#giant pendulum

[fyeahygocardart]

Daidaratant the Ooze Giant

[hanakihan]

im crying so hard rn my friend said ‘rider dantes but it’s brant’s kit so we can have giant anchor bonk as a noble phantasm’ and its beautiful

[kisaraslover]

seething fuming about duel links further making a mess of an already oversaturated franchise

[the-star-and-the-smols]

Macjones? In my fanfiction where Sean turns into a giant?! It's more likely than you think

[clover-the-awesomest]

Giving you my reactions to these sweet baby boys because I found it downright hilarious

Raph: Big boi has cool eye 🤩

Leo: OMFG HE SO GODDAMN UGLY EWWWW OH MY GOD (not referring to the art style lmao)

Donnie: 😦🫢🫣🤭 OHHHHHH MY GOSH HE’S SO CUTE AND FUZZYYYYYY LOOK AT HIS WIIIINGSSSSSSSS 🤩🤩❤️💖💞🥰😍🥳😊☺️

Mikey: Cool hair

AAAGGHHH I CAN FINALLY SHOW THESE GUYS TO TUMBLR,,,

everyone welcome the newest addition to my au catalogue,

FLYING TURTLES AU !!

aka, what if Draxum woke up one day and was like, "okay but what if my super soldiers could fly? "

Their DNA was quite unstable so uh.... Some of them came out not fully like Draxum wanted them to. But they make it work!

Bonus early Donnie sketches: (you can see I haven't figured out how I wanted to draw Mikey in the first one yet,)

Not much changes with the plot they can just fly now.

[darkveracity]

Homura is just straight up one of the weirdest people imaginable. Like, forget about the time loop tragic doomed romance for a bit, I want to see what it looks like if she wins and then actually tries to romance Madoka. She has a massive collection of illegal firearms. She builds her own bombs. She lives in an ultra-modernist white box apartment that she's decorated with a couch made of concentric circles, a giant swinging knife pendulum to remind her of the ever-present flow of time, and a wall of several dozen screens. She communicates primarily in vague and ominous warnings and is more or less incapable of saying anything directly. She addresses everyone she meets by their full name with no honorific which comes across as bizarre and intimidating. If you count time loop years she's 26. She was raised in a catholic orphanage. I want to see her take Madoka on a horrifically bad date and cry in the bathroom partway through when she realizes she's fucking up

[dxrlingluv]

Can you do a Telemachus x reader where Telemachus trains is dog to run at the reader so he has chances to talk to them? Thank you

It’s cute

A/N : This is such a CUTE idea! Thank you for requesting this. Telemachus art is from duvetbox.

WARNING : Fluff, GN!Reader, Argos is a cutie

Word Count : 1.8k

The salty air of Ithaca, a familiar embrace, carried the scent of olive groves and the distant, rhythmic sigh of the sea. You often sought refuge along the less-frequented paths bordering the palace grounds. Here, with a book as your companion or simply lost in the quietude of your thoughts, you found a measure of peace. It was on one such sun-drenched afternoon, the light fracturing through the leaves into a thousand dancing diamonds, that your tranquil routine was joyfully, and rather boisterously, interrupted.

It wasn't a gentle approach. First, a sudden, firm tug at the hem of your tunic, nearly pulling the fabric from your grasp. You yelped, startled, spinning around to see a medium-sized dog, its coat the warm brown of freshly turned earth, already retreating a few paces with a playful growl rumbling in its chest. In its mouth, it proudly held not a ball, but what looked suspiciously like the corner of the linen wrap you'd brought your midday figs in.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, half-amused, half-indignant. The dog, tail now wagging like a frantic pendulum, dropped the slightly slobbered-on linen and then, as if remembering its primary mission, nudged a worn leather ball towards your feet with its nose. Its intelligent brown eyes, bright with mischief, fixed on yours.

Before you could fully process the canine whirlwind, Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca, burst through the trees, looking flustered and apologetic. His dark hair were even more dishevelled than usual, and a light sheen of perspiration covered his brow.

"Argos! Oh, by the gods, I am so sorry!" he panted, rushing forward. "He—he can be a bit of a menace when he's excited. Are you alright? Did he frighten you? Or... steal your lunch?" He gestured helplessly at the discarded linen.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and airy. "I'm quite alright, Prince Telemachus. And he only managed a corner of the wrapping, thankfully. He seems to have a flair for dramatic entrances." You bent down, picking up the ball. "Argos, is it?"

"Yes," Telemachus confirmed, a relieved smile beginning to chase away his embarrassment. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you were quickly learning was characteristic of his slight nervousness. "He's usually... well, sometimes he's more reserved. He seems to have taken a particular liking to you." The way he said it, with a hopeful glance, made your cheeks warm.

This set the tone for your subsequent encounters. Argos was not merely a fetch-playing companion; he was an agent of delightful chaos. One afternoon, as you were engrossed in a scroll, he bounded up and, instead of dropping the ball, decided your dangling hand looked far more interesting, attempting a series of playful, soft nips at your fingers. Each time you yelped in surprise, he'd back off, wag his tail, then try again, until Telemachus, feigning sternness, would call him off.

"Argos, behave!" Telemachus would scold, though his eyes often held a spark of amusement, especially when you'd dissolve into laughter. "He thinks everyone wants to play his version of 'gently gnaw the giant'."

"It's alright," you'd assure him, wiping a bit of dog slobber from your knuckles. "He's just very enthusiastic." And Telemachus would beam, clearly pleased that you weren't truly annoyed.

Another day, after a brief rain shower had left the ground muddy, Argos, in his excitement to greet you, misjudged his landing after a particularly impressive leap for the ball. He skidded, sending a spray of damp earth and grass onto your clean chiton. You gasped, looking down at the mess.

Telemachus was mortified. "Oh, no! Your clothes! Argos, you clumsy oaf!" He rushed forward, pulling a surprisingly clean handkerchief from his belt. "Here, let me try and..." He dabbed ineffectually at a muddy patch, his proximity making your breath catch slightly. His brow was furrowed with genuine concern.

"Truly, it's fine," you insisted, though you couldn't suppress a smile at his earnest efforts. "Mud washes out. And it was a rather impressive jump, wasn't it, Argos?" The dog, oblivious to the minor crisis he'd caused, barked happily and nudged the muddy ball against Telemachus's leg, leaving a similar mark. You both looked down, then at each other, and burst into laughter. The shared moment, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and Telemachus's quiet presence, felt surprisingly intimate.

The "theft" attempts also continued. Once, you'd laid aside a bright blue scarf your mother had woven for you. Argos, in a sudden burst of energy, snatched it and took off, leading you and a laughing Telemachus on a merry chase through the olive grove. Telemachus, surprisingly agile, finally cornered the triumphant dog, retrieving the scarf with a theatrical bow.

"Your rescued treasure, your highness," he playfully said, his eyes dancing, the scarf held out like a knight's favour. The playful gallantry made your heart skip a beat.

Through all these boisterous interactions, your conversations with Telemachus blossomed. Shielded by the playful antics of his furry accomplice, the initial awkwardness between you and the prince slowly melted away. You learned about his quiet dedication to his studies, his deep respect for his mother, Penelope, and the ever-present ache of his father Odysseus's absence. He, in turn, was a rapt audience for your own stories, your observations on palace life, your dreams for the future. He never seemed bored, always asking thoughtful questions, his gaze steady and sincere.

You began to anticipate these chaotic, joyful meetings. The sight of Argos, whether he was preparing to pounce, play-bite, or simply present his ball, became a signal for the arrival of the kind, earnest prince who seemed to find ever more creative, dog-assisted ways to spend time with you.

One particularly warm afternoon, Argos outdid himself. He arrived, not with the ball, nor with a stolen item, but with a small, intricately woven circlet of wildflowers held delicately in his mouth. He pranced towards you, tail held high, and deposited it at your feet with a soft whine, then looked back towards the trees with an air of great expectation.

Telemachus emerged a moment later, looking more sheepish than you'd ever seen him. He was fidgeting with the edge of his tunic, his gaze fixed somewhere near your sandals.

"Argos, um," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "He... he saw some of the handmaidens weaving those for the upcoming festival. He was quite insistent on bringing one to you. I tried to offer him the ball instead, but he was... determined."

You bent down and picked up the circlet. It was a beautiful, fragrant creation of tiny blue forget-me-nots, sunny yellow buttercups, and delicate white daisies. "It's beautiful, Telemachus. And Argos, you are a dog of impeccable taste and surprising skill." You knelt to give the proud dog a thorough scratch behind his ears, and he leaned into your touch with a contented sigh, thumping his tail against the earth.

Straightening, you met Telemachus's gaze. The afternoon sun, filtering through the canopy, haloed him in a golden light. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hopeful tilt of his smile – it was all incredibly endearing.

"He's a very persistent dog, isn't he?" you said softly, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Telemachus blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Persistent?"

"Yes," you affirmed, your smile widening. You took a small, deliberate step closer to him. "Especially when it comes to making sure you have a reason to approach me. Whether it's retrieving a 'stolen' fig wrapper, 'rescuing' me from playful nips, apologizing for muddy paw prints, or delivering floral tributes."

The blush that crept up Telemachus's neck and flooded his face was instantaneous and quite spectacular. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a strangled sound escaping him. He looked as though he wished Argos would suddenly develop the ability to create a diversion of epic proportions – perhaps by chasing a chimera through the olive grove.

You reached out, your fingers gently brushing his arm. The contact sent a little shiver through you both. "Telemachus," you said, your voice soft and kind, "it's alright. More than alright, actually. It's... remarkably sweet."

He finally managed to speak, his voice a little hoarse. "You... you knew? All this time?"

"I started to suspect after the third time Argos 'accidentally' led you right to my favorite reading spot," you admitted, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "He's a clever dog, but his attempts to be subtle are about as effective as a Cyclops trying to tiptoe. And you, dear Prince, are not quite as skilled at masking your expressions as you might think, especially when you're watching me fend off your furry agent of chaos." You paused, then added, "Or when you think I'm not looking."

His blush, if possible, deepened further. "Oh," was all he could manage.

"It's a very charming, if somewhat chaotic, way to get to know someone," you continued, your tone a gentle tease, but your eyes full of warmth. "And for what it's worth," you added, your voice dropping slightly, becoming more sincere, "I'm incredibly glad for all his efforts. And yours."

Telemachus looked up then, his dark eyes meeting yours, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable. A hesitant, hopeful spark ignited within their depths. "You are?"

"Very," you confirmed, your heart feeling as light and bright as the wildflowers Argos had brought. You gently placed the circlet on your head, the flowers a soft crown against your hair. "So, tell me, Prince Telemachus, now that your wonderfully elaborate, dog-assisted courtship is out in the open, what exactly happens next?"

A slow, brilliant smile spread across Telemachus's face, chasing away the last vestiges of his nervousness. It was a smile that held relief, profound happiness, and just a touch of the endearing awkwardness that you had grown so incredibly fond of. He took a step closer, mirroring your earlier movement, bridging the small gap between you.

"Well," he began, his voice gaining a newfound confidence, a warmth that enveloped you. "I was hoping, perhaps, that you wouldn't object if I continued to 'coincidentally' find my way to this olive grove? And maybe, just maybe, this time I could manage it without needing Argos to tug on your tunic, or steal your belongings, or cover you in mud first?"

You laughed, a clear, joyful sound that seemed to dance with the rustling leaves. "I think," you said, your gaze locked with his, your heart soaring, "I would like that very, very much."

Argos, as if sensing the pivotal nature of the moment, trotted over and, with a soft whine, nudged his head against your joined hands, his tail thumping a happy rhythm against the ground. He looked from you to Telemachus and back again, his intelligent eyes seeming to offer his official, furry blessing.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the Ithacan sky in breathtaking strokes of fiery orange, soft lavender, and deep violet, you stood with Telemachus in the quiet sanctuary of the olive grove. A new, unspoken understanding had blossomed between you, a connection forged through laughter, shared moments, and the wonderfully chaotic, utterly lovable antics of a prince's best friend.

[mariacallous]

Wraps are awful. At best, they ruin perfectly serviceable fillings by bundling them up in a gummy, cold tortilla. At worst, they do this with less-than-serviceable fillings. They’re like a salad, but less refreshing, or like a sandwich, but less filling—a worst-of-all-worlds Frankenstein’s monster, an indistinguishable food slurry wrapped in edible cardboard, like the world’s rudest present. They’re desperation food—“the stuff,” Lesley Suter wrote a few years ago in the food publication Eater, “of refrigerated airport deli cases, conference center lunch trays, and the dark side of a Subway menu.” Every single part of them is the wrong texture.

And yet: This month, McDonald’s announced that it would be bringing back its chicken Snack Wrap, after nearly 19,000 people signed a Change.org petition arguing that it was “easily the best thing” on the chain’s menu. The announcement came a day after Popeyes introduced three new chicken wraps. TikTok is now filled with wrap-recipe cook-alongs and clips of attractive young people hunting for the best chicken-Caesar wrap in their given city.

If you are over 40, this might sound a bit familiar. Wraps were one of the biggest eating fads of the 1990s, after a group of enterprising friends decided to put Peking duck inside a tortilla and see if San Franciscans would buy it. They would, and they did, and then so did the rest of the country. Soon enough, the nation’s leading newspapers were running careful, anthropological explainers about wraps, as though a sandwich were a newly discovered animal species. (The Washington Post, 1996: “They’re called wraps—big, fat, tortilla-wrapped bundles similar to burritos but with a wild choice of international fillings.” The Post again, six months later: “It looks like a giant egg roll.”) Tavern on the Green, which had at that point been selling down-the-middle American classics in New York City’s Central Park for two generations, introduced a pork-and-potato wrap. Around the country, as The New York Times wrote in 1998, “tiny stores selling wraps sprang up like weeds.”

Wraps, like garbage cans, can hold anything; for this reason, they aligned perfectly with the ’90s fascination with so-called fusion food, which combines dishes from different culinary traditions. But more important, they were a vessel for the era’s body anxieties. Extreme thinness was trending; Dr. Richard Atkins had recently reissued his diet guide, one of the best-selling books in history. Wraps were—in marketing, if not always in reality—lower-calorie and lower-carb than normal sandwiches, all that pillowy, delicious bread having been replaced with a utilitarian tortilla forgery that tasted and looked virtuous, especially when it was flecked with spinach or tomato. If traditional sandwiches were greasy and chaotic, the province of children and cartoon slobs, wraps were tidy and sensible, the province of working women with slim hips and pin-straight hair. They were fuel more than food, practicality more than pleasure. The fact that they didn’t taste good was maybe even part of the point. A couple of weeks ago, I was talking with a woman about this story at a party, and she mentioned that she used to eat a lot of wraps. I was incredulous—until she explained, breezily, that she had had an eating disorder for many years.

Trends are pendulums. Wraps and extreme thinness eventually became less fashionable, but not because they were a terrible waste of time and imagination—they became less fashionable simply because new orthodoxy about how to eat and how to look replaced them. Bowls became the dominant healthy-ish working lunch, and a curvier silhouette—less ruler, more Jessica Rabbit; less Kate Moss, more Kim Kardashian—became the aspirational female body type. Third-wave feminism and its attendant media turned dieting (or at least talking about it) into something archaic and deeply uncool. But America’s golden age of body positivity had its limitations: People were still expected to fall within a narrow band of acceptable sizes and shapes, and they were expected to have a particular body by accident, without effort or deprivation or shame or depressing sandwiches. For a while, the feminine ideal was a beautiful woman with a tiny waist, a giant butt, and a hamburger in hand, meat juice spilling down her forearm.

But recently, the mood has shifted again. Hip bones are jutting out once more from above low-rise jeans. The Kardashian sisters have been talking about their “weight-loss journeys.” Estimates suggest that up to one in eight American adults have taken Ozempic or similar drugs since they were introduced. In the extreme, influencers are building social-media empires by bullying women into cutting calories and exercising for hours a day. Everywhere I look, the aesthetic values of the ’90s have returned, even if the vocabulary has changed: Low-carb has been replaced with high-protein; dieting has been replaced with wellness; starvation has been replaced with fasting. Diet culture is being revived, repackaged, and resold for a new era, and so are the foods that fed it.

Two decades ago, when Subway launched a new line of wraps, they were advertised as a “carb-controlled” option compatible with the Atkins diet. In 2024, when Subway launched a new line of wraps, a company press release foregrounded their protein content and promised to “fuel you up without weighing you down.” The Snack Wrap Change.org petition explicitly cites the wrap’s calorie count, which is typically below 300. On TikTok, fitness bros are bragging about the “macros” on their “XL Grinder Salad Wraps,” and women are posting recipes for 300-calorie buffalo-chicken wraps to a chorus of comments such as “YALL THIS IS SOOOOO FILLING. I LOVE HIGH VOLUME LOW CAL EATING 🔥🔥🔥.” A thinness-obsessed nation is turning once again toward joyless tubes of functional slop, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

[peachsayshi]

Hi, I really like ur page and i was wondering if i could request a beach day with dad gojo?? I think this would be wholesome😭💕

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

⥽ notes: some tooth rotting fluff for you nonnie! cw children; reader and gojo are parents of two; alternate au where things are only happy; satoru is a retired sorcerer; I mention that satoru's hair is a bit long but that's because I actually hc him growing it out slightly after retiring - requests for dad gojo prompts are still open.

love consumes your daily life. it comes in the form of good morning kisses, in messy rooms, in vibrant chatter that never seems to end, in tears, in a stack of dirty dishes, in folding clothes for a family of four. it manifests itself in various ways - and no matter where the pendulum swings between how good or bad it can feel, you go to sleep every night eternally grateful.

today's sky is clear and vibrant, saturated in a blue that mirrors the expanding horizon. waves crash along the shore, the subtle breeze whipping back and forth.

a morning at the beach was just what you needed. a nice break away from the demands of your day to day life. the heat teasingly kisses your exposed skin, despite you being hidden under the giant umbrella.

you inhale with gratitude, breathing the salt in the air.

by your side is your daughter, whose now a year and half. her white hair is pulled into two pigtails, her cheeks a rosy pink. she's sitting upright, her big eyes focusing on her toy tools as she shovels the grains of sand by your side.

you mindlessly lean forward to kiss the top of her head, pushing your sunglasses away from your face to glance toward the horizon.

your heart flutters at the sight of your husband whose tall, muscular body stands firm like a marble statue in the distance. your son is on his shoulders, his hands lightly gripping his father's hair, as satoru trails a path back and forth along the sea bed.

no one would be able to tell that your son is actually quite tall for his age, not when he looks so small next to his father.

your daughter noises out "dada" as she follows your gaze, pointing her shovel towards them and flicking tiny granulates of sand up ahead.

once upon a time your life wasn't quite like this, so you absorb the seconds like a sponge.

you spend some time building sand castles with your daughter, who rejects the concept of dimensional shapes and prefers the art of rustic mounds instead. you're both so engrossed in your little activity, that you barely hear satoru and your son walk towards you.

"mama!" your son squeals, his hands clutched tight into two fists as he nearly kicks the mound that you've both been carefully crafting together.

"easy, my love!" you giggle, glancing up at him with affection.

he looks so much like satoru, you think. his eyes may be yours, but satoru's genes fought hard for that claim with a streak of blue piercing through his left iris. he has the same cute little nose, and a massive grin that brightens up his whole face.

the only stark difference is with his hair color, which was simply a lighter shade of yours.

"m'sorry!" he politely replies, adjusting his position as you circle one arm around him. "I gotta show you!" he opens both fists, where he holds two beautiful shells. "one's for you, mama. and the other is for akemi!"

"oh, these are beautiful, jun!" you coo, taking each shell from his hand. you already know exactly where you'll keep them, one sitting on your vanity and the other you'll attach onto the decorative mobile in akemi's room.

you place both shells carefully into the beach bag and pick up jun's thermos. he plops down right beside you and happily takes it from your hand.

meanwhile, satoru finds his place on the towel, his long arms scooping up akemi into the contours of chest.

you run your fingers through jun's wet hair, pushing it away from his face as you watch him drink water. akemi babbles by your side while satoru continues whispering the sweetest words into her ear.

"how's my pretty girl? you having fun making sand castles with mama?" he coos, rubbing the tip of his red rose against hers. their blushed faces mirroring one another.

akemi giggles and kisses her father in return.

"we should be heading back soon," you state, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news but knowing full well that the afternoon heat will be far too much for young daughter.

satoru and jun both turn to look at you, tiny pouts forming on their mouths as their shoulders slump.

"do we have'ta, mama?" jun mumbles.

"yes, but how about we get some ice cream first before we go?"

"oh! I could do with some ice cream!" satoru replies, too busy making a silly face at akemi to pull another laugh out of her.

jun moves closer to them, practically crawling on his father's lap as he raises the thermos victoriously like he won an epic battle.

"I want ice cream too!"

satoru gathers him in his arms as well, placing him on his lap to cradle his two babies together.

another burst of love runs through you, one that settles deep within your soul.

you allow father, son and daughter to bond while you carefully pack up all your things. by the time satoru puts them down, you're almost finished.

you stand up to stretch your legs, your husband following your footsteps and slipping his arms around your waist to spin you in his direction while jun and akemi take a second to destroy the sand castle that you were building earlier.

"hey, hot stuff," he teases under his breath, greeting you like it's the first time he's seen you all day. "missed you out in the water"

"nu-uh, mister," you playfully scold, "your smooth talking isn't going to excuse you from the near heart attack you gave me when you dunked jun in earlier..."

satoru arches forward to kiss your cheek, "lighten up, mama. you know our babies are in perfectly safe hands with me,"

you shake your head, a musing smile making your cheeks feel tight. you bring one hand up to twirl a strand of satoru's hair, while the pads of your other fingers lightly grazes over the blades of his undercut.

you scratch the back of his head lovingly, "I know they are"

two arms wrap around your leg, and you look down to find jun resting his chin on your thigh while looking up at you with curiosity. "mama, can we get the ice cream now?"

you shift your gaze to satoru, the tiny moment of privacy fleeting as love makes it's presence known once again.

"you guys head over to the shop, while I pack up the stuff. I'll meet you there."

with that, you carry akemi in your arms while you hold jun's hand. the three of you stroll away from your space of sanctuary towards the ice cream shop.

you greet the owner, his familiar face clocking your own. the last time you saw him was on your honeymoon with satoru. the man's face beams with pride as he looks at your children, witnessing how much has bloomed around you since.

you order everyone's ice cream, and he graciously offered akemi's tiny scoop free of charge.

you're seated at the booth, watching jun devour his chocolate soft serve while akemi's lips turn orange nibbling at her peach sorbet. satoru finally walks in, clad in a unbuttoned short sleeve shirt that he wears over his swim trunks. he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the longer layers back and away from his face to reveal his handsome features.

"papa, hurry up! you're ice cream will melt!" jun calls out, and you kindly shush him as to not disturb the other customers.

thankfully, it was a young couple and two older women who simply laugh at the interaction.

satoru slips into the booth right next you, his arm automatically curling around your waist while his free hand lifts the cone that you've been holding for him.

he dramatically licks around the swirl of vanilla, making jun and akemi laugh with his animated reaction.

you both find one another then, the root of your love at the forefront.

suddenly, everything else disappears, and it's just the four of you suspended in time. satoru leans down to steal a kiss, his sugary lips slightly cold, and you return the gesture tenderly.

"ewwwwww" jun interrupts, scrunching his nose in disgust.

the spark fizzles, but that's alright. you know full well that you and your husband have the night to make up for it.

satoru looks at his son with cheeky astonishment. "eww?! really, jun? how do you think you got here in the first place?"

you playfully slap your husband's chest, while your son shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with his innocence brushing over satoru's comment.

"dunno, ask mama"

satoru's jaw goes slack, a disapproving expression overcoming him. "ask mama? as if your papa had nothing to do with it, huh?"

"well, I came from her tummy not yours" your son answers quite matter of factly, giving your husband a sassy look as if he knows better.

you bring your fingers to your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at his wild comment and rest your cheek against satoru's shoulders, listening to father and son banter while the exhaustion from the day trickles in slowly.

you close your eyes for only a moment when the silence settles in.

satoru leans you both back against the plush surface of the sofa.

"tired, angel?"

"mhmm," you agree, "but today was perfect."

he smiles, his cerulean eyes shifting to jun and akemi finishing up their treats.

you're not the only one who finds themselves thankful.

"yeah," he murmurs, squeezing your waist in confirmation, "yeah, it really was."

note: I am not accepting any new requests. if you're interested in seeing what kind of requests I am accepting - please check the "rules" and "upcoming" links on my pinned.

[muzetrigger]

Nevermore Theory: It’s not about “The Tell-Tale Heart”

Okay, it’s time for another Friday night rant.

Recently, I’ve been coming across some excellent thoughts and predictions about Season 2, so now I’m ready to throw own my hat in the Nevermore Theory ring.

In Nevermore, almost every character is based off of one of Poe’s works. Lenore is from the poem “Lenore”, Morella is from the short story “Morella”, Prospero is from “The Masque of Red Death”, etc. There are also some characters that draw on more than one of Poe’s works, most notably Duke who takes inspiration from “The Cask of Amontillado” (Fortunato) and “The Duc de L’Omellete” (Duke).

Now, Annabel Lee is obviously based on the poem “Annabel Lee”, which the webcomic even opens with, but @moxiepower2 and @takescrackseriously have also made the connection between Annabel Lee and “The Tell-Tale Heart” and theorized that Annabel might also be a dual-themed character like Duke. I personally find that reading very convincing too!

(I mean c’mon, her spectre has a giant heart-shaped hole in it, the logo for the WEBTOON is beating heart with wings, it’s one of Poe’s most famous works, so on and so forth.)

But today, I’m going to stick my neck out and say, it’s NOT about “The Tell-Tale Heart” (at least not entirely. Annabel Lee could be based on even more than two works!).

I think Annabel Lee’s character points to another of Poe’s stories that lines up really well with the direction of Nevermore as a whole:

That’s right, it’s time to talk about “The Pit and the Pendulum”.

First, I’m going to need to explain this leap in logic, because it’s definitely not as clear as Annabel’s heart motif. Let’s start with the visuals.

Yes, Annabel Lee and Nevermore in general have a strong heart motif, but isn’t it a little odd that Annabel’s heart isn’t totally empty?

It’s a great visual focus for her character design, but that shape is awfully familiar, and it swings around an awful lot like a pendulum, doesn’t it?

And we know that Annabel (as an actual ghost-type spectre) can control the pendulum.

AND Annabel Lee gives the pendulum back to Lenore, with a lock of her hair tied around it, literally binding herself to the tool.

That’s… an awful lot of interaction with an item that is unrelated to her inspiration poem AND has served exactly zero purpose in the story so far. There HAS to be a reason Red and Flynn keep bringing this damn thing up because they play the long con with their foreshadowing (Dirt on Ada’s hands, Annabel Lee’s panic attack, Lenore taking Annabel’s blot, the gun having no bullets at the very beginning of the webcomic).

So now, I want to delve further into the actual text of “The Pit and the Pendulum” because it mirrors a lot what we’ve seen so far in season 1 and could be a good start for predicting what comes next in season 2!

For those who haven’t read “The Pit and the Pendulum” it follows an unnamed narrator who has been arrested by the Spanish Inquisition, pronounced guilty to some crime (it could have been anything, that’s just how the Inquisition rolls), and is subjected to all kinds of unusual torture methods before being rescued by the French army.

What I find so interesting about this story though is that its structure loosely matches the trials that the Deans have set up at Nevermore Academy.

For instance after swooning at his sentencing, the narrator wakes up in a pitch-black room and tries to figure out the shape of his prison by making a circuit. He finds that it’s around a hundred paces, but because of the “many angles in the wall” he can “form no guess at the shape of the vault”. In reality however, the room is perfectly square and only half the number of steps in circuit.

How did the narrator make such a big error in estimating the size of the room? Because he passed out right after missing the marker he had been using to keep track of his location, thus making two laps instead of one.

Now let’s compare it with the first obstacle for Nevermore students, the Labyrinth. Students are thrust into the maze without any knowledge of how to manifest (Annabel only knowing how to because of the Deans making a surprise appearance in class). So metaphorically, they’re also in the dark, and as Lenore and Duke find out as soon as they enter the maze, the labyrinth’s geometry also seems to shift.

Most convincingly (in my opinion), Lenore also looses track of herself during the Dementophobia trial, just like how the Pendulum narrator faints, which is one of the main reasons the misfit trio almost fail.

That near failure also mimics what happens next in the short story, the narrator trips and narrowly avoids falling into a giant pit (hence the title).

That really ticks off the Spanish Inquisition, just like how Lenore pisses off the Deans by surviving, and so the Inquisition does what it does best, and devises a new torture method. This time, the narrator awakens to find himself strapped down to a plank and gazing up at a figure of Kronos, only instead of Father Time wielding a scythe, he’s wielding a massive bladed pendulum (there’s the second half of the title, you’re welcome).

I find this image very telling because it’s supposed to relay the message that the narrator’s death is inevitable. You can’t fight the passage of time, and it doesn’t get less subtle than the god of time killing you with a clock part.

Similarly, ringing the bell in the widow’s watch is supposed to be an impossible task, meant mainly to give the students who have manifested a chance to flex their powers. The Deans admit as much:

But back to the short story, the narrator doesn’t exactly realize his predicament at first. He just thinks it’s kind of an interesting change of scenery and he’s more worried about the fact that his captors have provided him with “meat pungently seasoned” and no water to quench his thirst, which he figures is the real torture method. Oh and the rats. They’re pretty scary too, especially when it occurs to him that he’s definitely not the first person to be shoved in this room, and those rats have to have been eating something.

Eventually, he does notice the pendulum slowly lowering and spends the next *checks notes* 9 paragraphs alternating between despair, apathy, and frenzy. (There’s actually quite a lot to dissect here with regards to Nevermore’s treatment of madness, but let’s save that for later.)

Then he gets a bright idea and rubs spicy meat all over his bonds with the one free arm the Inquisition left him to presumably eat said meat.

Why does he do this?

To entice the rats into eating his bonds, of course! He has to play dead for a bit, and also let rats crawl all over him, but it works and our narrator escapes after a few cuts.

Okay, now let’s take a look at the parallels to that trial in Nevermore. I’ve already gone over the comparison to the bell ringing class as a kind of Sisyphean task, but Lenore also almost gets eaten by Prospero’s rats:

She also succeeds because the people, who are supposed to be her enemies, help her, just like how the rats aid the narrator in escaping. Did I just compare Ada, Pluto, Morella, and Annabel Lee to rats? Yes. Yes, I did.

But I’m going to specifically single out Annabel Lee in this case because Lenore also has to play dead in order to ring the bell. Specifically she pretends to give in to Annabel’s “Kiss of Death”.

So both Lenore and the narrator are momentarily successful after reports of their death are greatly exaggerated.

Then they have the crushing realization that they’re still trapped. Then narrator in the dungeons of Toledo, and Lenore with…

(Minor aside, this is some phenomenal scene work.)

And now the final trial (for our hapless narrator at least). The Inquisition, having been denied their sliced prisoner sandwich, decide to roast him alive instead. You see, the metal walls of the cell can actually be heated up, oh and also they can flatten themselves by pulling the corners apart like a collapsing square.

So the narrator has two choices. Death by being burned alive, or death by falling into the pit at the center of room (remember that detail? It’s still the same room).

To put it in Nevermore terms, Lenore can either test her luck with the Deans OR:

This guy :)

Now, do I think the Deans created The Wild Hunt? No, and I would be very interested in if the Stag turns out to be related to Theo in some way, but I bet the Deans purposefully invited The Wild Hunt into the Academy in order to corral them back into obedience/kill off the troublemakers. (Or maybe they were just bored, who knows?)

NOW FOR THE ACTUAL THEORY PART (How in the world did it take so long to get here? I only have a paragraph left in the short story to use for theory crafting!)

”The Pit and the Pendulum” ends with the narrator being saved literally as he is falling into the eponymous pit by General Lasalle of the French army. That doesn’t make sense because Lasalle wasn’t in the Battle of Toledo where the story takes place, but anachronisms are incredibly prevalent in Nevermore. Pretty much every character comes from a different time and place than the others, most prominently Eulalie, who is probably Japanese and probably died in WWII (though who knows, maybe she was a proto-weeb and died in the firebombings of Dresden).

My theory is that similarly, the main cast is going to be saved by a third party who intervenes during the Hunt. Then, the narrative is going to shift away from Nevermore Academy and towards the afterlife at large. We’ve gotten plenty of hints about the outside, particularly towards the end of Season 1, so I don’t think it’s that unlikely, and if I may make a second literary connection, Nevermore is kind of like the Hunger Games.

Wait! Let me explain.

You have a group of kids/young adults fighting in a premade arena designed by antagonistic game makers where only one of them can come out alive. Generic? Yes? But looking at the Hunger Games Trilogy’s structure, we start with the Hunger Games, get a variation in the Quarter Quell, and then abandon the games to explore a broader scope of the world.

Now, I have the utmost faith in Red and Flynn’s ability to keep the dark academia setting fresh, but the path of least resistance might be getting out of the classroom.

It’s a weak and vague theory, that I don’t even really subscribe to myself, but I thought I should follow the short story to its end at least.

But if I don’t believe in my theory, why did I bother spending the last two hours writing this post?

Well, one, I really like pointing out the parallels between Poe’s work and Nevermore. It’s clear that Red and Flynn put so SO much effort into Nevermore and I genuinely think getting to be in on all those details enhances the reading experience.

But two, do you remember how I started this post?

That’s right, talking about Annabel Lee.

I’ve been doing a lot of comparison between Lenore and the actual text of “The Pit and Pendulum” but I want to show you this illustration of the short story by Harry Clarke:

Does that outfit remind you of anything? Maybe…

Now, Clarke drew the above piece nearly 80 years after “The Pit and the Pendulum” was first published, but considering how prominent this illustration is for the short story, I bet Red and Flynn studied it when writing Nevermore, and I find that really intriguing considering where they chose to reuse the outfit.

There are ribbons all over Nevermore (everyone with a ponytail has one to tie up their hair, Ada uses hers to set Lenore’s broken fingers), but the motif of being bound by ribbons occurs when the narrative is invoking ideas of madness and memory, specifically for Annabel.

And would you look at that. “The Pit and the Pendulum” brings up both of those ideas together: “the madness of a memory which busies itself among forbidden things.”

That’s the last line of the third paragraph, and it’s exactly what Annabel is doing in the bathtub, recalling taboo memories of Lenore.

Plus, this passage happens as the narrator is trying to recover from a swoon, and what do you know? There’s only one character in Nevermore who swooned in season one: Annabel Lee.

Okay? So? Nevermore already has a lot of parallels to this damn story, and I’ve spent the entire post point them out for crying out loud.

But! Poe is very specific about how we recover from a swoon:

“In the return to life from the swoon there are two stages; first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual; secondly, that of the sense of physical, existence. It seems probable that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could recall the impressions of the first, we should find these impressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond.” (Emphasis added)

Again, doesn’t that sound familiar? Throughout season 1, the main cast have all been slowly recovering their memories and thus unlocking their spectres which represent fragments of their true selves and desires.

So here’s my actual theory: in the past, Nevermore Academy was used by lost souls to recover their “mental and spiritual” identities, before they reclaimed their “physical existence” at the light beyond the grounds in order to “return to life”.

More importantly, I think the final arc of Nevermore (or epilogue I guess is more likely?) will take place in the mortal world and be about the cast “[recalling] the impressions of [their mental or spiritual senses” (ie. their time at Nevermore Academy) post-second stage, thus completing Poe’s perfect recovery.

Reincarnation isn’t Nevermore’s endgame.

Maybe they have to leave their spectres behind at Nevermore Academy like in the “Theo is the Stag” theory and the final act is about them reclaiming their personas stands spectres to fight against the Deans, or maybe we’re going to go Kimi no Na wa and just get them running into each other and remembering (which would be lame) or Annabel being the only one who remembers and gradually hiking across the globe to find the others (which would be a very cool reversal given how Lenore is usually the one trying to form genuine connections [we’re starting to see some promising Prospero-Annabel friendship development though!] but now we’re also getting into fanfic territory).

Personally, my happy ending at the moment would be Annabel and Lenore teaming up, kicking the Deans out, and reestablishing Nevermore Academy as a sojourn for reincarnating spirits. That way we don’t have to go through reincarnation drama (again) and everyone who sticks around can just chill out and lead peaceful (after)lives or be teachers and show newcomers how to awaken their spectres. But again, fanfic territory.

Wow, that was a whole lot of text that didn’t really amount to an actual theory, but I hope you guys enjoyed reading it?

TLDR if you didn’t: Nevermore season 1 is actually a sapphic rewrite of “The Pit and the Pendulum”, the Deans are the Spanish Inquisition, and the Nevermore’s endgame is going to take place in the mortal world after reincarnation.

Also, I have no spine like Ada and don’t have any conviction in my theories lmao

[zekeyboy]

i hate mark hoffman because he is always so extra. like im sure he couldve just as easily killed seth baxter normally and gotten away with it but that’s not the point. my point is the trap he put him in.

jigsaw traps up until this point (IGNORING. JIGSAW’S STUPID PREQUEL STUFF.) were like. what. chair with knives. box full of wire. glass and fire and poison. reverse bear trap was like the most complicated of them all. and he builds this huge fucking pendulum. how did he do that. what made him go “yeah giant pendulum boss. you got it.” he didnt need to do all of that. oh my god i hate him i need to run him over with my car repeatedly and then steal his fucking new jersey plates and frame him for his own murder

(i know he’s pre paul and everything. im being generous.)

[mossymandibles]

The Pendulum Syrinx. Just a giant parrot leviathan 👁️ 👁️

It’s not obvious whether or not they understand what they hear but they tend to hang around larger ships with many passengers, showing signs of being ‘social’, however unnerving their presence may be. A ship that notices they’re being tailed by one might welcome this or chase them off with loud noises if they have the means. They’re also attracted to music if they can hear it. They can adjust their own volume as well, at their size they’re known to shatter some eardrums if they aren’t careful.

They can come in many different sizes, with more or less appendages, they usually stay in the range of leviathan class though. Their heads can also come in various shapes but they generally stay a symmetrical axe shape.

I just really wanted to make a leviathan that mimics sounds because I always love that mechanic used in creatures, whether it’s scary or not.

Here’s some alternative text below for more of a description

The Pendulum Syrinx

The slits on the sides of its head are mouths. It exhibits a powerful ability to mimic, picking up signals and sounds using a form of echolocation in addition to electromagnetic waves. It adds these sounds to its ‘library’.

It’s shown the ability to mimic voices, music, wildlife and even machinery; whatever it may pick up from passing ships or radio signals.

The first recorded had befriended an fisherman who frequently played her hurdy gurdy while aboard her boat, earning the creature the nickname ‘Gurdy’.

It’s not seen to be particularly hostile, mostly just a curious nuisance. However, it’s a highly intelligent leviathan and should be handled with excessive caution regardless.

Last image: A curious Syrinx will often perform ‘soundbathing’, where it will float just below or above the surface of the water and take in its environment.

[dailysylvesterashling]

Day fourty seven

I have so many questions about Sylvie’s nightmare fuel, and more specifically his Yo-yo

First of all, The two times he uses nightmare fuel, he has his Yo-Yo out, and every time , it glows from string to axel before the attack hits, Hell. It’s right before Sylvie says the name of the attack out loud!

It’s such a small and specific thing that happens for Sylvie’s attack, Every time Sylvie is in his yo-yo sprite it doesn’t glow until he uses nightmare fuel

No other indicator that something will happen, No giant glow and dream clouds with dream big or the glow right before a sheep spawns into existence

I do have a theory on what his Yo-Yo is exactly

I think it’s a hypnosis pendant

Or whatever these are called

Hypnotherapy is a real thing, a hypnotist guiding a patient into a trance where they’re focused and relaxed, as well as more open to suggestions

Sylvie either is learning to, already knows or has given up hypnosis therapy and that’s why he has it

It’s also a Yo-Yo because Sylvie gets bored easily outside of work and he wants it to have some use to him outside of therapy

Hypnosis is most commonly used in media to send people to sleep which could be the reason why it glows everytime Sylvie uses nightmare fuel

Maybe if Sylvie swung it around like a pendulum and hypnotized his opponent as he used nightmare fuel, it becomes more powerful?

I’d definitely like to see that in the future ngl

Also

Why does Sylvie say some sort of variation of “Let’s see what you’re most afraid of” everytime??

Is that how the attacks work? Is that required??

Does sylvie say that in an attempt to look intimidating??

It’s probably the last one

[recycledmoviecostumes]

This red gown was first worn by an extra in the 1952 film At Sword’s Point. Because it was worn by an extra, there is a good possibility that the gown originated from an earlier production, though this has yet to be determined or spotted. The costume was worn again on Barbara Steele as Elizabeth Bernard Medina in the 1961 film The Pit and the Pendulum.  The gown was seen the very next year in Jack and the Giant Killer on Anna Lee as Lady Constance.

Costume Credit: Katie S., Julia Spicer

Follow: Website | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram

Note: This costume has previously been posted. It has been reposted to add an additional sighting of this costume.

[litcest]

Using the template made by @familyromantic. Spoilers bellow. And above I guess, sorry.

Under the Pendulum Sun by Jeannette Ng

The Coffin Path by Katherine Clements

Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

Wildacre by Phillipa Gregory. They don't get married but Beatrice's whole plan is to seduce her brother so she can control the family farm

Josie and Jack by Kelly Braffet. The canon incest is just a kiss, but I'm sure Jack wanted more than that. Very toxic pair of siblings, Jack is very manipulative and Josie... well, Josie kills him

Wasteland by Francesca Lia Block

Only by blood: I could not think of a book like this. I see sometimes the "not raised as family" argument being made after the reveal of accidental incest, but not before. I think there might be a historical romance that Anne and George Boleyn's romance is justified with this trope, as they were raised apart, but I can't recall for sure

Burying the Shadow by Storm Constantine, they characters are Eloim and have no problem with incestuous relationship. The book has a brother/sister canonical relationship, a very sustive brother/brother relationship and a father constantly hitting on his daughter, but the daughter has no interest as she thinks that becoming pregnant by him would destroy her body (as her father is known to be 'big' and produce giant children)

A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. I'm obviously considering the Cersei/James relationship in here

Time travel incest: also couldn't think of any because, fun fact about me, I hate time travel stories, so of course I never read them. But I know there's one book with a guy who dates his grandma not knowing who she was

Into the Forest by Jean Hegland. Two sisters who cling together as civilization collapses. I think The Doloriad by Missouri Williams fits better, as in this one they do have sex for reproductive reasons, but I don't like the book, so I'm going with Into the Forest

Flowers in the Attic by V. C. Andrews. The children engage in incest but so had their parents (uncle/niece if you go by the original canon, brother/sister if you consider the later revelations to be canon). Cathy and Chris know their parents are uncle/niece, but only because their grandmother tells them, if it had been for Corrine, the truth would have always remained hidden

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Propaganda under the cut. It's so long:

Alexander I Pavlovich:

a. “Maybe not the most handsome or charismatic man in this tournament, but he has ample chaotic neutral energy that both baffles and fascinates contemporaries. In short, if you're into mysterious men, you won't find a sexier enigma than our imperator.”

b. “Look. Is this or is this not the monsterfucking website.”

c. There are lots of monuments dedicated to him. There's one in Moscow in the Alexander Garden right by the Red Square. While nowhere near as grand as the Alexander Column, I think it's still worth showcasing!

The monument is meant to celebrate his victory in the 1812 Russian invasion. He's holding a sword, proudly standing on top of his enemies' weapon.

The sculptors, however, have never seen the man in their life - all the people involved in the making are still alive and well (i think), so that should tell how new it is. The monument was opened for the public just a decade ago in 2014.

d. quote about this bust from the memoirs of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier: “No painter was able to properly capture the features of his face and especially his soft expression. Alexander didn’t like to pose for portraits and they were mostly done with some stealth. In this case sculpture have produced a better likeness. The famed Thorvaldsen made a bust of this sovereign worthy of a hand of such a remarkable artist.”

e. His family nickname might have been ‘our angel’ and the medal commemorating his death bears the inscription “Our angel is in heaven”, but did you know that to this day Alexander looks down on Sankt Petersburg as an actual angel, wings, cross, trampled snake and all? Alas, you cannot see it from the ground, the Alexander Column being so very tall, but the statue of the angel on top certainly seems to take after our sexy thrice-angel Emperor.

f. Apotheosis of Alexander! An eminently universal image, perfectly serviceable for his rise to the throne… of Napoleonic Sexyman Tournament.

It really looks like Peter and Catherine are instructing the Electorate. Gentlevoters, surely you wouldn’t dream of disappointing Sasha’s Grandmother and his scantily clothed giant of a Great-great-grandfather?

g. What is sexier than a man in a dress??

Antoine Charles Louis de Lasalle:

“has no one submitted Lasalle yet????? The Hussar Devil himself, leader of the Infernal Brigade, the guy who captured a 5000 men strong fortress with just fucking 500 men in the Capitulation of Stettin, made Spain fucking tremble? Cavalrymen in general were known to b a flamboyant hard drinking womanising lot who gambled, duelled and were profligate scoundrels in general, and Lasalle was a Hussar of the Hussars, saying “Any hussar who isn't dead at the age of 30 is a blackguard.” He missed his target by 4 years, charging at the enemy in his usual leading from the front brave manner and getting shot in the head. When Napoleon gave him 200,000 francs for his wedding, Lasalle cheerfully admitted he spent half of it paying off debts and the rest gambling. Napoleon gave him another 200,000 francs, saying to a prefect asking why he wasn’t disciplined, "It only takes a stroke of a pen to create a prefect, but it takes twenty years to make a Lasalle". When Lasalle was reassigned from Spain to Germany in 1809, a friend asked him if he would travel via Paris. His response: “Yes, it's the shortest way. I shall arrive at 5am; I shall order a pair of boots; I shall make my wife pregnant, and I shall depart." He straight up Fucked a lot, look at that moustache and pipe. He also appears in Edgar Allan Poe’s torture fic The Pit And The Pendulum as the guy who saves the protagonist at the end from the over the top torture device, but baby, Lasalle was real as fuck.”

The INSANE career progression of this man. Captain at 21, Squadron Leader at 23, Colonel at 25, General de Brigade at 30, General de Division at 32. All of this despite having to resign and reenlist during the Revolution.

He joined the army at 11 basically because he was being too much of a menace to Metz, so his dad sent him off to learn to beat people up professionally.

Reenlists in 1794 after being part of (probably) the military committee of the Section des Piques. By 1795 he's already back at his pre-Revolution rank of lieutenant.

Supposedly charmed his way out of captivity:

At the end of July 1796, Lasalle, imprisoned in Brescia, was captured by Quasdanowich's army corps and taken to Wurmser's headquarters. Questioned by the old Austrian marshal about Bonaparte's age, whose reputation had suddenly become so brilliant: "The age Scipio was when he defeated Hannibal," replied the young officer with a noble pride that pleased Wurmser. Flattered to see himself indirectly compared to the Carthaginian general, he gave his prisoner the most cordial welcome, and shortly afterward sent him back on parole.

5. Went behind enemy lines to engage in ~relations~ with an Italian noblewoman who then gave him information about the enemy, escaped back to his own side, told Napoleon and was promoted on the spot.

6. Battle of Rivoli: Captures 5 standards! Forces a battalion to surrender with only 26 guys on horses! Napoleon tells him "go lie down on the flags, it is well-deserved"! Absolute menace!

7. Continues being an icon in Egypt! Drops his sword in the middle of a battle and just casually gets off his horse, picks it up, gets back on and continues fighting like nothing ever happened! Broke his sword and both of his pistols to save Davout!

8. Capture of Stettin: Icon! Turns up to Stettin with like 500 dudes on horses completely unequipped to lay siege to anything more than a hayloft, demands the surrender of the fortress (which has a garrison of between 5000-6000 men, no one can really make up their minds), they say no, he goes "yeah well I have all of Lannes' corps right over there with 30,000 men" while NOT HAVING THAT AT ALL, and they just surrender?? And then they figure it out and try to fight back and Lasalle is just like too late bitches you just got BAMBOOZLED

9. HE FUCKING RODE A HORSE INTO A BALLROOM:

In short, returning home, at nightfall, from some errand or expedition, he saw the hotel of Madame Cesarini completely lit up, and learned that this lady, a widow, still young, very beautiful, and holding the first rank in Perugia, was giving a ball. An extravagant idea seized him; unable to resist it, he had his squadron halted and, covered in dust, without dismounting, entered the vestibule; at the risk of breaking his neck a hundred times, he climbed the beautiful stone staircase leading to the first floor, pranced over the marble slabs of the landings, over the parquet floors of the salons, which he covered with scratches; he arrived at a gallop in the ballroom and, to the terror of all the dancers, launched himself into the middle of the country dance.

Soon master of the space as of the rest, he orders the orchestra to continue playing and makes his horse finish the country dance he has begun; then, after having served himself punch, having made his horse swallow lemonades and cakes, after having made him look out the window to show himself to his hussars, after having forced him to greet the mistress of the house and the whole company, he leaves without having dismounted, and, despite all that can be observed and shouted, he descends as he climbed this staircase of stone and marble, and rejoins his hussars who idolized him and receive him with acclaim.

10. When Colonel Colbert of the 7th Hussars was wounded while covering a retreat in 1807, Lasalle becomes The Funny Guy:

A little sheepish, the colonel of the 7th Hussars, goes to the ambulance where he is forced to lie on his stomach to be bandaged. This is the position in which Lasalle found him, who, having learned of the matter, came to console his friend!… […] Lasalle's real exclamation, which can be explained, moreover, by the minor nature of the injuries, was this: "Damn pig! It's not at your age that you show your ass to everyone!"

11. Wrote a song for a Polish guard regiment under his command in 1808:

Les Français étaient en Pologne,

L’Espagne voit des Polonais… L’Europe verra sans vergogne, Régner Français et Polonais. Quelle nation est assez forte, Pour résister à leur effort ? Polonais, Français font en sorte, De mettre tout le monde à mort.

12. Sabotaged Salamanca's sewage system because he thought it would be funny.

13. Drank all the foreign wine in Salamanca. Because why not.

14. While in Salamanca, forced his generals (he was a colonel) to actually have fun and do stuff:

Every two or three days, he would have the general-in-chief [Leclerc] hunt; every day, he would play music with me for two or three hours; which one day, at dinner with General Leclerc, allowed him to say: I have a singular destiny in your army, my general. I have given you a taste for hunting; I have given General Thiébault a taste for music; all that remains is for me to instill in General Monnet a taste for wit.

15. At the general review of the cavalry in 1807, and this requires no further comment:

It was this same General Lasalle who gave a very funny reply to the Emperor when His Majesty reviewed the entire cavalry on July 5. The Emperor, in this review, had been very generous with promotions and decorations. The general, however, did not seem satisfied. "What is the matter with you?" the Emperor said to him, "you do not seem pleased." "I am pleased with your kindness, Sire; but I am not yet satisfied: I hoped that Your Majesty would have set his eyes on me to command the first regiment in the world: in a word, I hoped to replace General Dahlmann, colonel of your guides." The Emperor replied: "When General Lasalle no longer swears and no longer smokes, not only will I put him at the head of a cavalry regiment of my guard, but I will make him one of my chamberlains." "General Lasalle bowed and said to the Emperor: "Sire, since I have all the qualities of a sailor, I ask Your Majesty for command of a frigate." "No, no; that would not be my choice," the Emperor replied, laughing. "You will command the twenty cavalry regiments in the absence of Prince Murat."

Yeah he did just crack a joke to fucking Napoleon.

16. His officers were welcome to dine with him with the below method:

General Lasalle, who commanded our division, had his headquarters in Elbing [in Poland]. This general, who loves food as much as battle, had devised a comical way of extending dinner invitations to the officers of his division who were traveling from the cantonments to Elbing. The general's valet, an hour before dinner, would attach a stick to the balcony on which he would place an unfurled napkin: this napkin would remain on the balcony until all twenty of the place settings the general had at his table were occupied. The officers of his division, as long as they saw the ensign flying, could go up to pay their visit to the general; they were sure to be invited to dinner by him, but if the napkin was no longer flying, there was no point in going up for dinner. The table was full.

17. When he was going to marry his wife, Napoleon gave him money. Where did it go? Well:

He [Napoleon] spoiled him to a truly incredible extent, laughing at all his pranks and never letting him pay his debts. Lasalle was about to marry the divorced lady I mentioned above, and Napoleon had given him two hundred thousand francs from his coffers. Eight days later, he met him at the Tuileries and asked him: “When will the wedding be?” “It will take place, Sire, when I have enough to buy the basket and the furniture.” “What! But I gave you two hundred thousand francs last week… What did you do with them?” “I used half of it to pay my debts, and I lost the rest gambling.” Such an admission would have ruined the career of any other general; it made the Emperor smile, who, confining himself to pulling Lasalle’s mustache rather sharply, ordered Marshal Duroc to give him another two hundred thousand francs.

18. Stole a man's mistress, was challenged to a duel by him, except this turned out to be a terrible idea:

So the only salvation for this captain was the generosity of his adversary; it was not in doubt, but there was no doubt either that he would use it for some follies; in fact, having immediately judged the disproportion of forces, he abstained from any attack and limited himself to parrying, but he tried to do it with such vigor that the poor engineer's wrist was broken; and in the moments when the unfortunate man was recovering from such severe fatigue, my La Salle would circle around him, amidst a thousand jokes, antics, and grimaces, playing with death as with love; he would strike him with a blow from the flat of his sabre on the backside and burst out laughing.

This maneuver was repeated ten times, and, despite the rage of this unfortunate officer, he ended up exhausted. When it was obvious that he could take no more, La Salle, putting an end to the fight, said to him: "If you had known me better, you would have attached less importance to the fact that injured you and, if I had known you better, I would have refrained from joining your forces. Accept this declaration and let us end this too unequal combat, but which has only better revealed to what extent you are men of honor."

19. Friends with Fournier-Sarloveze, the inspiration for Joseph Conrad's The Duel.

20. Wrote in a letter to his wife: "My heart belongs to you, my blood to the Emperor, my life to honour".

21. When asked at a dinner if he will pass through Paris on the way to his next campaign, he replied: "Yes; it's the shortest way: I'll arrive at five o'clock in the morning; I'll order a pair of boots, I'll have a child with my wife, and I'll leave."

22. At the same dinner, absolutely refuses an escort offered to him, and when told he should preserve his life for its usefulness to the war:

General Lasalle. — I have lived long enough now. Why do we want to live? To earn honor, to make our way, our fortune. Well! I am thirty-three years old; I am a divisional general (approaching me, in a low and serious voice): Do you know that the Emperor gave me, last year, 50,000 livres a year? It's immense!

Me. — The Emperor will not stop there, and your career is not over. But to enjoy all this, you must avoid unnecessary dangers and inglorious dangers; for, after all, why do you want to earn honor, make your way, your fortune? It is to enjoy them, without, however, neglecting opportunities to increase these advantages as much as possible. General Lasalle. — No, not at all; one enjoys acquiring all that; one enjoys making war. Making war is already a great enough pleasure: one is in the noise, in the smoke, in the movement; and then, when one has made a name for oneself, well! one has enjoyed the pleasure of making it. When one has made one's fortune, one is sure that one's wife and children will want for nothing: all that is enough. As for me, I could die tomorrow.

Unbothered king.

23. Speaking of the escort:

General Thiébault. —Don't talk to us about that pleasure, we who are condemned to stay here. But you only need an escort for four leagues; there are some scoundrels around here. I will command four dragoons.

General Lasalle. — I don't want to. It would be too much of a trick. It would slow down my progress. They would all want to give me the rest of the way. I would stay on the way. General Thiébault. — I want you to have four dragoons; they are well mounted; they will follow you easily. General Lasalle. — I don't want it. General Thiébault. — They'll be at the car when you leave. General Lasalle. — I will charge them.

24. Demanded a lot of his men but took care of them - secured supplies of greatcoats, candles and other supplies during winter to ensure they remained fit.

25. He's REAL, and yet he's STILL this fucking iconic.

26. Remember how he was denied a command in the Guard cavalry? yeah well later on in Spain he turns up and takes a regiment of them to charge with anyways to come save the day.

27. Saved Murat at Heilsberg and then Murat came and saved him back.

28. There's literally so much more that could be added but I'd hit some sort of word limit oh my god