#diving the keys

[sohannabarberaesque]

If ever there was a houseboat which could serve as diver's quarters for Peter Potamus' crew along the Florida Keys--let's just hope it isn't too much for their aesthetic.

[lovesickeros]

☆ i dream of embers

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes no au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.1k

The House of the Hearth is quiet — or, if you really wanted to be precise, the rats scuttling through the walls are working around the bubble you exist in. The children dare not tempt fates hand unless you asked for them by name, a contradiction. An order to the rules — they mustn't approach you with trivialities, but they must listen if you speak. Your words carry more weight than gold in this house, whether you know it or not.

A tenuous position.

You haven't done anything to earn their reverence, their almost acrid fear — but Arlecchino has. She wields her silver tongue with as much ease as her polearm, ensuring your care in her absence. Her devotion, her service, is felt in the warmth of her chambers, the silks she adorns you with, the bed so soft you feel as though you melt into it. A gift, a promise — a gilded cage need not be something undesirable.

You've grown used to the encumbrance of her presence, these days. The deep timbre of her voice, honeyed yet melting into something rougher, quieting into haunting silence as if she seeks not to disturb you. Dim candlelight is all that illuminates her broad frame as she slowly presses the door open and closed behind her, pallid skin streaked with darkening red, her bottom lip smeared with it like lipstick. There is a tension to her shoulders even when she sets aside her polearm, out of sight and out of mind, harsh lines on her face visible in the deep furrow of her thin brows.

Here, she let's the weariness settle deep into her bones — it's just the two of you, even if she hasn't acknowledged you at all. Still, it's a vulnerability she shows no other, even if that vulnerability is hidden behind layers of barbed wire and teeth.

You watch rather idly from the bed as she wets a cloth in a basin of water, the bed creaking beneath you as your feet sink into the plush rug beneath. You know from experience that trying to help her is like trying to soothe a wild dog, but your knuckles brush over the sharp line of her cheek anyway, free hand stealing the soaking cloth from her hands when her jaw flexes and tenses beneath the pads of your fingers.

It is only then that she looks down at you, eyes as sharp as blades yet so indescribably warm — like a flame licking at your skin, burning so deep you feel it linger for weeks after. Arlecchino is not soft, far from it — but she blunts her jagged edges for you anyway, brushes her lips against your knuckles and allows you a moment of adoration. Carves her worship bone deep in the ghost of her touch against your lower back as she leans down, let's you wash away the blood certainly not her own, never blinking as if you'd simply up and leave if she stopped looking at you for even the smallest moment.

You are well aware she is caging you in. You let her.

Though she is still stiff as a board up to the moment you set the washcloth over the side of the basin, her jaw flexing again, a moment of consideration given. She is not used to soft and brittle things, though — not used to touch that does not lead to steel at her throat, in her gut, carving out softness like a butcher carves up meat, section by section.

But this affliction of affection is stronger than the discomfort, at times.

You almost half consider letting her take the room and have a night of proper rest, but she is faster than you — a calloused hand tilts your head back, half lidded eyes glinting beneath the weight of exhaustion, her thumb firm against your bottom lip. She could kill you without even blinking, you are aware, but she is nothing but careful with her touch — not soft, not Arlecchino, but there is adoration in her touch. Like thumbing a locket portrait, trying to imprint their features into memory by touch alone.

Her touch is fleeting, but the warmth lingers long after — you don't need to be touching to feel the weight of her attention. She stokes the flames of the dying fire, has one of the children bring a fresh pot of tea, lingers even when she doesn't have to. You're sure her desk in her office is far more comfortable to work at, but she'd crammed a small desk into the room anyway, stayed even long after you fell asleep most nights. You never did get to stay up long enough to notice her slip in beside you, nor wake up early enough to find her there with you, but the heat lingers — she leaves breakfast at your bedside table, a small note of affection if she's feeling particularly sappy. Even when you don't see her, she makes sure you feel her presence however she can.

Neither of you need to speak to express it. The silence is..oddly comfortable, filled by the shift of paper or scratch of a pen, the clink of a cup or crackle of fire. It's a little too easy to get lost in watching her work, masking a smile whenever she glanced back at you with a question on the tip of her tongue that goes unsaid.

It's better that way, you both think. The silence was best left undisturbed — as if trying to break it would be like breaking the mirror to each others lives. You don't busy yourself in the affairs of the House of the Hearth, and she doesn't make you. It's better that way, too. Maybe that makes you naive, blind even, to the bodies at her feet piled so high she could drown, but you don't want to give up this fragile tranquility.

So you let the dull scratch of a pen lull you to sleep, try not to smile too much when a hand reaches out in uncertainty to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your cheek with so much affection it makes it hard to breathe.

It's a tenuous balance, but come the next night you will wipe the blood from her cheek again and she will care for you the only way she knows how — distant service.

And when you wake up to an empty bed, warm despite the fires long burned out, you'll still feel her presence in the allure of a warm drink and pastries at your bedside, a note tucked beneath the plate.

Just like the day before, and just as you expect tomorrow to be. But one day you'll gently pull apart the barbed wire and be let in — not today, no, but someday. It's a slow process, but you're patient enough to wait — and when she let's you in, you'll tend to the scars that it left like you've always done.

One step at a time, one day.

[pitotube]

the thing about the 'you need to read adult books for adults' conversation going on is that i get to feel superior to everyone because i mostly read nonfiction

[atlantis-area]

Throwback SHINee: Minho @Star Diving Show Splash (10m)

[ace-aro-taku]

Koki Uchiyama Appreciation Post

I just found out he also voices Rei Suwa in Buddy Daddies

You know him, as these roles too

He's slowly becoming a fave

[dremiruu]

ok theres some apple white discourse on here lately so as the self appointed biggest apple white defender i'm just gonna include parts of an unfinished essay i have sitting in my drafts and leave it at that

[raayllum]

Aaravos is Laurelion theory: 1/?

[fieriframes]

[You've been arrested by the love police. For the crime of breaking my heart. I'm locking you up for 20 years in love jail. Love jail is a place where lovers go. When their hearts commit a crime. And there, the prisoners are all locked away behind love bars. They locked me away and threw away the key. And my cellmate was my broken heart. There must be a way to get out of here. In love jail, we do hard time because breaking hearts is the ultimate crime.]

[nakamorijuan]

ラスティア - ダイブ・イントゥ・シャイン Lastier - Dive into shine Kamikaze Kaitou JEANNE - 2nd Opening Theme

[ultrakdramamama]

Pleasure Shop | Deep Dive | KEY 키

[biitchcakes]

what if i took that "what would you steal from her apartment" meme a little too seriously?

and added stuff like -

her cute magnets?

leftover thai food? 16 hour old coffee? expensive imported english tea?

what about her own merch on her keys or mug?

pink fluffy robe? pink bunny slippers?

blonde wig? motorcycle jacket? signature red lipstick?

alien detector watch? universal ID card?

private investigator license? tablet for PI Business™️? what about her very own maltese falcon?

[isekyaaa]

The hard thing about typology is that eventually you reach a point where, despite knowing theory very well, you type purely off of habits/quirks/etc because they're easy to catch (when you know what you're looking for) and almost always right.

[asudai-tls]

Character SH (Space Habitat) Rankings

ATOMOSUREINN

Amaya Ren - D Aizawa Minato - C Asahi Sou - D

TWI■■LIGHT

Togano Nao - C Narumi Kei - C Otowa Seira - Unknown

LMLMMxxx♡

Tachibana Momota - D Utsumi Toa - D Konoe Yamato - C

我楽多KING

Tsumoi Kazuki - B Raiden Hikaru - Unranked Amou Chihiro - E

[freshthoughts2020]

[raayllum]

I'm really wondering about the order of events we learn of in "The Midnight Star" (MS) poem if only because some pieces of language aren't quite meshing with what we've previously known / potentially assumed

Elarion, trembling seed, lay down to earth in icy night, and in the cold her roots took hold defying winter’s deathly bite. Elarion, fading bloom, afraid to wilt and dim and die, she searched the dark for but a spark and caught the dragons’ hungry eye.

We know Elarion was an early human settlement that eventually became the biggest in ancient Xadia (TOX). We know that this is happening prior to the stars leaving thanks to a later stanza. Moreover, this stanza indicates that the city was drawing the attention of the dragons, which is also hinted at in Ripples, "It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters".

However, Elarion suffering and struggling to hold on doesn't quite make sense if it already had primal magic... unless the first stanza condenses these events, i.e. "she searched the dark for a spark" ("that secret becomes a spark, the tiniest flicker of a primal source inside you") and that's why the city initially caught negative attention from the dragons. But even then, that contradicts statements from Ripples, in which:

"he did not know the stars as I know them. He did not know their arrogance, how they had rejoiced to look down upon their newborn sea. Where once they’d watched errant flames burn with pride and undeserved power, there was now only stillness"

the Startouch / First Elves are the ones who — seemingly — cast Aaravos out and create the sea as an initial punishment for humanity because "humanity had been given something they were never meant to have."

But MS doubles down that it's the dragons threatening the city, and that humans are still assuming the First Elves might help them, only for the stars to refuse and leave:

Elarion, frightened waif, reached bone-white branches to the night, the stars she asked their light to cast and stop the dragons’ fiery might. Elarion, unworthy whelp, Wept as the stars turned black the sky, They donned their masks They turned their backs, And left Elarion to die.

So Elarion/humans have been given primal magic by someone, who is probably Leola, a unicorn who may or may also be a startouch elf even though the First Elves disapproved (TOX, book 1: novelization). This makes the other First Elves angry and also seems to anger the dragons. When Elarion asks for protection from the First Elves against the dragons, they're ignored/abandoned.

This is, however, where MS starts to get tricky.

Elarion, dying husk, did wilt and whimper in the dark, ‘till the last star Reached from afar His touch: a blaze, a gift, a spark.

Again, we see a spark, which has most been referred to in reference to primal magic, even seemingly earlier on in the poem. We also see gift, which seems like a blatant reference to dark magic: "So he gave us magic!" (4x07) and "Lay [the staff] down? But it was a gift" (3x01). We can also read it into this section from the Puzzle House in which Claudia quite explicitly uses magic that isn't primal, either:

He said it came from "a spark of fun" instead of primal sources, or...

And Kpp'Ar is a dark mage, and so is Claudia (in-training at this point), so it'd be within reason to assume this is some form of dark magic residue. But if it is... why not just call it that? Why make the distinction?

I think we can conclusively say there were at least two gifts given to humanity — the first was primal magic, and this seems to be more concrete. The second, assumedly, was dark magic at least in some form. But what if it was also more than that? I've talked before that as the Key of Aaravos seemingly functions now, it'd be most useful to a dark mage for categorizing spell parts/ingredients. The premonition dreams and weird blood connections between Star (Deep?) and dark magic are well known by now, even just looking at the sheer weirdness of whatever the fuck is going on with Ziard-Viren's relic staff.

The Midnight Star poem also does not help us much in figuring out the distinction between them, at least not at first glance.

Elarion, searing white, Embraced the great one’s night-black flame. And when she bowed, Her faith avowed, He whispered, “Aaravos,” his name.

Here, we get the dark-light motif pretty plainly. Fire fits with the primal flames that we're pretty sure humanity already had at this point, but we're not 100% sure. "Searing white" seems to match up with Aaravos' key, which could both relate to primal, dark, and deep magic all pretty easily.

And giving humans deep magic isn't necessarily all bad. Elarion is called "a beautiful white city" nestled in the mountains (Tales of Xadia). Leola's Last Wish star is a beautiful guiding light. This is probably the closest to a straightforward "this is when humans got primal magic or deep magic ('good' variant)" we can read into the poem, except...

It's immediately troubled by this implication and the following stanza (said connection between 2x06 and TOX found by @its-leethee).

The process marks its wielder, too: years of dark magic leave mages with pale complexions, bruise-like blemishes across the body, and blackened eyes. For better or for worse, dark magic became the key that unlocked a place of power in Xadia for all of humanity.

The closing stanza of the poem is why we all thought dark magic post-S2, for obvious reasons:

Elarion, black-eyed child, her twisted roots spread deep and far, The humans’ might sparked by the light of Aaravos, her midnight star.

Black eyes are found in dark magic use, twisted roots don't have a particularly good connotation, and we know thanks to S1 and S3 that many humans considered dark magic to make them powerful and level the playing field. Thus, the timeline would look something like this:

Elarion / humans eventually found primal magic (thanks to Leola + potentially others like Aaravos)

This drew the anger of the Stars/First elves and the dragons

Elarion asks the stars for help against the dragons, but they leave/reject it

Aaravos gives the humans deep magic (or something along those lines) through his cube ("searing white") which may or may not contain his chest piece / a quasar diamond

Through the cube, humans discovered/developed dark magic, thus "unlocking a place of great power"

[fieriframes]

[You go in just -- right with your paw? Caught me with my pants down. So, I'm gonna cover it.]