brought their best. The scaled plates of nornbein and steel had been removed from their original leather backing, and affixed to new; less bulky, more supple, to better fit your smaller frame. Each bit of metal had been embossed with beautiful swirling knotwork, some of them ancient Midgardian motifs.

The quilted silk tunic glistened like polished jade, soft but tough. It would peek out from under the armor here and there, offering protection from sharp things, and signaling your importance.

But the helmet-the crown-was a grand achievement of deceptive metalworking. It looked so delicate, constructed of dainty petals and leaves, affixed to a wide band. Long, gem-studded petals stretched over the top, overlapping ivy leaves trailed down the back to protect your neck, fiddleheads would cover your cheeks.

It looked as fragile as a real bouquet, but the smith had whacked it with a heavy mallet for Loki to see, and it hadn't left a dent.

“And if anyone tries to strike without a weapon, they'll lay their hand right open.” The smith had assured him. “The edges aren't sharp enough to cut just by touching, but with applied force, they certainly are.”

Loki gathered it all up, impatient to show it to you, to see you put it on, to see you take it back off, and he rushed to the kitchen to pick up some dinner that you could eat together. Preferably in front of the fireplace in his room.

The under-chefs greeted him with some amusement, wrapping up a simple dinner and a chilled bottle of that Icelandic fruit wine for you.

“So, is the Seidkona beginning a new project?” One asked politely. “A special Midgardian spell, perhaps?”

When pressed for what he meant, he became a bit nervous. “W-well, she rushed in here very excited about something, and asked for the largest glass jar that we had. We had some of those five-gallon pickle jars, so, of course we gave her one. She gave no suggestions as to what she was doing with it, but I've heard that some Midgardian sorceresses used to put their spells in jars, so we thought perhaps she was simply making a very large spell.”

“Don't worry about it.” Loki said. “I'll see what she is up to.”

Upon entering you room, he saw that you had placed your flowers-vase and all, inside the pickle jar, and covered the top with a tied down cloth. He set the bundle of armor and the basket of dinner down on your dresser.

“Darling, what-”

“Silvery Checkerspot.” You said shortly.

“I'm...not sure as to what you are referencing...”

You pointed at the vase inside the jar. More accurately at a fat, undulating worm, crawling up a flower stem.

“This creature?” He asked. “Does it offend you?”

“No, this is a caterpillar! It turns into a Checkerspot butterfly. They're pretty. Black and orange, with tiny white spots on the edges of their wings. Lacy. I used to see them and these caterpillars all the time. They're so beautiful. Also, and this is the important part-they don't live in Iceland.”

Your voice had gone a little hard, and Loki internally recoiled. You knew. This traitorous little orm had whispered his secret to you by very virtue of its presence. How could he have known that, among the no doubt thousands of species of butterflies in this world, this would be one that you were so familiar with? How could he have known that there were none here? And how was he to know to search for hitchhikers in the first place?

He'd been so high on success, and trying so hard to hold on to all the sensations that had been swimming in his head, that he hadn't spared a thought to looking out for creatures that would give him away.

And now you knew that he had been back to your home without you, and he was just now realizing how angry you might be about that. Very angry, perhaps. Betrayed, even. 'Never touch me or talk to me again' maybe.

Oh no.

Had he ruined it? He'd been trying to do something nice! How could he continually fail so badly at doing good things for people?

He hadn't always been so bad at this. It was one of the many things that had gotten lost on the way. One of the things unfairly taken from him.

Was it going to drive you away too?

“I thought you had gone back to Akureyri on your business. I figure Leynarodd could probably get you there and back in way better time than we made. But you didn't exactly say where you were going, and that's why isn't it? Letting me assume isn't the same as lying, is it? But Leynarodd can't get you across a whole ocean. God, when I woke up this morning in all that pain, I should have guessed...”

Loki flinched. The pain. He'd thought he could avoid it if he went while you slept, that he could do all this without causing you any trouble at all, but the trouble was all here anyway.

“What could have taken you back there?” You continued. “Couldn't have been just the flowers.”

“I...needed to understand you better.” He explained. “I needed to experience the world you lived in. The surroundings you grew up in. The land that shaped you. I needed to know it better. There's something I want to do for you, and I needed that information.”

“What thing?” You asked, sounding mildly skeptical. Loki's mind screamed at him to fix this, fix it right now.

“It's a special surprise, just for you.” Loki leaned down, placing both hands on your shoulders, gazing sincerely into your eyes. “Please don't be angry with me.”

“Oh, Loki.” You wound your arms around his neck. “I'm not angry. I'm sad I didn't get to go.”

He took the opportunity to hold you tightly to him, relieved that you weren't pushing him away.

“I'm sorry.” He said, possibly the first time he'd uttered the words to you. “Of course you miss it. I'll take you there, sometime. When it's safe. When we can walk the streets without having to hide. They honor you, you know. They've named a cupcake after you. They even seem to have accepted my involvement, though it might be no more than crass opportunistic commercialism. I saw no effigies of myself burning, though, so that's a good sign.”

“Dad and Tara tell me they've been spreading the word about my 'medical treatment', so everybody probably just thinks you're bad at being altruistic.”

Loki scoffed. “I suppose I'm not exactly famous for it...”

“You will be. You really seem to want to do big, great things. As Asgard grows, you'll be able to do more. You'll live so long that you'll have time to do a lot. Long term projects. I wish I could see-”

“Shhh. I'll show you everything.” Loki promised. “Don't you worry. What will you do with the worm?”

You glanced back at the pickle jar. “It's a big bouquet. And the caterpillar is in a late instar. There should be enough there for it to eat until it pupates. Then...I guess I'll let it go. They don't live long after  coming out of their chrysalis, and there's no more butterflies for it to meet up with, so there's no way for it to become invasive. The cold will probably kill it early, but that would have happened back in Iowa too. Sometimes they just get started late, and don't have enough time. This would probably have been the last flush of flowers that it would have found. So it's okay. I just want it to reach it's full potential, even if it won't have much time after that.”

Loki stroked your hair. Was that what it felt like to you, when you examined your lifespan in contrast to his? Like this larval creature, did you see your magical potential as something to be mastered, even if you wouldn't have many years to make use of it?

Could there be some way to prolong your time?

And if there wasn't, what would he do?

He released you and you glanced curiously at the things he had brought.

“Presents?” You asked. He scooped up the armor bundle and dinner basket.

“Of a sort. I thought we could eat in tonight. Your armor is finished. Would you like to try it on?”

You agreed, and he led you back into his room, down in front of his fireplace. Dinner first, little bite-sized tidbits that he knew you liked, fed back and forth, and a moderate amount of wine.

He could see just the tiniest bit of tipsiness shining in your eyes when he put the food and drink aside, and brought out your armor.

You marveled over each piece, rubbing your face against the shimmering silk, delighting in the little details all over the armor. Loki helped you put it all on over your dress, and then, he offered the helmet.

At first you were speechless, overcome by its beauty. Then you couldn't stop gushing over that beauty, interspersed with welcome thanks and much less welcome insinuations that you didn't deserve something so grand. You deserved everything. You deserved the moon and stars. You deserved every ounce of precious metal, every carat of gemstone, you deserved it all, if only because he wanted to give it to you.

He stood you in front of the large mirror, and with great satisfaction, lowered the helmet down onto your head. Like a reverent coronation, you stared at yourself, as if trying to recognize your reflection. Beyond the slight asymmetry of your face, which had never quite gone back to normal, there was now the new look of your perfectly tailored armor over top of your flowing skirt, all your beautiful jewelry, your precious knife, and this helmet, a crown fit for royalty.

You were no different in appearance than a noble goddess, one of the glorious Aesir. He could see you at the head of a battlefield, shouting orders and being obeyed, at the head of a table, presiding over a victory feast, at the head of a bed, holding a swaddled infant in triumph.

You had turned and could clearly see what was in his face, as he hadn't bothered to hide it. Maybe he wanted you to see.

“Show me yours.” You said-almost commanded, pawing at his chest.

He liked this side of you equally to the shy side. The side of you that demanded, that expected, that could be selfish. The side of you that made you run up and grab his hand in the first place.

He knew what you meant. Green light webbed over his body, replacing his comfortable tunic and trousers with his ceremonial court armor. You stared, breath becoming heavier, taking it all in. The stiff, thick cape, the tall horns, the complex Nornbein breast plate with all its interlocking pieces meant to mimic the scales of a snake-or the belly of a dragon. The built in scale tassets on the thighs of his fine, olive trousers, that just so happened to draw the gaze in a certain direction...

He watched your eyes drift downwards, slipping down the metal guides to their intended focus-he still couldn't believe his mother had never said anything about it-and grow round at the sight of him, lovingly cupped by taut cotton. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

You pressed close, and though he couldn't feel you much through all the layers, there was something just as exciting about the clink and weight of the armor as there was in the silky warmth of bare skin. He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing, and you smashed your mouth against his in hungry lust.

You nearly knocked him over in you eagerness to get him onto the bed, and he fell into a sitting position, laughing.

“Stars, you're beautiful.” He purred. “Powerful. Grand.”

He reached for his trousers, but you stopped him.

“Not yet.” You said.

“Not yet.” He repeated.

“Just this.”

You straddled him, your skirts hitching up around your thighs, and pressed very close. Now Loki could feel your warmth, cloth barriers the only thing separating you from his swiftly hardening member, the bulge of which you began grinding slowly against.

A soft groan escaped him.

His hands found your rear through your skirts, and your throat with his lips, delighting in the vibration of your pleased moans. The friction grew between you  as you drew away to gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes; His armor, his helmet, whatever it was you saw that you liked so much had you throwing your head back and rolling your hips even faster.

And it was he who had done this. Merely existing, wearing a certain set of clothes, he had driven you to this frenzy of lust. Just because he wasn't truly inside you just yet, didn't mean this wasn't what it was. You were taking him as your own, and he was absolutely going to let you do it. Anytime, any way, however you liked.

Your moans grew high and ragged; Loki crushed you to his chest, bucking his hips. The friction, the heat, and the sound of your impassioned cries sent him spiraling into his own orgasm.

You held each other like that until your breathing slowed, and your bodies relaxed.

“Well. We should get you back out of that armor.” Loki said, voice slightly rough. “I'd say it more suggestively, but it appears you beat me to it.”

“You really don't know how sexy that armor is? Didn't anybody ever throw themselves at you while you were wearing that?

“Well...yes. But it didn't really matter. It wasn't you.”

You mewled an embarrassed little sound, and hid your face in the crook of his neck. Loki chuckled, running his hands down your body. Your new armor melted away into your comfortable and modest nightdress.

“Wow...Where did it all go?” You asked, wriggling in his lap, as his own armor faded into soft sleeping clothes.

“To your room, where your nightgown was.” He said, as you ran your fingers through his newly freed hair.

“Your horns are so handsome.” You murmured against his lips. “Just like you.”

He felt the bashful smile curl his mouth. “Will you stay with me tonight? He asked hopefully.

You nodded. “I'd like to. If you don't mind though, I need to play noise on my phone. It's been helping me sleep.”

“Whatever you need.” Whatever kept you by his side.

The two of you took a little time to clean yourselves up and prepare for bed, then snuggled down in the sheets together, holding and stroking one another. You set your phone up to play cicada song, and Loki watched you slowly fall asleep to its sawing.

Soon, his little project would be done, and you might never have to sleep away from him again.

[chronicparagon]

Free Verse

I decided to move this to its own post to keep verses better organized and make Harmony’s information versatile. 

The profile for Harmony’s Free verse is below.

NAME: Harmony Halcyon NICKNAMES: Harm, Har, Harmy, Ha-chan, Har-chan, Mato Ciqana (by her family, which means Little Bear).

Her nickname in her family changes to Mato when she inherits her grandfather’s Lakota name in honor of graduating from high school. AGE: Varies by verse between 18 years to 26 years. Default age is 19-20. POSITION: Default verse is a university student majoring in nursing and member of the swim club. Becomes a certified midwife nurse later on. RESIDENCE: Grew up on the Black Hawk Reservation in Montana, United States. Her current location depends on the verse. FAMILY: Destiny Halcyon (mother), Lucas Halcyon (father), Issac “Mato” Halcyon (grandfather, deceased). NOTE: Mato means bear or fiercely angry in the Lakota language. Harmony’s relatives are found here: LINK

ETHNICITY: Native American (enrolled member of the Lakota) Note: She’s half Lakota Sioux, a quarter Crow (the Crow Nation), and a quarter Euro-American (Irish and British). SEXUALITY: Pansexual

RESIDENCE: Grew up on the Black Hawk Reservation in Montana, United States. She moves to Yokota Air Force Base near Tokyo before relocating to Iwatobi when her father retired from the Air Force.

IMAGE COLOR: Turquoise MOTIF ANIMAL: Grizzly bear SWIMMING STYLE: Butterfly, breaststroke, freestyle (crawl)

Reference

Art made by Yohao88

Appearance: Her long hair is dark brown, sometimes mistaken as black with long bangs and gray eyes. Harmony stands about 5 foot 4 inches (162.5 cm) who is toned due to working out with a pear-shaped figure. Her weight fluctuates between 135-140 pounds (61.2- 63.5 kg). 

Her style varies. Compared to many girls in Iwatobi, Harmony is deemed to be a bigger girl due to her figure and musculature. Harmony is a member of the Lakota tribe from her father’s side. It was a goodbye present from her grandfather before leaving Black Hawk. 

Harmony has three piercings. One on each ear lobe and she has a piercing on her tongue. When she swims, the piercings are replaced with retainers.

She also has features indicating her motif. Harmony has sharper canines to resemble a grizzly bear’s teeth. Hidden beneath her clothing are ghastly scars over her body. Her upper back, right shoulder from childhood. Growing up, there’s a reason why she opts to wear long sleeves. By the time she turned eighteen, Harmony received a tattoo on her upper back of an eagle.  

Note: Due to cultural norms, Harmony would conceal the tattoo in public in Japan. in other verses where she is located elsewhere, she would be more likely to reveal her tattoo and scars.

More information for it can be found here: Link

PERSONALITY: Generally, Harmony a shy girl who can get excited on occasion. This can be off-putting to other people, especially if she just met them. It makes her come off as socially awkward. Most of the time, she’s more reserved, often in the background. She fears that people won’t like her because of the color of her skin, her name, or the scars she hides. This makes her have little confidence in herself. It will take time for Harmony to warm up to someone. Once she does, she’s sweet, even affectionate. Her most noticeable traits are her kindness, being polite, and quiet nature. Much like a grizzly bear, she can be fierce, which may be a bit scary. It occurs when she witnesses injustice or when her friends are in trouble. This is a little bit of a contrast to what she was like living in Tokyo prior to moving to Iwatobi. She was more belligerent and had a habit of getting herself into trouble. This is explained more in detail to what brought this on in her full backstory, which is further down the profile. She’s stubborn, sometimes this can do more harm than good. Harmony means well, but even after living in Japan for several years, she still has much to learn and a lot to adjust to. Harmony is dedicated, sticking to her tasks to the end. The last thing she wants to do is let anyone down.

BASIC MEDICAL INFORMATION BLOOD TYPE O+ MENTAL DISORDERS: Depression, anxiety, insomnia MEDICAL PROBLEMS: Scars, family history of Type II diabetes, heart disease, and kidney disorders (tied to diabetes). More information can be found here: LINK

STATUSES  CURRENT STATUS: Stamina: 4/5 Body: 4/5 Mental strength: 2/5 Water repellency: 3/5 Logic: 3/5 Courage: 4/5 EXPECTED STATUS: Stamina: 5/5 Body: 5/5 Mental strength: 5/5 Water repellency: 5/5 Logic: 5/5 Courage: 6/5 

FULL BACKGROUND INFORMATION

Triggers: Fire, racism, xenophobia, death

Harmony Halcyon was born and raised in  Montana. Her parents owned a small bison ranch, and she used to spend her days helping her parents and riding her horse to endless plains. She loved the mountains that stand in the distance and the sky was open, limitless. As a child, she spent time with her paternal grandfather. He often told her various stories from legends passed down between generations and humorous misadventures of himself and his sisters as children. 

She had a Karelian bear dog named Sedona and a paint mare, Mojave. She used to take long horseback riding through the trails in the neighboring forest. Harmony was a happy child.

.Unfortunately, her life would dramatically change. Harmony was a child when her parents lost everything. It all started with fire. It grew and ravaged the wilderness, stretching far and wide. The Halcyons couldn’t save their home. The fire surrounded Harmony who was riding Mojave on their way home with Sedona in tow. The raging fire scared the horse, and the girl fell from Mojave’s back. She was trapped in the fire. A burning tree strikes her down, pinning her to the scorched ground. A desperate attempt to free herself burned her right hand and arm. Burning debris fell upon the girl. 

She couldn’t escape.But she wasn’t alone. Sedona desperately dug at the pile of fallen branches and ash. The dog pulled Harmony out and to the edge of a lake away from the smoke. Sedona left her, only to return with a rescue team following her. If it wasn’t for her Sedona, Harmony wouldn’t have survived. Mojave’s return without Harmony warned her parents and they acted quickly, only to find that rescuers found their daughter and was transported for burn treatments. The burns would remain as scars on her skin. Harmony struggled when she became ill from infections, a result of the burns. In the end, Harmony would pull through. But the same could not be said for the stability her family had.

The wildfire took everything. The herd was killed by the flames and stifling fumes. Harmony’s home engulfed by flames. It almost claimed her life.All that was left was her family, Mojave, Sedona, and a few of their belongings.

.The Halcyons had nowhere to go and the hospital bill was high, Indian Health Service couldn’t help cover all the costs. Employment was difficult to come by in Black Hawk.  No one in their small town would hire them, except two Air Force recruiters who met Harmony’s father, Lucas.  He took a chance that day. He enlisted and soon found out he must go to Yokota Base near Tokyo, Japan. The family made sacrifices before leaving the United States. Harmony’s heart broke when her parents sold Mojave. They couldn’t take her with them. The little girl could only watch when a strange man drove away with Mojave in a trailer behind his truck. Harmony wouldn’t ever see her again. 

 Thankfully, the family kept Sedona, and the family relocated when Harmony was ten years old. They lived modestly, just like always while sending some money back to help Mato make ends meet. She struggled in a new country. New expectations, new people, new language. She was rebellious as a child, not adjusting well to the culture shock. Children made fun of her trying to speak in Japanese and her appearance. She was darker compared to the other children. The children often question whether “Indians” still scalp people or live in tipis like in the old movies. They teased with war cries and left her out in most of their activities.Fitting in society was just part of the problem. Harmony couldn’t stand the sense of claustrophobia with the city enclosing around her. She stayed in the large city, almost forgetting what the stars looked like and it’s as though the sky that she once loved is imprisoned by towering skyscrapers.  She missed the mountains and valleys, and the sky that could go on for thousands of miles.

Yet, Harmony soon got used to it. Slowly adjusting to the life on the base and in an urban setting. The family learned to speak Japanese and blend in the best they could. Unfortunately, there would be another tragedy inflicted on Harmony when she turned thirteen. Her grandfather passed away, succumbing to his long battle for hsi health.

First her home, Mojave, and now her grandfather.  Harmony felt isolated, hurt, and yet she couldn’t do anything. Kids made fun of her for not looking the same, her necklace, and although she became more fluent in Japanese, she still stuck out. She tried to make the most of it but wished things were different. Isolation has left her longing for friends, becoming withdrawn and unsure of herself. This led her to get into trouble for any sort of attention. This included getting into fights.After several years, Harmony’s father went into retirement from the Air Force. 

Her parents grew to love Japan, but missed the quiet life in the country. They were also afraid of Harmony getting into trouble, such as joining gangs that were rampant in the city. They thought Iwatobi would be the perfect place and relocated there. Harmony’s mother, Destiny, received an education from Yokota and gets a job as an elementary school teacher in Iwatobi. Lucas got a job as a security guard at Samezuka Academy, and Harmony transferred to Iwatobi High School.

After moving from the city to the quiet town, Harmony must acclimate to another dramatic change of environment. This time, it was easier because Iwatobi is closer to nature, just the way she likes it. However, making friends isn’t easy, which led her to wonder if joining a club would help in achieving that goal. After searching for all the options, Harmony discovered the Iwatobi Swim Club. A chance to challenge herself, make a name for herself, and make friends.

[agoddamn]

Ashura or Moriarty for the meme ask. (Or both, if you have the time and feel generous~)

Ashura

favorite thing about them: his bad self-esteem and just palpable sadness. It’s a consistent feeling throughout his dialog and you can really tell how it shaped him and informs what he does

least favorite thing about them: boots memes

favorite line: is it cheating to say “all of his My Room lines”? Man, I forgot how soft his voice was. I sent his English lines to Gero once and her response was roughly “wtf he sounds like a top” [carnivore]

brOTP: long story as to how this came about, but Odin. If you can get Odin to cool it with the chuuni talk for a minute (not that it’s easy to get him to open up, either) they have surprisingly similar traumas in losing their homeland. Also, bonding over dealing with Zero shenanigans

OTP: again, shamelessly: Zero. Kamui as well, but I honestly think Zero works best with him in the sense of people. As a bonus, my zeroashu OTP song. “You hate your pulse because it still thinks you’re alive”

nOTP: Aqua

random headcanon: he has a thief brand on an arm and would have been executed the next time he got caught.

unpopular opinion: He’s not fatherly. Don’t get me wrong, he’s great with Kanna, but I have no idea how people can look at him and say “daddy” when he’s so incredibly needy and desperate for affection

song i associate with them: Another Lonely Day, Ben Harper

favorite picture of them: soumu’s work!!! I’m particularly in love with her magnum opus, Ashuradou, which she had up for download for a while so message me off anon if you’re interested, cough. Also this picture by 310san, which I’ve had open in a tab for the past two days because it’s really cute and haven’t been able to close it without showing someone first. Also @piikeisandaa‘s porn.

Moriarty

favorite thing about them: unapologetically evil. Also, his vain side--the way he fusses over his appearance (even teases you that watching an old man change shouldn’t be exciting), purposeful vagueness about his age, grousing about Holmes getting to be a prettyboy

least favorite thing about them: his awful skillset...

favorite line: SUBARASHII! Also, that he genuinely uses the “you thought it was a cute girl? Too bad!” line to introduce himself

brOTP: Babbage

OTP: OTP is a strong word, but him and Holmes absolutely hatefuck. And sometimes tsunfuck.

nOTP: Gudako, because he’s one of the few characters who strikes me as canonically gay. I dunno how much clearer you can get than “[This butterfly motif might make me look like a woman’s dream*] but actually I never had any interest in or relationship with women, even in life”. (*Guda says that he looks/sounds like he’s from a host club in the red light district, which, WOW GUDA)

unpopular opinion: honestly he’s surprisingly big with the otome crowd (see: White Day costume), so the opinion that he’s genuinely gay isn’t that popular

favorite picture of them: this entire page (oh boy, finally a character with more than three pictures of canon art!):

[syzygyzip]

Carrying the Burden

The level design and story concept of Dark Souls are, famously, predicated on the dichotomy of Up and Down. In the simplest terms, what does it mean for something to be above, and something to be below? To take a quick observation from common sense: that which is below supports that which is above, and the above crowns the below. They create the conditions for each other: the lower lays the foundation for the higher, and the higher bestows prestige upon the lower. It is spirit and matter again; or word and animal. Like the two fish of the Ouroboros, they can be seen as quarreling, or as mutually devouring, but in the end they are really one thing stretched into two contrasting poles. This tension between opposites, according to Jung, creates the condition for consciousness. It may be necessary but the tension can also feel like a terrible burden.

It especially feels like a burden, if a split causes enmity between these two parts. Dark Souls is full of examples of some weight being imposed from above: a task is given, an honor, or title, or duty; and those to whom it is bequeathed are full of doubt and anxiety; they do not feel capable of holding the higher image of themselves. They shrink under threat, or buckle under weight. What exactly are the people of Lordran being saddled with? Let’s examine some bearers of curses.

Pilgrims The pilgrims carry heavy stones on their backs as they crawl across the world, seeking Lothric, the seat of destiny. Some suggest that the stone is keeping them from sprouting into the great pilgrim butterflies, and/or sprouting into the pupae controlling the angels in the Ringed City. In either case, this transfiguration invites comparison to the metamorphosis of the caterpillar. It is as though this evolution must take place at that particular place, and until they deliver themselves there, they are loaded down by the containment of this potential.

This first figure is very telling of all the examples that follow. A divine task is ordained, implicating a promise of completion or wholeness. In this case, that completion is symbolized by the imago, the final stage of an entomorphic process. Of course the word “imago” means image. This implies that the thing that is gestating, contained throughout pain and struggle, until the appropriate time, is an image of the Self.

Manservants with Planks of Wood This enemy, meant to be simple-minded, dumb, sensitive, carries a plank around on its back. This teaches the player, in a very oblique way: don’t count on backstabs. An enemy can be stronger than you, with great poise, and resistant to backstabs, but if their strategy is no good they do not pose a threat. So while the board is a technically a mechanical advantage for them, at the same time it is a telegraph to the player. This can be likened to having a physical advantage at the cost of a strategic disadvantage. In this way the burden may be seen as: honesty, or as transparency.

In the story, these planks they carry are likely cutting boards, as they are about the right size for corpses and covered in blood. We know that this civilization is structured around the disposal of corpses, so it makes sense that these Manservants, who carry saws and pots filled with remains, are also bringing cutting boards with them. What does it mean symbolically to be weighed down by an instrument of dismemberment? To fully understand this, we must consult with their co-workers.

Manservants with Cages These other Manservants carry cages, which are filled with dismembered bodies and brought either to a place of interment or to Aldritch, who consumes them. One might suppose that the cages and cutting-boards were strapped to these guys by order of the Evangelists, who are clearly running the show in the Settlement. In this case the task is put to them by representatives of the church, probably in response to their neurodivergent condition. The game seems to suggest that they are unable to take up the labor of the Undead Workers, who demonstrate relatively sophisticated combat intelligence, and complexity of lifestyle. So those who cannot conform to the expected duties of society, are then assigned this more demeaning and strenuous role.

For the Evangelists who coordinate this task, treating these maligned “simple folk” as mules is probably only a practical consideration. But there is significant symbolic weight attached to these objects. By saddling someone with a corpse cutting-board, you are subliminally suggesting to them: “YOU are the corpse. YOUR back will feel the bloodstained wood.” While the cage suggests, “You are captured. You are kept. Your activity in the world has these limits.” One must remember the exceptional significance assigned to the words of elders, to what is given by a respected maternal or religious figure. Automatically, the recipient’s image of God becomes wrapped up in the exchange, and the result takes on an unquestionable authority. So when that object confers bondage upon the person, there arises feelings of guilt and inferiority. 

It would be remiss to mention the cage-carrying Manservants without bringing up the Mound-Makers. This is a covenant accessed through climbing into one of these cages, after listening to the riddle of a cage-bound hollow. The entire Mound-Makers/Hodrick motif is something I’ve explored at length, but in summary it symbolizes the child’s inability to properly differentiate itself from its mother. This means that the mother image becomes conflated with the highest heights of divinity, and the lowest revulsions of horror, replete in either case with fear and awe. Because climbing into the cage triggers the revelation of this complex, we can say that the empty space within the cage, carried about by the Manservants, is quite plainly the mounting psychic pressure of an unliberated image of the Self. Each one of these cages is occupied by a phantom, who may take the appearance of a Mother, or the appearance of the witness. This is why we see both hollows carrying cages, and stuck inside them. The numinous has been compromised by the scorn of an elder.

Lycanthropes A rule of thumb for evaluating the symbolism of Dark Souls is to note that elevation changes reflect the elaboration of an area’s theme: by going up or down, the player is moving to a new octave of the same problem. This is quite apparent in the Crucifixion Woods, which is downhill from the Settlement. Right away we find that the common enemies of these Woods rephrase the enemies of the Undead Settlement. In the Settlement we had Workers as mobs and Manservants as brutes; in the Woods we have Hunters as mobs and Lycanthropes as brutes. These two pairs complete each other’s symbolism. And since this area is downhill, and surrounded by woods, we can assume that it represents a deeper and more unconscious element.

Instead of boards or cages, Lycanthropes carry a cross. This is a straight-forward Christ reference. The mob enemies carry branches of trees as spears, which also corresponds to the lance which wounded Christ. The cross carried by the Lycanthropes also resembles the Dark Sign, the mark of humanity and the Dark Soul in the game’s lore. As in the case of the Manservants, it would appear the Lycanthrope’s burden has been given in response to their wildness; to the ferocity of their affects. The full signification of the Christian cross is well beyond the scope of this essay, but some attributes jump to the foreground in the context of this area. When we take the two figures together, we can imagine that the state of the Lycanthropes is a reflection of the Manservants’ inner experience. The contempt held for them by the Settlement society -- and the subjugating task that has been given to them -- is here phrased as an unbearable consecration. It also suggests that the workers/hunters are attempting to pin down the wild unconsciousness of the brute figures; they are trying to impose their social order on incompatible subjects, rather than finding a place for these subjects within their society. On a deeper level, it is an imposition of concept; they want to “fix” the chaotic and irrational contents of the unconscious with pins and crosses.

Profaned Priests In the Profaned Capital there are many statues of priests struggling to hold up objects. Those objects appear to be a striking instrument (Gargoyle Hammer?) and receiving vessel (Lordvessel?). In either case, it takes many of these men to hold a single one of these items. Taken together, the objects resemble a paintbrush and inkdish. The dish is suggested to hold the “profane flame” which is never extinguished, and perhaps has some potential for rendering a new world, as in the case of the painter of Ariandel. The Capital is a land of greed and consumption, and its infamous flame is portrayed ambiguously as generative and devouring. In any case, this boundless fuel, so deeply buried, is apparently beyond the ability of its wielders to control. Were the statues holding these instruments once humans made of flesh? Or are they another reconstruction, another remembrance among this realm of stories and legends?

Ornstein and Smough This is a boss fight from Dark Souls 1, and it does not describe a carrying of any kind, but it’s a dualistic image that will be helpful context for the next few examples. The struggle to reconcile the lower and higher principles is well illustrated by this duo. Ornstein is the leader of Gwyn's four knights, the knight who stands in for the synthesis of the group. Therefore he represents knightliness, chilvary, honor. He pays respects to Smough when he dies. Smough on the other hand, is known to be cruel and cannibalistic. He delights in his executions, and is apparently perfectly comfortable with smashing Ornstein's corpse to gain a bit of charge on his hammer. He has been rejected from the group for being unknightly, while Ornstein has been elevated as the exemplar of the group.

In this way, Ornstein and Smough are two aspects of the same knight. Perhaps Ornstein could not achieve his high degree of lightness and agility without splitting himself. Smough then is his lower nature: self-interest, desirousness, appetite, cruelty. All the "heaviness" rejected by the refined, noble, socially acceptable persona of Ornstein. Ornstein is clearly a glutton for attention (the whole lion theme), but that ego inflation would be unbecoming for his knightliness, so it is constellated by the figure of Smough. Smough therefore does not have a head (only that pathetic little mannequin thing) because he is unconscious; he has no identity of his own, he is merely a repository for Ornstein's disavowed personality traits.

If these two are the guardians of the Lord Vessel, the grail, then they are easily analogized into the two pillars of western mysticism: Joachim and Boaz. Joachim is the principle of order, of Logos, while Boaz govern chaos and Eros. Ornstein is the relatively civilized ordering principle, who engages the player with some decorum. And his suit of armor is almost mechanistic; its design would not feel out of place as a Gundam or mecha. Meanwhile, the bloated figure of Smough is curved, organic, bodily, and grotesque in its sensuality (who needs nipple detail on armor?). Again, we can assume that the only reason Smough, and the Eros principle he represents, is so oafish, is because it has been repressed. The body is seen as crude and evil in the Dark Souls world (represented by areas like the Depths and Sen’s Fortress), so poor Smough has been maligned. Cut off from the proper pantheon of Gods, he is now just a sadistic and boorish mess.

The King of the Storm The King of the Storm swoops into the arena on a wyvern. This tableaux of Knight riding a Dragon is the definitive Souls duality, which we just examined in the pair of Ornstein & Smough. This is a more sophisticated and optimistic image of the same basic tension, because the two halves are operating as a unity. At least at first! Midway through the fight, the cosmogony of Dark Souls is recreated through metaphor: the King of the Storm strikes his wounded dragon, scattering it across the universe. This is the event of the first flame, which in its introduction of disparity has produced a field within which there are discrete atomic units. This act ambivalently channels both Ornstein’s mercy and Smough’s severity; it is as though those two attributes of the cosmogenesis were preserved independently. Was it grace or violence that brought the universe into being? It is dependent on the perspective of your station!

Anyway in this recreation (orchestrated by the Logos half, of course, with that bias implicit), the King loses his name to become the Nameless King. We are shown once again that the vitality of Heaven cannot be sustained in matter, and with that collapse comes a fracturing of spirit’s identity; a loss of prestige and a condition of disorientation.

Twin Princes This encounter takes place at the center of the world, and so this image of the burden is startlingly direct. The lower half, Lorian, carries his twin, Lothric. The lower half is crippled, dragging himself around on his knees, with one arm as his support. Despite this, it is his role to support the weight of Lothric, who clings to his back for the second phase of the fight. Lothric too is in a wounded state, sickly and fully immobile. Their split, upper and lower, resembles Ornstein/Smough. Just as Smough can be seen as a constellation of Ornstein’s unknightliness, Lorian is a figuration of Lothric’s unprinceliness. A Prince is meant to be a point of identification and perfection for his people, and for this reason Lothric was bequeathed a holy sword. However, we are told that the prince was never able to put this sword to use, which means that he is not able to provide the appropriate reflection of the Self. His inability to wield this emblematic object seems to be related to his weakened condition. This is a telling detail when taken in conjunction with Lorian’s story: Lorian was wounded in confrontation with the Demon Prince (an ancient adversary symbolizing the shadow), and since then his sword has been suffused with the demon’s fire. The fact that these two swords (Lothric’s holy sword and Lorian’s tainted sword) can eventually be merged is further encouragement to interpret the twin princes as a bisection of a single individual. It is as though once the Prince had confronted the repressed contents of the kingdom, symbolized by the demon, he experienced a break in his psyche, unable to reconcile the divine image of the Self with its negative and destructive shadow. The fact the lower sword had absorbed the demon’s fire shows that he succeeded at least in integrating the demonic force into his mental nature. Historically, swords are symbols of discernment, of separating truth from illusion. This is a very valuable virtue, and is represented in the object ordained to Lothric by his kingdom -- but in war he glimpsed the horrific and violent potential of the sword: the intellect’s destructive power. Thus Lothric was unable to hold the high virtue of the holy sword, and only held the profane sword in the hand of his compensatory double, Lorian.

It is a fascinating parable, with much more to unpack, but what concerns us here is the fact of their piggybacking. The irreconcilability of the lighter prince and the darker prince has left them both in a weakened state, though the game tells us they are permanently bonded by curse. Perhaps it is actually the curse that separates them! They instinctively help each other, but even when they attempt to unite, they are just two sick people on top of each other, rather than one whole person. The lower prince dies repeatedly, and is brought back to life by the higher. Like the Abyss watchers, it is a continual resurrection bound by duty, subject to pain over and over in a ceaseless cycle – this is the curse of incarnation, the curse of the lower world!

Demon Princes The Twin Princes are themselves a double, but they also form another double with the other set of twins: the Demon in Pain and the Demon From Below. As we know, it is through conflict with these demons that Lorian became crippled. The relationship between the demons is a bit different, and is helpfully illustrated by the trajectory of the fight. In either boss battle, there is a point in which one of the pair is defeated and the second phase begins. With the princes, Lorian is felled, and Lothric joins him and brings him back to life. In the case of the demons, either can be defeated, which results in the eruption of the other into a larger beast, the Demon Prince. A quiet image of compassion is what reanimates Lorian, as Lothric – despite his resigned and fatalistic attitude – holds his hands together over his brother in prayer. The demons, on the other hand, appear to be catalyzed by outrage. It is an extreme emotional outburst that characterizes the segue into the second phase of the demon fight, which stands in stark contrast to the staid ritual of the princes. Is it really the compassionate thing to bring Lorian back into his crawling body in order to continue a painful battle? Perhaps there is more sympathy between the demons. And the relative similarity between the two demons, and the fact that either demon may become the Demon Prince shows a unification of identity unseen in the princes.

The boundaries blur a little more in the lower worlds. They are typically portrayed as forgotten or ancient, which implies an older period in the development of consciousness. The demons are fluid among each other, because they share a group identity. As humans moved further into the light of self-reflection, roles and personalities became distinct – as in the “civilized” land of Lothric, with its prized sword of discernment. Apparently something has been forgotten in that movement into objective and differentiated consciousness, perhaps some sense of continuity or empathy; as we see that the high prince has an intellectual edge so keen that he has separated himself even from himself. This is echoed in the many abrupt breaks and blockages throughout the land.

In dream analysis, the presence of any twins, or any doubled figures, indicates that whatever they represent is on the verge of integration. An archetype presents itself to the dreamer as a pair of twins to indicate that it is splitting: part of it joins the conscious personality, and another part remains embedded in the depths. We see that in Lothric and Lorian (Lorian retains Demonic influence), and also in our two sets of twins (the Demons are left below, forgotten.

Statue of Gwyn and the Pygmy There is a statue at the center of the Ringed City that depicts Lord Gwyn handing some gift to a crouching pygmy, who represents humankind. In his left hand Gwyn holds a crown. If the player falls from above onto this statue, they can snatch the treasure from Gwyn’s right hand and see that it is a Chloranthy Ring +3. Considering that Dark Souls places even its trash and rusted coins in meaningful locations, we should assume that this ring resides in this mythic tableau for a good reason. The gift that the ring bestows is stamina regeneration; in other words, endurance. This can be seen as the unique property given to humankind—it may even be a euphemism for the Dark Soul itself—the capacity to endure the tension and suffering of incarnation into the cycle of light and dark, into the world of disparity wrought by fire.

Unlike all our other examples, the burden here has not yet been given. The pygmy has not yet claimed neither the endurance ring nor the crown—it could even be speculated that these gifts are being withheld from the pygmy, or taken from him by Gwyn!!—but that’s a subject for another essay. Taking the statue at face value, the impression is that Gwyn is imparting to humans their special trait. We are also told explicitly that the Ringed City itself was imparted to humans by Gwyn – and this statue is a part of that city. So whatever it is being handed from above to below, whatever burden is being set, the history has been written from the perspective of the Above. And what about the lower world, with all its restlessness and defilement? Who is telling the story from that view?