#in death I reflect on the death of ophelia

[aseacometorest]

I wake early and angry, I eat oatmeal with thyme honey,

I call my sister, I call my mother, I call my other sisters, my brothers,

I worry about my feverish lover, I worry about my siblings, jobless now.

I send an ill-advised e-mail, I don’t send an ill-advised tweet.

I’m alone so I’m lonely. That’s what my sister says.

Time to stay indoors, the doctor says, all the doctors say,

but the open window betrays that not everyone’s voice dies to solitude.

Shut up, shut up! the window slams.

Time to embrace the virtues of boredom, the price of happiness again, after.

The window shows men digging a place for survivors of the future, the rich ones.

It will be a condo tower, glass walls for better envy.

They’ve built the frames, I see, around the holes where doors will someday go.

Capitalism! So full of holes and hope.

If I try to remember what it was like, childhood, a period of kudzu

growth that felt like stasis in the white-glazed room where days upon days my father shut me—

if I try, I see the ceiling, that water stain trailing down

like brown Pre-Raphaelite curls, hair of a drowning girl among reeds,

which later I recognized in a painting of a pale drowning Ophelia.

I love alone, I tell my sister. She says, You just want to.

I agree I want the past.

For a magnolia to bloom on a crowded street, all safe in beauty, for I

still love the world, though it drowns

and dies like that girl, avoidably.

A professor once asked, pleased we wouldn’t know,

Who is really responsible for the death of Ophelia?

The answer, he said, ought to feel like we have arrived together

at a skyscraper’s peak, where the inhuman

view reveals in windows and in streets

the small, sick or potentially sick bodies—each one a new array of questions.

The only possible epiphany is that the ending of a thought is never such.

Together. I liked the word in the professor’s mouth.

But if I am alone, and if I am lonely, and if I am not alone in loneliness, and if the everyone

together suffers, and if this everyone suffers and dies by the unguided motion of matter, and if

also by the motion of craven, murderous men, and if also by the motion of money, and if of course

you were always going to die, Ophelia, and if even so your death remains unforgivable,

then what are the questions I should ask? All I have is sleeplessness and rage,

and that’s no answer, it’s not even a thought, though it might not end till my body does,

perhaps not even then, as I can imagine it going on past my ending, and really—

what more suitable ghost could I leave behind? Since I do love the world.

‘In Quarantine, I Reflect on the Death of Ophelia”by Elisa Gonzalez

[lina-studen]

"something floral": literature student blabbering about the usage of flower symbolism in "nevermore", how it ties to the theme of insanity and a little bit (a lot) about shakespeare.

from lenore's perspective, flowers are closely associated with isolation caused by her trauma and supposed "hysteria". floral pattern wallpaper accompanied her loneliness for days, months, even years. image of the flowers signaled that lenore's position would remain unchanged, that she was stuck, that she would continue to slowly loosing the clarity of her mind.

having torn the wallpaper off the walls, lenore believes that she will never see this image again, but flowers continue to accompanying her. lenore sees them again during her first meeting with annabel lee. and during the last one, too. she may have managed to get out of her lonely room, gain more strength in her legs, find a new friend, but lenore is still trapped. she's the daughter disowned by her parents, a stain on the family reputation that must be hidden forever. the image of flowers doesn't let her forget about it.

similar symbolism is also not alien to annabel lee. episode 66 is interesting in particular, because it directly quotes ophelia's monologue. I'm a big fan of shakespeare, it was he who instilled in me an interest in floral symbolism. a year ago, for a conference on foreign literature, I wrote an article about flower language of "hamlet". it's not available in english, but I'll list down some points that I considered relevant regarding "nevermore".

• rosemary can serve as a keepsake between lovers and also between the dead and the living. it could be seen at both weddings and funerals. in the old days it was also believed to be helpful in mental illnesses treatment.

• pansies, just like violets, symbolize innocence and devotion. ophelia doesn't consider the people around her worthy of violets, since she blames them for the death of her father.

• rue is a symbol of eternal suffering; grieving over her murdered father and the loss of her beloved hamlet, ophelia leaves some of the flowers for herself.

• the image of daisies has a close connection with the concepts of innocence, fidelity and eternal love. in shakespeare's tragedy, this symbol is overshadowed by the fact that in the world around ophelia there's no place for these beautiful things. for "nevermore" the symbol is also not so positive, since the readers are already familiar with daisies. they were on that wallpaper in lenore's room.

it's impossible not to note that annabel lee recites the monologue while in the bath, in the water. ophelia decides not to resist the river flow. her life turned into a tragedy: she was left without a father, her lover has seemingly lost his mind. her own sanity is also called into question. ophelia sings cryptic songs, goes into the field to weave a wreath, gives flowers to other characters. in the eyes of those around them, hamlet and ophelia seem crazy, while being the only sane and honest people among them. there's no place for tender, innocent ophelia in a cruel, deceitful world, so she drowns.

annabel lee also reflects on how both she and lenore are considered madwomen. her meeting with "leo" is accompanied by floral pattern on the annabel's dress. their madness is contextual, they both are perfectly sane, but don't fit into the system that could be leading to real madness with time. "all madwomen die twice. at least twice".

now about the arboretum. it obviously has a lot of flowers, but in my opinion this place is interesting in a different context. lenore and annabel visited the arboretum twice to discuss upcoming plans and such, and there are many parallels, both visual and narrative. not much time has passed since last time, but their situation has changed. they seem to look on their past selves from the upper level, having their conflict more acute now. I'll make a more detailed post about it later.

and now I'll just focus on how the characters in this arboretum full of roses behave as lost and confused as in the phobia-inducing flower labyrinth from earlier episodes. “the closer you get to beautiful flowers, the closer you get to their thorns,” says duke in episode 38. the flower imagery haunting the main characters doesn't let them forget that their sanity is always on a verge of slipping. and once a flower falls from its stem, it cannot be fixed.

p.s. guess which writer’s works I chose for a new article this year?

[firstfullmoon]

Elisa Gonzalez, from “In Quarantine, I Reflect on the Death of Ophelia”

[wyfy-meltdown]

It is literally foreshadowed in her name Kyoko is bound to suicide with Sayaka as sakura's are heavily associated with kamikazes. Besides aforementioned timeline; In Portable, during the scheduled downfall of Sayaka, and eventual death at Homura's hands, Kyoko has a breakdown switching between laughing, crying, until eventually screaming in pain as she turns to Ophelia, saying she was stupid to think she could save Sayaka. Ophelia's labyrinth literally has little fish floating around, it's so clearly underwater, it's so clearly tied to Sayaka, there are staves with musical notes coming out of the ground of the labyrinth. And as if that isn't enough, the music playing is relatively similar to Symposium Magarum, at the very least a part of it, altered, slower, on a different instrument - it's there however if you listen close. Kyoko is so tied to Sayaka in her mind that even if in series they weren't on the best of terms, it affects her in death. Her feelings are obvious once stirred through enough, it's Sayaka that refuses any aid, or a chance at another way. There IS, another way, that through Kyoko, however Sayaka's ideation of a magical girl is heavily tied to Mami's image (not Mami herself, but how she presented, lacking the vulnerability she shared with Madoka) who is in complete contrast to Kyoko. The full "you die a hero or live long enough become a villain". No matter how much she runs away from it however, I feel that in Rebellion Sayaka embraces both sides (and creating the doppel system by proxy). On another note, and parallel, Sayaka chose to "give her life away", becoming a magical girl meant suicide to her in the end and, the argument with Madoka in the rain may had still lingered in the back of her mind, so Kyoko choosing suicide to keep her company mirrored that and maybe, just maybe, she felt understood through it. It was the ultimate sacrifice Sayaka made for love and association could be made to believe that Kyoko's suicide is also her confession. The magnet metaphor is due the blue/red but also you need to hold them in a certain way for them stick (as the same ends will push one another away, the same they did under the same condition) and when they do, they're insepparable.

Thank you for the opportunity to ramble ^^

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS!!!

I've never been able to play/watch play throughs of the portable games, so I lack a lot of context when it comes to events and information presented in it.

Kyoko has a strange mild obsession with Sayaka and saving Sayaka, which almost reminds me of Homura and Madoka's relationship.

I feel the warped (not in the toxic sense, just unconventional sense) ideas that Kyoko has about expressing her love to Sayaka reflects her past and the wish she made for her father. To Kyoko, love means absolute devotion and sacrifice. In Japan, there's a myth that two lovers who commit suicide together are reborn as twins and/or reborn as the same person. Kyoko truly does see kamikazeing herself into Oktavia as a way for her to fully express the feeling of "I love you and I swear I won't leave you alone or abandon you for someone else".

While I believe Kyoko originally intended to warn Sayaka about wishing for others (sorta how Mami did), and pitied her because the circumstances of Sayaka's wish were so similar to her own, she fell fast and hard.

They're both so similar and yet oppositionally different. They're both so, so, deeply and desperately lonely and Kyoko sees this and sees a way for the two of them to overcome their loneliness together. But Sayaka has such a strong idea of "a good magical girl" and "a good person" she won't allow herself to connect with anyone else, especially not Kyoko, who she views as "evil" (I believe Mami played a part in this view).

They could've had a happy ending and saved eachother if only Sayaka wasn't so stubborn and Kyoko could take a gentler approach. The very direct "full-force love" style they both have, with the added "inability to properly confess without use of secretive acts of devotion" is why we got the ending we did.

I know you're asking anonymously, but I'm pretty sure I know who you are based off the expansion from a previous reblog/post lol. Thank you so much for ranting like this!!! I'm so happy you expanded on the previous ideas!!!

[yuritsukikage]

I’m having a mix of heartfelt sadness and some sense of anger (towards a certain company) right now

I know I’m mainly a Precure fan over here but I started my journey into the Japanese language, anime and manga when I first picked up and rented that Sailor Moon S DVD at a local hobby shop.

As I was watching the Region 1 DVD, I made a decision to try to watch it in another language because the old Pioneer DVD had both English and Japanese. I, a wee little depressed year 9 student was blown away by the voice acting from the Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast that I decided to look them up on the internet and find out the women behind these iconic characters.

What I realised was these women were not only around both my parents’ ages. They were in other anime that I literally grew up in, watching their anime in English. I decided to watch some of my childhood anime in those languages, just to hear how they performed. Spoiler alert: They we’re amazing.

And that’s how I started my journey into pursuing learning the Japanese language all the way to University where I graduated with a degree in that field.

The Sailor Moon Japanese voice cast were like those aunties (yes I am Asian) or older sisters (depending on the region) that you never knew but you connected with them through the anime that you have watched over the years. You watch them grow older seeing their public photos on news sites and social media through the events they attended, as you, yourself grows older.

The fact that we lost one of them in the 8th of September 2024 will be one of the most heartbreaking things to find out for me and a lot of people this year. Coincidently the shock announcement came on the birthday of one of the beloved Sailor Senshi makes it even more tragic.

Emi Shinohara was an fantastic seiyuu/voice actress. She worked in a lot of people’s childhood shows, many of us would have known her for her role as the ever reliable, ever strong Makoto Kino/Sailor Jupiter in the 90s anime of Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon (90s Sailor Moon for short). Others would have known her for Kaho Mizuki from Cardcaptor Sakura or if you’re old, B-Ko from Project A-Ko. However the majority of people (anime normies) would have mostly known her as the voice of Kushina Uzumaki from the Naruto Shippuden anime.

Her later years in life would really reflect on her roles she would later have with the aforementioned Kushina. A lot of younger seiyuu would have known her in Fafner (I hear that anime a lot on Twitter through some of the seiyuu involved and I know the character designer for Gundam Seed worked on the designs).

Probably the roles that really stood out for me personally asides her roles in Sailor Moon and CCS, would be an obscure 2007 anime called Claymore. That anime was one of those that the unfortunate case of “manga was still ongoing while the anime was airing situation”. However props to the casting staff involved in this anime because they brought in a chunk lot of veteran seiyuu that would get to show off their years of experience into this one single 24 episode anime. Emi Shinohara was no exception to this! She voiced the ax-crazy, hella insane, ultra mega bitch Ophelia and oh boy it was a ride and an experience to listen to her voice from the beginning right to the death of her character. I personally would recommend watching this anime for the voice acting in there, not for the anime itself because of its situation at the time.

Her music prowess was no joke either. Of the original 5 seiyuu of the Sailor Moon cast, she was definitely the most experienced and you can clearly experience it though the Moon Revenge live for a Christmas event that happened 31 years ago. She has released her own albums during the 90s as well and 100% she slayed on every character song that came to her during her active years in the 90s

I really cannot believe that Emi Shinohara has left us. The Sailor Moon community is definitely in mourning right now for this iconic voice actress. Our heart goes to her husband, Tokusatsu actor Hiroshi Watari and their only son who made a heartfelt and saddening message to Shinohara’s own personal Twitter account.

And our hearts also go towards the remaining 4 seiyuu of the original Sailor Moon voice cast, who out of the two who have social media, are currently in a state of devastation and sadness to have lost a fellow cast mate who they have worked and truly bonded together on the 5 years of Sailor Moon’s airtime from 1992-1997.

In particular fellow cast mate Rica Fukami who she considered Emi Shinohara as her twin, having being born on the same year, month and day. To the point they even have their own duo name together back in the 90s as Funky Twins, where they last year held a 3 day fan live together. Who would have thought that this would be the only time they would be together for such a special occasion. Let’s not forget the constant amazing and interesting quote tweets interactions between the two of them since Shinohara started her Twitter account a few years back from the constant birthday congratulations, to recently finding a hidden Sailor Moon treasure while Rica Fukami was in the middle of decluttering. The fact that we will never get this kind of interaction ever again is heartbreaking but it will live on through the past interactions that they have shared together.

I will briefly mention my anger towards Toei for losing this once in a lifetime opportunity to reunite the original 5 Sailor Moon voice cast for the 30th anniversary of the franchise. The fact that their last public reunion together was for a DVD commemoration in Akihabara, late 2009 has given me this sense of anger, frustration and sadness inside me that I will never forgive them for. And we will never have an opportunity like this ever again.

With that part out of my head. I will now leave this insanely long message with a single part of a message that Emi Shinohara’s son has written in that post on Twitter, “the name ‘Emi Shinohara’ will continue to live on as long as people remember her voice and the roles that she has portrayed”

Thank you Mrs Emi Shinohara for the past nearly 40 years of service to the anime and voice acting industry. We, the fans, will never forget you and we definitely will look back to the voices and songs that you have given us over the years. Rest in Peace. 🕊️💚

[havingapoemwithyou]

in quarantine, i reflect on the death of ophelia by Elisa Gonzalez

[lunearcher]

I spent a lot of time thinking about the flowers on these covers....

Columbine

In Hamlet, Ophelia says, “There is fennel for you and columbines” the latter referring to folly. So I think it suited Sergey-Snake very well. 

Columbine is a resilient flower that can grow in a variety of adverse conditions, just like the rise of Russia's youngest billionaire. So, they are also symbols of resistance and perseverance. 

The meaning of the columbine flower is also associated with taking risks as if it could say “nothing risked, nothing gained”. A characteristic that combines well with the character's reckless side.

In tarot, Columbine is linked to The Fool. The best-known image of this card is a careless young man with his about to fall off a cliff, he has a little dog by his side. This dog serves as his protector, warning him not to make mistakes (Hi, Oleg!).

Lily White

White lilies symbolize purity and rebirth and are often chosen for weddings and funerals. 

It is also said in medicine to help relieve headache and is given to people who have suffered loss.

In the synopsis of this edition it is said that Oleg needs to reflect on his role and leaves to search for his identity. I think it fits well with this idea of ​​rebirth. In addition to all the connection and "death" of the connection with Sergey in this process. Or perhaps it even refers to the "near-death" process that Oleg faces after Black Bird's five shots: the Oleg we know in The Game dies and this gives him new meaning.

The greatest arcana with Lilies in the Tarot is the Magician. The flowers are at the bottom of the card. 

In a positive aspect, the Magician represents resourcefulness, power and inspired action. Negatively, it can mean poor planning and untapped talents. I feel like it fits well with his development.

[vacant--body]

stay with me pt 2

<azriel shadowsinger x OFC>

warnings: mentions of trauma, physical harm, violence and gore(ish)

part one, part three, part four, part five

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Ophelia was only slightly hung over the next morning, thankfully. She was up early, earlier than normal. To be honest, she hadn’t slept at all. That moment she had shared with Azriel kept replaying in her head. Her thoughts kept tossing between she should have stayed and she should have pushed him off sooner. She had let it get too far and it didn’t go far enough.

She stared at her naked reflection in the full length body mirror. Ugly scars littered her body. Fae healing rarely left scars, but when they were severe enough they stayed. Madja had tried telling her that it was the scars of the mind that kept the scars of the body from healing, but she brushed her off.

The ones that had seen her naked had tried to ask, but when she felt their thoughts lingering too long, she was already out the door. Ophelia didn’t feel like sharing her traumas with strangers anyway.

As her eyes tracked up her body, they landed on the already fading purple and yellow marks that Azriel had left on her. These…these weren’t ugly. These were beautiful, these were made from him. Carefully, the pads of her fingers grazed one and instantly felt a rush of heat pool between her legs.

Gasping, she turned away from herself, shame dampening the rush of desire that took over her entire body. She was so stupid, so stupid that for a second she actually let herself believe that she could have someone. She had felt alive with Azriel holding her so close. It was like breathing the first breath of fresh air after being held under water too long.

Shoving those thoughts out of her head, Ophelia dressed herself. A simple black turtleneck with matching black pants. The turtleneck was the only clothing that would cover the marks Azriel had left. She didn’t need her busy body friends asking questions, if Cassian hadn’t already told everyone.

Rhys?

A moment later, she got a reply.

Phia? You’re up early.

She rolled her eyes at the invisible response. She did not have the energy to bicker with him this morning.

Could you come get me? I have some things I’d like to go over with you.

Can’t you have Cass or Az? I’m currently…indisposed.

Gagging to herself, she took a deep breath and pressed him harder.

Cassian has training with the priestesses, I don’t want to bother him.

Okay? What about Az?

Rhys!

Fine, fine. I’ll be there soon.

You better not smell like sex.

She could have sworn she heard laughter as Rhysand slammed the walls of his mind shut. She loved Rhys like a brother and now Feyre as a sister. When he came back from Under the Mountain rambling about how he had found his mate, she couldn’t have been happier. He deserved it, after all.

The day Rhys welcomed Ophelia into his court with open arms was both fuzzy and crystal clear in her mind. Her and Mor had found each other, both on the brink of death on the edges of the Autumn Courts forest. When she had thought they would both succumb to their wounds…there he was.

Azriel.

His shadows had swirled around them and it felt strange, but comforting. He held them both as they silently sobbed before winnowing back to Velaris.

But unlike Mor, Ophelia couldn’t remember a single thing before that moment. Rhys had tried, Madja had tried. But it was just blank. Sometimes she would get flashes, a warm sun, the smell of smoke, burnt oranges and brown, the bright flash of a knife as it flayed her skin open. But the only thing she did remember was her name.

Ophelia.

In those first few days, she said it to herself silently and allowed like a prayer. She had no idea who she was or where she came from, but she did have that. And nobody could take it from her.

It took her years to fully recover, and that was only physically. Mentally was another story. But there were more important things she had to deal with, so she pushed it down. Some days it felt like it would all come bubbling to the surface, her skin remembering the feeling of what it felt like to be shredded to bits, but her mind having no memory of it. It was its own brand of personal torture. Those days she took sleeping drafts and stayed in bed, not wanting her friends to see the madness that was brewing behind her eyes.

I’m here, where are you?

The sound of Rhys' voice jarred her from her thoughts, and Ophelia realized she had been pacing.

Come to my balcony, please.

I will if you tell me what’s wrong.

She didn’t reply, instead grabbing her bag and pulling it over her shoulders, and secured her daggers to her thighs. A moment later she heard the flapping of wings and the sound of boots thudding on her balcony.

Coming out, she squinted her eyes at Rhys. “You smell like sex.” She said, scrunching up her nose.

“Thank you.” Rhys smiled as he gathered her up in his arms. He didn’t speak again until they were almost to the River House.

“Care to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Not particularly.” Ophelia grumbled.

“I’m guessing it has to do something with Az?”

Ophelia jolted, whipping her head towards him. “How-”

“Cassian may have mentioned something last night about how he had caught you two, and you ran off and now Azriel is, well, I don’t know what Azriel is right now.”

Ophelia was silent for a moment longer.

“Did he do something-”

“No! Mother Rhys, no!” Ophelia gasped, shocked he would even think like that. “It’s me. I can’t-can’t-”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reassured her, as they touched down on the flat rooftop. “Trust me I understand, it’s just that I don’t think Az does.”

She took several steps away from him, distancing herself. Like she always does when someone got too close.

“Nothing he did was anything I didn’t want.” She told him, looking him in his violet eyes. Crossing her arms, she waited for some kind of scolding. She knew she hurt Azriel, and she also knew the boys were very protective of each other.

“I still think you should talk to him. Explain yourself instead of hiding.”

Sighing, she leaned her head back, looking up at the morning sky. “Enough about me, that’s not why I’m here.”

“I know, and the answer is already yes.”

Leaning in, she kissed her brother on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon, three days tops.”

Then, she winnowed. One moment she was in Velaris, her High Lord standing before her. The next, she was standing in a quiet forest, the burnt orange and red leaves swaying in the crisp breeze.

Ophelia always thought the Autumn Court was beautiful. There was just something about how the air permanently smelled like apples and the way the fallen leaves crunched underneath her boots. But the people here? She hated them more than anything.

Normally, it was Azriel and her that came on these missions. Scouting out Beron and his Court seemed like a full time job, lately. There were constant meetings being held inside his castle, troops moving about on the Spring Courts border.

It seemed like Beron had taken a page from the Human Queens book and completely warded his castle, Azriels shadows couldn’t even get it. So they were out here every couple of days, looking for the weak points.

But now, she couldn’t work with Azriel. Not without risking talking about what happened between them, what had changed. Mother, why weren’t males content with being only friends? But had they only just been friends? Az was softer to her than most, kinder and sweeter. He was one of the only ones that would check on her when she was having those types of days. She thought it was because of his own trauma, that he understood. But was it only just that?

The hairs on the back of Ophelia's neck prickled suddenly. Crouching low, she took stock of her surroundings. The landscape around her was empty, mostly forest and a couple farms. There wasn’t a lot in this part of the court. But that feeling lingered, almost like she was being watched.

A branch snapped behind her and she whirled, sending her dagger flying. She knew she hit her mark when someone whale in pain. Ophelia began to rapidly prepare her energy to winnow, but she wasn’t fast enough.

An arrow embedded itself deep into her shoulder, coming out the other end and pinning her against a nearby tree. Screaming internally, she tried to winnow again. But her powers just disappeared inside her. One moment they were there, beneath the surface of her skin, and then they were gone.

Fucking ash arrows.

“Look at this!” Someone laughed, off in the distance. “A whore from the Court of Nightmares!”

A small group of soldiers materialized out of the shadows of the trees. All had bows, and all were trained on her. Ophelia snarled, but her fight was draining. Too quickly it was draining. She didn’t recognize the males, except one. It was one of Eris’s brothers. As he drew closer, she saw that he held her dagger, which dripped with blood. He crouched down in front of her, a twisted grin spread across his face.

“You’re coming with me.” He snarled, before plunging the dagger into Ophelia's leg.

The burning world of gold and brown and red, all faded to black.

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taglist- @marvelouslovely-barnes

[vahalia-cress]

⸸ ᚲᛟᚾᛩᚢᛖᛋᛏ ⸸

Enigma/Victory: Day 7 @daily-writing-challenge

[ Inspirational Music ] [ TW/Content: Blood, death, battle ]

“Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.”― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

“Won’t be much longer now.” the male voice cut through the low chatter around him.

“We haven’t the time to sit and twiddle our thumbs, I expect results.” the female replied as she loomed over the firepit that the collective had been preparing. With one arm tucked under her bosom, the other had been hiked towards her face, nail teasing at the corner of her lips as her stoic mien regarded those who she employed. These men worked for her.

“Aye ma’am, there isn’t much else we can do, the night is far too dense here, not even the moon reaches us. The canopy is –”

“I don’t care.” she rescinded flatly, “Do what you must and we’ll begin again at dawn.” her words cut though remained low as the woman turned towards one of the tents. Perhaps a reprieve from the annoyances would have given her time to think.

Time to recount their steps and to plan for those that would soon follow.

A city of gold?

Her brothers were folly to think they would have found much else beyond gossip and mere speculation.

She had been sent halfway around the world to track down any truth to the myths. She knew better than to challenge what could be as the world itself – this Star – held mysterious great wonders but none of which she believed to be a city of gold; a poor man's dream.

However, the Whitlock name needed funds.

What was more, there was little else in Dalmasca other than to pillage and plunder when she could to keep things a well-oiled machine where it mattered.

The heart of home.

Ophelia’s nose scrunched briefly as though she had caught the wind and before she could turn around to regard the area she had just left, a volley of yells cried out and her hand ceased to move at the tent’s flap, nearly ready to enter.

The thunderous clash behind her rang out and the embers of the fire the men had just started to bring larger to life split, sparks decorating the darkening sky. It was there in her eye she caught the vision of a blonde Viera woman, the hefty sword raising once more before it came crashing down for a blow to the squatting man nearest the pit.

It wasn’t the sounds, it was the new scents she had picked up and everything ticked by in slow motion before Ophelia cried out, “Arms!” she demanded and in a flurry she rushed from the tent, rapier drawn instantly.

There was more than one, another with chakram piled through several of Ophelia’s men, a faral turret of aether was expended and as Ophelia ducked from the oncoming weapon more of her men charged forward and the clangs of battle rang out.

Castien and Wren cut through those who were caught unawares and meeting those with weapons head-on in the heat of battle. Just beyond the smoke and torches Ophelia’s eyes caught sight of two figures nearby – no, three.

Clamorous and panic swept the small camp as they attended the battle with guts and hopeful glory.

Vahalia stood with her arms crossed and her head ticked gently to the side after giving enough ample time to render the situation for what it was. Her form held a semblance of enigmatic poise as she stood on with Cordelia, “We have work to do, sister.” she spoke calmly and a few steps guided her forward, Creature in tow though not before he afforded Cordeila a depth-seeking glance and followed his Keeper.

“Then work we shall.” Cordeila replied in kind and she started after her kin.

The battle continued as Vahalia stalked towards the fray, her hands coming down to draw the pair of sickles from her belt. Cordeila’s form bolted past the Lady Cress with rapier drawn, attire keeping her limber and svelte as she needed it to be.

There was no resistance or hesitation as the blade pierced past the large flames and her body followed by extension, the point nearly striking Ophelia as the instinctive parry came. The clash of the slender swords glinted reflecting what light it caught as Cordeila and Ophelia traded their well-timed strikes. A lunge, a ripose, and several casts of fire and flame egnited the space briefly as the mages tested their mettle against one another.

Vahalia knew fencing well and this was simply a product of further teaching, a match perfectly befitting a Magi such as Cordeila. 

She reveled in the nature of the woven beast that was combat, eyes never straying from the exchange as she placed her wager on Cordeila who seemed to be getting the upper hand, looking for a proper time to administer a fletching blow.

Vahalia worried less of what would become of the Lady Whitlock’s forces as they seemed to be thinning and in short order gratitude being that for Wren and Castien, Creature’s attention shifting between each as if though feeling the count dwindle and his patience thinning, “𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡.” he glared at Vahalia.

“And you shall have it. Soon.” she procured in response, the curved blade of the reaper’s twin-sickle drawing through her palm as she held it out to Creature, “Now, we must make them fear what lurks beneath. Monster of shadows, a personification of my shadow, embodiment of the void.” she welcomed him.

Strike for strike, parry for parry, Cordeila and Ophelia were matched though Ophelia did have several ilms on Cordeila which certainly affected her reach. A difficult task for the well-mentored Magi to keep up with and pausing, Cordeila smirked towards Ophelia, a silently agreed pause as Ophelia trained her rapier in Cordeila’s direction, “You fight well enough, consider me surprised.” the Whitlock woman spoke.

Several strands of Cordeila’s hair dropped over her eye and she chortled with amusement, a confident smirk still present, “Surprised? I’m surprised that even in this lighting I can tell you’re a little heavy on the eyeliner.”

No sooner had the words left her had her body lurched forward, cold steel protruding from her chest as Cordeila regarded the weapon embedded into her, she hadn’t considered a sleazy move from behind which was either her folly for not noticing or that of Wren to have let one slink by. The fight was over and her brain had already processed the immense pain as she cried out instinctively.

The rapier in her hand dropped, losing a firm grip on the weapon as already Cordeila felt her fingers tinkle with numbness and the sickening sound of her vital oozing and sword being removed had become a blur as she dropped to her knees and covered the wound with both her hands; as much pressure as she could muster.

Wren’s voice called out to her cutting through the voices and yells and then the world around her became fuzzy as she tried to apply pressure to the wound.

Ophelia advanced, “There is nothing that will keep me from my goal.” she pointed the tip of the rapier just under Cordeila’s chin, “The esoteric calls to me and so, I answer. It’s nothing personal Lady Gray.”

A whorl of shadow shot forth and the force of it lunged so quickly past Cordeila that she damn near toppled and Ophelia had been tackled at the front, both bodies falling to the ground and the tent nearby fluttered to the ground as the two rose. It was hard to truly see if it was Creature or Vahalia but in that moment Cordeila’s cool grey eyes regarded the figure before her – it was the both of them….merged.

The perfect host.

The Lady Gray smirked weakly as she stilted her hand to the ground to keep herself from collapsing, the shining red and yellow eye pinned to their kin as Wren rushed over to Cordeila’s side.

Vahalia was the sword.

Turning back to Ophelia to dodge the oncoming fireball the merged entity drew its attention firmly to the prize before it. Vahalia was unlike anything she had become before or had shown those around her, letting them into the very depths of her capabilities. This was a reaper.

Tendrils of void drifted around her from feet and hair, shining crimson eye trained to Opheila as if though words at the moment wouldn’t begin to scratch the surface of what needed to be said. Whitlock was the betrayer and Vahalia was coming to collect. 

Blood littered the ground around them and one of the bodies that Vahalia had implaed along the large tendril thrashed, tossing the person to the ground like a mere slab of meat. Without a word she pointed towards Ophelia with the gnarled hand twisted with thorns of void and seething darkness, the hissing fizzling around her, the small but subtle crackles of void and electricity like one within her frame, she had completely assimilated Creature, “𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰.” the hollow feminine voice spoke, part Creature, part her and the chittering of voices around the corporeal form sang out.

𝔎𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔱...         𝔎𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔱.

                    𝔎𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔱!

Ophelia rushed forward, rapier drawn as once more she began an attack, this time each attempt was met with sheer force and power as both tendrils and the witch’s sickles deflected. She began weaving magic and melee attacks in swift succession, realizing that this thing wasn’t trying to kill her else it would have done so already – it wanted her alive.

Fatigue was starting to set in as Ophelia felt her heart race, adrenaline waned into worry coupled with her stubborn nature to keep going, and her lungs heavy and tired. It was one small tremble in her strike that caused the entity to cling to that, Creature sensing the overt weakness that was gripping Lady Whitlock and he seized the moment as one of the tendrils emitting from Vahalia’s form snapped forward and caught Ophelia by the neck.

“𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔡 𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔦𝔱.” 

“Heh.” Ophelia forced out as she felt her feet leave the ground, the force of the strike had caused her to lose her foci and rapier, her hands now clutching to the front of the tendril at her throat seeking swift reprieve, “They will come….for you…” she choked out, her vibrant eyes pinning viciously to Vahalia.

A crimson smirk presented itself as the mortal side of the abomination shined through, dimple nestling into Vahalia’s cheek as it often did, “ℑ'𝔪 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔱.”

It wasn’t a question of how long it would take her to die or lose complete consciousness but a matter of where she would find herself when she woke.

‘A lousy way to loose’ Ophelia thought.

And then everything went dark. Mention(s): @promethea-silk - @song-of-wren - @castien-ffxiv

[just-an-enby-lemon]

DnD Night at Arkham

[They started it on Arkham as a form of group therapy and kept it after they scaped but on a special room on the Iceberg Lounge. Catwoman and Penguin entered later (via Harley and Riddler insidtence respectivaly) and Joker was banned because he kept geting Nat 20s in all his rolls]

.

Riddler: You rescue the hostage. He is a simple human lumberjack. He offers you wood as a payment.

Poison Ivvy: Is the wood ethically sourced?

Riddler: He is a human lumberjack in a medieval scenario I don't think he even knows what ethically sourced wood is.

Poison Ivvy: I cast poison spray on his face. How dare he hurt the trees!

Riddler: Let me roll... You know what, no, he is a normal middle aged lumberjack. He just dies.

Penguin: NO! I wanted that wood! I could have sold it!!

Catwoman: Didn't he had some important information? Pam?!

Poison Ivvy: Well he should had ethically sourced his wood!

Penguin: Edward bring him back right now!

Riddler: I can't just bring him back! Pamela killed him. You should have tried to stop her. Do not blame me, I'm just the DM. By the way your next encounter are his wife and kids.

-

Scarecrow: I cast fear!

Riddler: *rolls dice multiple times* The soldiers fail their test. They are terrifield.

Scarecrow: Good. What are they seeing? What is their fear reaction? How is their heart rate?

Riddler: That's it! Every single time you cast fear you force me to do a ridiculously long description of their reactions no one else cares about. *the other Rogues agree* Please stop.

Scarecrow: People react to fear differently and afraid of different things, Edward, and is my mission to study it.

Riddler: They all see a monster and run.

Scarecrow: That's unrealistic. Not a single one paralyzes? No one screams? They all have the same monster as their biggest fears? Did they had a similar traumatic experience? But even so it wouldn't explain they all having the same reaction. Honestly, that's truly not how real people act.

Riddler: They aren't REAL, Crane. They are FAKE PEOPLE I just MADE UP. They act in any way I want.

Scarecrow: Oh so they are a reflection of your fear of losing control!

Riddler: You keep that and you're out.

Scarecrow: So if I just described their fears and reactions would it make you anxious because you lost control over your "fake people".

Riddler: Anyway is Two-Face's turn. Also Crane you characther is poisoned. He acidentaly steped in a poisonous plant while trying to analyse the soldiers fears.

Scarecrow: That's not fair.

Riddler: Two-Face?

.

Harley: Can I cast a illusion spell to pretend to be his dead wife?

Riddler: I'm interresed. Make your roll.

Mr. Freeze: Don't do that. It's too cruel, this poor man deserves better.

Two-Face: He separated our group in different torment chambers and he is trying to kill us!

Mr. Freeze: But his dead wife! He clearly loves her still and loves her soo much.

Catwoman: I think that's the point...

Riddler: It's up to Harley.

Harley: Does he has a dead daughter?

Riddler: Does he?

Harley: *rolls* NAT 20!

Riddler: He does. He loved her even more than his wife.

Harley: I pretend to be his dead daugther.

Mr. Freeze: See way less cruel.

.

Riddler: *starts giggling*

Two-Face: ugh.

Harley: oh no.

Penguin: Is another puzzle maze isn't it?

Catwoman: Please don't be another puzzle maze.

Riddler: Is not a puzzle maze!

*everyone celebrates*

Riddler: You guys see yourselfs trapped in a beutifull, amazing, perfectly done... death trap! : )

*everyone boos*

.

MadHatter: Can I kiddnap his kid, Dormouse?

Riddler: You can?????!

Catwoman: Why? Why do you want to kiddnap the royal's guard kid?

MadHatter: She has a Cheshire cat.

Scarecrow: Is not a Cheshire Cat is just a cat called Cheshire.

MadHatter: Same thing, March Hare.

Harley: Kiddnap the cat!

MadHatter: But than she'll be alone. If I take booth of them, they will be together as Alice and the Cheshire Cat. She'll be ny daugther and we will be a Woonderland family.

Poison Ivvy: Her name is Ophelia.

MadHatter: If I succeed in kidnapping her can I change her name, Dormouse?

Riddler: I supose?

Two-Face: Don't fucking encourage him, Nygma!

.

Two-Face: I attack the sphinx with my sword of shadows. *rolls the dice* Dammit Nat 1.

Riddler: Your paladin tries to attack the sphinxs, his sword does no damage. The sphinxs smiles cruely. How dare you try to solve matters of the mind with muscles??? YOU TRULY ARE ALL BRAWL AND NO BRAINS! YOU ARE THROWED AGAINST THE WALL. YOUR HP DROPS TO ONE. NOW YOUR ONLY CHANCE IS TO SOLVE THE IMPOSSIBLE RIDDLE. HOW DARE YOUR MORAL PALADIN OF JUSTICE THINK HE COULD JUST PUNCH ME AWAY? YOU HAVE NO CHANCE DARK NIGHT! NO CHANCE AT ALL AHAHAHA. TODAY IS THE END OF BATMAN AHAHAHAHA *everyone looks at Riddler* *he blushes* i mean ... is harley's turn...

.

Two-Face: I steal his sword. I finally have two swords!

Harley: But both need two hands to use.

Two-Face: Perfection.

[clonerightsagenda]

Zigzagging the prompt a bit but I want to talk about Olivia Breckenridge today.

The first time I listened to Arden season 2, I was very worried about Olivia, considering this is a Hamlet retelling and she's one (sneakily two) of the characters who do not make it out alive. Luckily, Liv dodges the narrative's attempts to doom her. But recently I've been thinking about the 'transition killed my beautiful cis child' rhetoric and how Ophelia dies and trying to put those in conversation, especially regarding Liv's relationship with Dana.

In the show, most of Liv's acquaintances accept her identity. We learn that Paul briefly kicked her out but then changed his mind and supports her. Claude and Trudy never trip up on her pronouns, iirc. The only person to deadname her is Dana.

Ophelia gets dealt a rough hand in Hamlet. Her first appearances are her brother and father policing her sexuality because she's a woman, then everyone assuming it's her fault Hamlet's gone mad, then Hamlet being cruel to her while again targeting her gender and sexuality. She's destabilized by her father's death and dies offscreen, with Gertrude telling everyone that she fell into water and was dragged down, unresisting, by her waterlogged gown.

So, Ophelia is hassled from all angles over whether she's being the right kind of woman, and then the physical trappings of womanhood drag her to her death. The gravediggers assume she killed herself, although accident and murder are also on the table. Can we see Liv's transition as a reclamation of Ophelia's fate - an assertion of her kind of femininity, even if some people would mourn it as an act of self-destruction?

After being horrible to her for several acts, Hamlet jumps into Ophelia's grave and insists he loves her more than her brother did. As I said before, Dana is the one who deadnames Olivia. She's stuck not only in the past but her own recreation of it - insisting their marriage was a happy one, pretending her relationship with her father was great and everyone loved him, trying to get Liv to remarry her like that can fix everything that went wrong. It's somewhat ambiguous how much Dana deadnaming Liv reflects her view of Liv's gender (does she really still see her as her husband? was it calculated to hurt because she understands the truth?), but she's in the graveyard talking to bones either way, because she refuses to recognize Liv now. (When prompted, Dana can't even answer basic questions about her life.)

Liv can't quite escape Dana's orbit, but she does survive. By 'killing' her past self and recasting herself out of Dana's story, she's able to inhabit her own. So there's some toxic yuri for today.

As much as this relationship sucks and I'm glad Liv got out, "To a Nunnery" always makes me feel things, and a piece of podcast art beyond my skillset that I nonetheless fantasize about a lot is Dana and Olivia together by the fire at the end of high school, Dana with her guitar, and the sparks rising up to the future where Olivia's standing staring at the burning house. Take my hand; let's go watch the fire. It sure didn't turn out the way we hoped when we were young.

[darksplashofskyclan]

JACK STAUBER'S OPAL BUT IT'S OPHELIA HAMLET

DO YOU SEE MY VISION IS THIS ANYTHING (this is partially inspired by @rudymentari's Frostpaw project lol) (TW for mentions of abuse, toxic family relationships and MEGA CRINGE bc I got a bit too silly mapping this out)

We begin with Ophelia in this idealized version of Elsinore where Laertes, Hamlet and Polonius are all happy and nice but THEN WE SEE THE RIVER

Ophelia's told not to pay attention to it but that night she sees some distorted figure crying there

She starts heading over, coming to the balcony of the throne room where she encounters... LAERTES!!!

Easy to Breathe in this context revolves around his dependence on her as an emotional crutch, someone who makes it "easier to breathe" in his stifling life as Polonius' son. He abandons her to go to France ("on TV") and be with the "idea salesmen" and "singing girls," leaving her all alone.

Throughout this segment, we see her simultaneously feeling jealous of Laertes' new "friends" (they just want to steal his soul, not like her, he needs her) and beginning to realize that maaaaybe they were unhealthily close???

Laertes fails to recognize her as Ophelia, chasing her into the throne room before falling off the balcony (we can see him laying there twitching in the background of some shots in the next segment)

She's discovered by HAMLET YAY MAN OF THE HOUR woo fuckin hoo

GOD I cannot put into words how much the "small growing thing" monologue fits his victim complex and casual disregard for Ophelia's humanity like HOLY SHIT THAT'S HIM

Mirror Man focuses on how he makes Ophelia feel responsible for never "turning him down," ensuring he's not "living his nightmare." He only really sees her as a mirror to view himself through-- if she doesn't like him, who will?!

He hypes himself up to her, trying to keep her interested; failing that, he proceeds to outright attack her in a blind rage

He calms himself down, only for Laertes to wake back up and attack him! Laertes continues pursuing Ophelia while Hamlet is left on the ground just like in his death scene, whimpering pitifully

She breaks through one of the mirrors, walking down a long pathway where she encounters POLONIUS

He keeps fading in and out, leading her further down the path like a Will o' the Wisp. He looks wistfully back at the palace, seeming like he's about to admit to regretting something or another, before pushing the feeling aside and talking about how he's the only other person who can understand surviving, not living, just like she does.

Virtuous Cycle shows Polonius and Ophelia's messy, codependent relationship. Polonius resents the fact that Ophelia requires extra care, and can never quite fit in, but being there for her makes him feel whole, like he's doing something good for once in his life. Likewise, Ophelia can't stand Polonius' controlling nature, but feels like she needs his approval and guidance to function.

The scene with the phone dialing 911 and the broken bottle is replaced with a shot of a bunch of thick bars in front of a small, red, abstract shape. As it cuts to Ophelia's distorted, screaming face, we're supposed to realize that it's her view of her dad's body being taken away

Polonius' voice echoes in her mind, telling her she's just as powerless as him as hands burst out of the darkness, trying to drag her back into the castle

After she escapes them, she comes to the river

I'm torn on whether the replacement for Billboard!Opal is Ophelia's reflection, showing her how she appears in part 2 of the mad scene or Ophelia's mom (as she appears in that one photo on Polonius' nightstand) bc like

While the former makes more sense in the context of the original short the latter would imply that this is a cycle where Elsinore just keeps driving people to madness; this cost Ophelia a mother and the only way she can feel her unconditional love is by joining her in death

Laertes, Hamlet and Polonius start crawling out of the bushes, and Ophelia climbs up the willow tree to escape them

Whichever of the two entities I decide on quietly approaches, pulling her into the water as she screams

How I'd deal with the reprise of We See You, Opal depends on which entity I go with

Option 1: Ophelia's spirit approaches Elsinore with Polonius in tow, ready to collect the souls of Hamlet and Laertes. At first, it looks like she's happily guiding them to Heaven, but as the scene changes and she glitches into her alternate form (the one seen at the river), it becomes clear that she's pulling them downwards, grinning wickedly as they stare at her with panicked expressions.

Option 2: The entire thing is sung by Ophelia's mother as she drags her daughter further into the depths. Ophelia struggles against her at first, but then closes her eyes and embraces her mother. Maybe it eventually fades back to Elsinore, where (ONE OF MY FIFTH HOUR OCS LOL GOTTA REVEAL THEM) is looking up at some group of authority figures, indicating that the cycle is gonna begin again.

[clem-l-orange]

my long essay about why Babel is such an interesting ark and deserves to be explored more

(Prefacing this by saying I read the books in French, so if I make any mistakes I apologize, French is also my first language so I may make some mistakes)

SPOILERS FOR BOOKS 3 & 4 AHEAD!!!!

We are introduced to the Ark of Babel in book 3 of La Passe Miroir when Ophelia escapes Anima to find Thorn, and chooses to go to Babel after following some clues to his location.

Babel is a “cosmopolitan ark”, where many different cultures mix due to the high rate of immigration. However, there is a divide in between the “Sons of Pollux” (Babelians descended from Pollux, who have Babelian powers) and the “Godchildren of Helen” (I apologize for the poor translation please correct me), who are either powerless and native to Babel, or not native to Babel at all. From the first chapters in Babel, we can see that these two social groups are segregated with dress codes, and there is even a time when Ambrose, the son of Lazarus, a wealthy and influential Powerless man, gets insults hurled at him for his background. In book 4, “A Storm of Echoes”, recent immigrants as well as political opposers are rounded up and sent to their deaths/deported from the Ark, . There is also a clear segregation within the city of Babel between Powerless people and others, with a majoritarily Powerless neighborhood being referred to as “The Powerless Quarters” (I may have translated wrong). This neighborhood is considered the “slum” of Babel, and is clearly described as a poorly maintained, badly policed and dangerous place to live.

Another dystopian aspect of Babel that we learn in the first few chapters is the extreme censorship of words relating to violence, war, crime… etc. The “Index” suppresses the use of these words, going as far as punishing those who say the words, even in non-violent contexts. This goes as far as branding murders and clearly voluntary deaths as “accidents”. The suppression of the words in the Index leads to misinformation in journals, and even book burning in what is supposed to be the oldest library on the arch, the Memorial. There are many parallels to be drawn from instances in history where books were burnt to stop the spread of information, but I love how this book spins it to make this censorship “in advocacy for peace”. Books about war are cleansed from libraries, collections of ancient artifacts as well. The “Master Censurer” at the memorial even goes as far as burning any book that Professor Wolf, the Memorial’s resident expert on “Prehistoric Wars” goes near. Babel is a dystopia under a blanket of pacifism.

We later learn about the “Observatory of Deviations”, which concept resembles a mental asylum/psych ward/home for the troubled??? All we learn about this place from the third book is that it is very secretive and treats it’s patients like property, which is even more enforced in the fourth book, when we see firsthand what happens in the Observatory, and when we learn that certain patients get branded with tattoos against their will. Blaise, a friend Ophelia made on Babel, describes the place to her, and makes a point that if you go there, you are the property of the workers, you cannot leave, and no information about your progress is ever disclosed to you. They are more interested in your “deviation” than your “personal preferences”. After reading about Ophelia’s own experiences at the Observatory, it became clear that the place was meant to be an allegory for some abusive psychiatric asylum, that the “deviants” were meant to represent neurodivergent and physically disabled people. Later in book 4, it is revealed that Lazarus is the master of this operation. When I heard this, my brain did a double take and I circled back to the part where Lazarus was described as a “father figure” to Blaise. The fact that Lazarus used his patients and their trust for his own personal gain (in this case for “scientific discovery”) I feel really reflects into real life in other situations.

Unemployment and the replacement of people by AI is also addressed in books 3 and 4, as automatons take up most of the manual labor on Babel, leaving Powerless people no jobs to support them. When visiting the Powerless Quarters with Octavio in book 3, Ophelia runs in to the Fearless and Almost Blameless, who proceeds to shame Octavio and tell him that, by walking around in his Forerunners uniform, he is humiliating those around him who have no future. Since almost all of the jobs that do not require powers are taken by automatons or people with power and influence, it seems like the poorer Powerless people have no future. In book 4, when Lady Septima announces that those with no familial or contractual tie to Babel are to be deported to their old Arks, there is an uprising that leads to violence, where the Unemployed people of Babel demand Octavio hire them in the place of his automaton. This truly mirrors our world today, as many jobs are in danger of being taken by AI or automation.

There are also other issues on Babel that mirror real world issues, with topics such as homophobia being brought up as side plots. I could literally write a whole other essay about the parallels and differences between Ophelia and Thorn vs. Blaise and Wolf, but that’s for another day.

Feel free to correct me if I got a translation wrong or if you agree/disagree with one of my points.

also a side note: Native Babelians are clearly supposed to look South Asian, right? Because sometimes I see fanart where some of the Babelian characters are considerably pale and it kind of weirds me out but this may be a misconception.

[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

Wednesday and Larissa Weems relationship

(Jenna looks so smol along to Gwendolyn so cute)

I don't know if this has already been discussed here, but I still find Wednesday's relationship with Larissa Weems very interesting. It is one of the most intense in history, curiously more intense than Wednesday with Morticia and that Morticia is Wednesday's mother.

Something that always caught my attention is also the relationship between Larissa and Morticia, which is why the director of Nevermore herself tells Wednesday when the black cat won the Poe cup. When Ofelia Hall's team won the cup last time, Morticia was the team leader and Weems was the co-driver.

Am I the only one who thinks there was also something special between Weems and Morticia in their years under Nevermore? Because Larissa's gesture of tearing out Morticia's page from the yearbook was always a bit strange to me, even with Weems' explanation to Laurel Gates that her memories of the Raven were bad because the boy she wanted to go to the dance had her. abandoned for leaving with Morticia. Does that mean that Larissa could have been in love with Gomez Addams? I do not believe it.

Unless it wasn't Gomez but Garrett, but I don't think it was because the guy hated the outcasts.

So we're left with Morticia. Larissa was Enid in that relationship between the two and we know that because when Garrett's death happens, Larissa mentions: Not to be a gossip, but... I don't think I have much more to say.

What I do know is that Larissa had a deep admiration for Wednesday and had to fight too hard to protect her because we know that Wednesday wasn't very helpful.

Weems seeing that Ophelia Hall won the Poe Cup // Weems seeing that Wednesday is an expert in archery.

I think that the affection that Larissa had for Wednesday was very evident in the series and I don't understand why they killed off the character, nor do I know if they will pay a farewell tribute to her in the second season. I'm sure if he does, Wednesday will stay in the cemetery long after the coffin touches down, paying her respects to the dead headmistress.

My final reflection is that whenever protecting Wednesday personally, it was more than a favor to Morticia, but a gesture of love from Larissa to who was once her friend and something else, perhaps...

Last edit: A last and important detail about this post: Larissa putting Enid's roommate Wednesday. SHE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING when she put Wednesday in the Ophelia Hall. She did it ON PURPOSE. I have no proofs, but I have no doubts.

[embersofhope-if]

i remember a while ago seeing someone share what paintings they felt fit their character and i kinda want to do it too

so enjoy😋

Ash Fairchild:

Ophelia

"This work shows the death of Ophelia, a scene from Shakespeare's play Hamlet. Traumatised when Hamlet breaks off their betrothal and accidentally kills her father, she allows herself to fall into a stream and drown."

Aurel Weaver:

Orpheus Leading Eurydice from the Underworld

"In this painting, the fabled musician Orpheus--who beguiled the Greek gods to allow him to retrieve his beloved wife, who had been fatally bitten by a snake--leads her tenderly from the underworld."

Creon Levesque:

The Fallen Angel

"...the artist tweaked the earlier study in order to allow the fallen angel to stare out from behind his arm, rather than looking directly downwards. He even adds a tear, symbolising beautifully the pain of being cast out. The folded arms with hands clenched continues this mood, and also shows him shielding himself in despair, but also shame at what has happened."

Clio Levesque:

Magdalene with Two Flames

"The painting depicts Mary Magdalene, a companion of Christ, who exchanged her previous worldly lifestyle for a life of penance and contemplation. She is shown, illuminated by a candle, sitting in a meditative pose in front of a mirror. The light from the candle and its reflection create a strong chiaroscuro effect, with the subject's brightly lit face and breast contrasting with the darkness of the rest of the composition. Both the candle and the human skull she is holding are metaphors for the fragility of life and her discarded jewellery for the meaningless value of worldly possessions and for her atonement."

Mc Vesper:

Christina's World

"...a masterful exploration and depiction of Christina's own inner world, just like the title suggests. In the painting, as in life, Christina moves toward her ancestral property despite her difficulties, thus depicting her hard-working character."

Soren Vesper:

Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

"It depicts the grief-stricken Russian tsar Ivan the Terrible cradling his dying son, the Tsarevich Ivan Ivanovich, shortly after the elder Ivan had dealt a fatal blow to his son's head in a fit of anger. The painting portrays the anguish and remorse on the face of the elder Ivan and the gentleness of the dying Tsarevich, forgiving his father with his tears."

[mercyisms]

wld love for u to expand on your thoughts about asian jewish mercymorn?? my beloved hater girl

(:<<<< i was delighted to receive this ask and rolled it around in my brain for days and days, even though the real answer is "i'm silly and i like to have fun." to preamble: very, very generally, i think it can useful to have fun with white characters in works written by white novelists. i think it can be a lot of fun, too, to see a fancreator re-interpret a work into a culture they know a lot about and bring out different textures or tensions. but i also think it’s fun to reconsider specific characters (sometimes especially the ambiguously raced ones) and tease out tensions that might feel interesting or ones that somebody without cultural context may have overlooked. i like resisting the idea that whiteness is the default or a neutral default.

though! on the flip side and despite routinely joking that augustine being canonically blonde is a hate crime against me somehow, i also recognize that, for example, augustine’s whiteness (or presentation towards whiteness) seems intentional and is doing work in the text. (when i joke about john always having one six foot plus blonde around, it’s funny! but it’s also reflecting something the text is engaging with with regards to race.) so, anyway, that man can stay white. but to speak, at last, to our beloved hater girl. i think the first thing that opened the door for me is one of the initial descriptions we get of mercymorn.

The face beneath the icy parti-coloured hood was a prim, virginal oval; much in shape and feature like the shape of a saint’s face in a portrait, or a death mask. The nose and jaw and forehead were all carven and serene, and therefore had the same indifferent dullness of a well-formed statue.

i am fairly certain tamsyn is consciously trying to evoke one of the infinitely funny and also very beautiful medieval paintings or sculptures of the virgin mary (etc.) (divine conception: difficult mode, am I right, lads?). but for me, the refrain of mercy’s oval face is a great example of a descriptor that isn’t exclusive to whiteness. very practically, when i started looking for references to make humble sketches of mercymorn, i first turned to michelle dockery (expressive eyebrows! a face that can be cold and severe but then melts into heartbreaking, childish expression!) and then more and more to (an aged down!) kim seo hyung. (for the record, when i make stabs at augustine, i am usually drawing on a richard ii era fiona shaw, with dashes of young peter capaldi and perennially ancient jeremy irons. recently, my go-to for cytherea has been ophelia-era—of course—helena bonham carter.) but it’s rooted in more than just me dicking around in procreate. the idea of an asian mercymorn became more compelling to me when i considered how that would change the texture of her character. to try and be as brief as possible, there, as you may well be v familiar with yourself, are longstanding stereotypes of (largely east and south, but it all gets homogenized) asian immigrants being depicted as cold and unfeeling robots, as excelling only at rote memorization and lacking critical thinking or social skills, as being dangerous or suspicious or obnoxious over-achievers, and as, depending on the day, being too sexy or utterly sexless. (i am not claiming any of these are unique to the very broad category of ‘asian,’ just setting the table.) and i think mercymorn becomes really compelling reinterpretation and rebuke to expectations if she is asian. because she is so many of those things: overachieving med school graduate; someone who (though she seems to have excelled at the magicky part) gift comes from stubborn, rote memorization; someone deeply repressed; someone who is told and believes herself to be unfeeling and inhuman (”Every time you’ve said that I did not understand the human heart, that I was unfeeling, that I only knew worship without adoration”)—but is also a disaster of emotions, despite it all, and is driven by incredibly messy emotions and whose skills (the memorization, the drive to overachieve, even the repression) come from this vast and terrifying well of emotions that even she can’t really look at head-on. before mercymorn, i don’t know that i had seen these tropes reworked in exactly this way or thought to rethink these stereotypes in this way, and so that’s some of what mercymorn-as-asian does for me. (obviously caveat that i’m very strongly drawing from a north american context and i totally confess to not knowing what stereotypes are present in new zealand! but anecdotally through friends in australia and england, these stereotypes certainly seem present throughout the globe, and i would not be surprised if they were also present in nz. but just recognizing that!) i also, personally, find this a lot more satisfying than just going off tamsyn’s canon sheet and being like, yeah, got it, isaac is the one canonical east asian. that’s nice! that’s lovely! but it doesn’t really do anything for me or the narrative. i’m not upset about it! but the lyctors, those who lived pre-ressurection and lived closest to john and carry some of their biases with them, are people who have been shaped by a society where race is very present. vs. the younger 10,000 years out gen who ostensibly (though of course they are in a text written here and now) live in a “post-racial” society, at least from what we see within the house system. (i mean, i say this, but then i also feel like... have u met east asian christian converts. there is some eighth house energy there is all i will say. so, again, i just like to have fun.) re: the jewish thing, i am a hater girl myself and cannot like catholics have anything not ever (hashtag joking, tbc) and a) would love for a foot in and b) as myself and others have pointed out, mercymorn would love to kvetch, she’d be so good at it, she understands it implicitly and she deserves to have a community to kvetch with and c) as i think the inciting post for this ask pointed out she’d be so good at saying ‘oy vey’ and d) idk i just think it’s even funnier if a lapsed jewish woman and a nun walk into a bar and then kiss. in general, i also feel a vested interest in opening the door for mixed race readings of characters and one’s that, again, reinterpret or add to the texture of that character’s presence in text and are done in a thoughtful, fun, interesting way. i could possibly say more but i think this is enough for right now!! maybe!!! sorry this took me so long!! uhh but that’s a taste into my thought process, anyway, for how i like to interpret and reinterpret les lyctores and specifically best beloved hater mercymorn m. nolastname i love u. it is (obviously!) not the definitive or only interpretation, but is the one that currently speaks deepest to my soul. but i do love to see all kinds of interpretations and reinterpretations of our beloved necro-cast.