Tumgik
#I hate mr basil I hate him I hate him
Text
I hate people portraying Omori as evil or whatever. He's Sunny's Depression and desire for life to be back to normal.
I think Omori seals away his Knowledge in order to keep Sunny safe, and be able to enjoy his time with his friends. If he Learns The Truth, he can regain his immense power (control of the Red Hands), but he can no longer truly have fun with his friends.
Yes he's very cruel to Sunny and a lot of his Skills are kinda cruel too (Mock, Exploit Emotions, Trip, etc) but you need to remember how Depression is. Omori IS (internalized) hatred, but he's not a fundamentally hateful person (some people say he hates Basil, but if he did, why save him? Why not cast him away like Abbi?). He helps the denizens of Headspace, yes to distract Sunny, but that didn't have to be how.
On the Sunny Route, Sunny and Omori FIGHT FOR THEIR LIVES. If Sunny wins, Omori dies. Does he not have the right to want to live? If Omori wins.... Oyasumi. Because he thinks they're too far gone to be saved. (We see Headspace's sky at times so maybe this is Omori attempting to return to Headspace without a way to be forced to leave)
Omori is a person. I'm personally a fan of the idea that Headspace exists as a Realm that Sunny can control and shaped, but didn't create. (Mr Outback implies this) and that Sunny can continue to visit after the end of the game. I like to imagine that he recreates Omori as a different person from himself. Someone he loves dearly and wants to protect, a younger brother of his own.
I just love Omori and I like to imagine him loving Sunny and thinking what he is doing is helping.
He's a coping mechanism that isn't working very well, not an evil entity.
334 notes · View notes
marvanne111 · 2 months
Text
moments I love in "Tempting Fête"
"I can only read what I've got written down, Mr. Funt." "Councilor Funt! -Funn, Councilor Funn."
the fact that it's been 11 years of this Funn/ Funt debate (alternatively, that both the reverend and the mayor have addressed him properly the last three episodes and seemed to have no problem with it)
"Yes, well, I'll see what I'm doing that day" -leading the funeral, one would hope?
underrated bit of the series in general: cell service only being available in the reverend's bathroom
"I think he's quite dishy" (this scratches such an itch in my brain; I quote it once a week)
the mayor and reverend (who will be dating by the end of the episode) agreeing emphatically with the above statement
the reverend wearing eye shadow! (incredible, show stopping, spectacular, never been seen before)
"It was one mouse! and, and I don't know anything about it"
"All opposed?" "... I mean, I'd say opposed is a strong word-" "Done! Carried unanimously!"; "All opposed? "I, uh-" "Overruled! Motion carried!"
"We already have an identity: it's miserable and it works." (i want this on a t-shirt)
"There hasn't been a fête for eleven years." "Astonishing. Who's in charge of local events?" "Rudyard." "Ah."
"Look, it's easy to throw money around and get excited about rustic dancing, but we've got-" "I'LL SAY IT IS!"
"His world had once again become an increasingly scary place. There was only one thing left to do..." "Georgie?" "Yeah?" "We're emigrating."; "It was time for swift and decisive action, and there was only one place to head for: Reverend Wavering's bathroom"; at the funeral I was able to witness Rudyard, bereft of Reverend and with few attendees, deliver a stirring and entirely improvised speech about the circuities of fate, the struggles of discord, and an intractable acceptance of the way the cookie crumbles, a sermon that moved the late Basil Corbett’s niece to say, quite simply:" "We want our money back" (some really fantastic narration moments in this one that make me giggle every time)
Rudyard including Madeleine in the emigration plans is said so sweetly and it honestly makes me a little soft
"One word: Chapman." "I should return his calls-" "Chapman?" "- probably won't, though"
"Rudyard, other people do those things for you!" "Conscription?" "Volunteering!"
"I, I, I do like spreadsheets!"
(No Madeleine, I hate raffles!") (these posts are always so Rudyard-centric lol and it's helped me come to the conclusion that he really is the funniest)
"Do you know how many gallons of fluid I'll have to drain from a man that size? Possibly thousands!" "What a ridiculous lie!" (this is another one that I quote often lol)
"I wish I were Mrs. Carnegie!" "You will be, Mrs, Turner. You will be." (WHAT IS THIS RESPONSE?!)
"Fancy a funeral?" "That a threat?"; "Don't forget your funeral." "Was that a threat?"
"Socializing? That'd take up ten minutes and then what would they do? No. Perpetual scheduled activity, that's the way."
"Put some clothes on!" "IT'S MY HOUSE!"
"Antigone?" "What?!" "Helicopters!" "Go back to your side of the table."
"Now get over there and sabotage something!" "*sigh* Fine." "Do you really think that's going to help?" "Oh maybe not, but it'll cheer me up."
"Called up the family, made up a story about... well, re-organizing a fête, that sort of thing." "How did they react?" "Well, they weren't very happy..." "But?" "No, that's it, they weren't very happy."
"You know, I can actually see your future." "Oh yes?" "Mmm hmm. And it involves this crystal ball getting shoved STRAIGHT up your-"
"Alright sir! Mission accomplissshhhhed." "Hello, Georgie." "Hello..." "Get out, Georgie." "Goodbye..."
The Mayor trying to rustic dance for a couple of hours before giving up
Lady Templar's glass eye. (That's it. That's the post.)
"He'd be spinning in the grave you haven't put him in yet!" (best line of the episode honestly)
"What a dreadful little man!" "Yes... mind you, he looks good in a suit"
"Even in a crowd, they all look lonely" (🤌🤌🤌)
"Can't win 'em all" 'Winning anything at all would be a nice change." (also want this on a t-shirt)
"You like to be the hero, don't ya?" (Georgie's the GOAT)
"Rudyard. Do you know what this chap did?" "Yes, he told me" (my man is already so tired of Eric lol)
12 notes · View notes
sucrosette · 3 months
Text
★— ⋆。˚ [He Loves My Butter Lips]
For Day 25 of Carry on Countdown 23, Carnival/Faire. @carryon-countdown
Simon Snow hates his boyfriend and his boyfriend's ego and all the plushies he's won for him so, so bloody bad (but not really, not really at all).
Rated T for... honestly I think Simon is cursing every other sentence in this.
⋆。˚
The best part about the faire is the bloody food. The cheese sticks, the corndogs on sticks, pickles on sticks, the spun sugar on sticks, in certain parts of the world (this part of the world!!) the fried butter on sticks, everything fried and everything on sticks. It’s divine. I’m going to die of a heart attack at one of these godforsaken carnival-faire-decadence-things, but Merlin and Morgana both, it will have been bloody worth it. The best bloody thing is the fucking food. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. If they think otherwise, they’re bloody daft.
Now some people might claim having a boyfriend who could hack all the carnival games would be the best bloody part, but their boyfriends are not Basilton fucking Grimm-Pitch, are they? No, the honour of calling that one a boyfriend is mine, and he’s too bloody smug about it.
Not to say that I don’t love and cherish each and every one of those ridiculously large plushies, and not to say that they don’t each get a name and a little home in our littler apartment, but does Baz have to bloody fucking smirk about it every time he predicts right? Does he have to be right so bloody often?
He’s such a sodding twat about it, I hate him. (I love him. He’s perfect. Never bloody tell him that though, his ego is killing me already.)
Presently, I have four fucking plushies squished in between the space between my arms and my chest and each of them is the size of my torso. “Basil!” I can see him heading to win me a fifth, “Basil, I swear, I literally cannot hold another sodding plush bear, please do not.”
I just want that fried butter, but how will I eat the fried butter without hands to hold the stick required to eat the fried butter? Baz probably wouldn’t even let me eat the fried butter anyway. He should let me eat the fried butter, it’s not like I won’t go at a stick occasionally anyway. He’s trying to train me out of it, the ninny. As if I want to learn better than eating sticks of butter.
He’s already out of bloody earshot.
I huff down at my growing collection of plushies. Mr. Bun, Mrs. Bear, Sir Froggington the Fourth, and the Little Duck that Could will surely have another companion soon. The Little Duck that Could is in fact the largest of the plushes, but he has small animal energy. I think he might also technically be a swan, but it’s too late, he’s already been named. It’s sticking.
There’s nothing to be done about it, I suppose. I faithfully trudge after Basil and pray he’s wrong about his skills in this carnival game, just this once, and then I see what it sodding is.
Bloody fucking football.
No wonder he’s practically whooping about it. Well, as much as Baz might whoop. It’s basically just an overly enthused grin, the smile showing the in the curve of his cheek, a not-quite-there, but not-quite-not-there dimple, his eyes sparkling. I can’t very well tell him not to kick footballs about, it’s Baz Pitch, king of the pitch, it’s in his sodding name.
I find a nearby bench to sit my hindquarters on and plop myself down. At least from here I can partake in a particular favourite activity of my own: staring at Baz’s ass while he kicks bloody footballs about.
It’s been three whole years since Watford and 4 years since he played on any kind of regular team, and he has not lost his form. I rest my chin atop Mrs. Bear’s head and sigh. He’s so bloody handsome it hurts to look at sometimes. I think I feel myself losing braincells I turn so braindead just from the man bloody existing.
I hate him so bloody bad. (He’s so perfect I forget how to speak. He’s so handsome I forget how to breathe. I love him so badly it aches whenever he’s not around. Sometimes I think I’m going to be sick from how insane he makes me.)
He’s beaten the game in a solid minute, he’s such a fucking wanker, I love him so fucking much it’s ridiculous. He’s already walking his way back to me with a giant fucking pink kitten plush in his arms, with ridiculous white patches over it’s eyes, and then he does something that makes me love him some impossible amount more.
A small girl, no more than six or seven, I think, had apparently had shit luck with the game, because she’s looking up at Baz with the biggest pleading eyes I have ever seen on a child. He’s kneeling down to talk to her now and the girl’s adult, I think maybe an older sister or very young aunt, is waving her head, like Basil doesn’t have to do whatever he’s thinking about doing, but Basil only shrugs and hands over the plush like it was nothing.
Oh, he’s so smug and soft and kind and perfect, how bloody dare he.
I am going to snog him so sodding hard when we get home.
When he saunters over to me, he shrugs again, as if to say ‘what more can you do?’ but I still have every intention to rib him about it.
“Did you really just give away Sofia the Third of her Name without asking me?”
Baz perks a brow at me, relieving me of Mr. Bun’s company (how dare he?? We have been bonding??) and my arms thank him for it. “I can win you another if you like.”
“No, no,” I sniff dramatically and I can tell Basil knows I’m just taking the piss, “She seemed nice and not at all like an evil child. You can make it up to me in other ways.”
“And how might I appease his royal plush collector?” Basil doesn’t hesitate to rib me right back and I make a show of thinking about it, looping my arm around his and dragging him away from the games and towards the intoxicating smells of fried food.
“Well, you can start by telling me the little miss’s sob story,” I answer and lean myself a little more against my prick of an overconfident boyfriend as we walk, “And then maybe I’ll decide.”
It’s a lie, by the way, I’ve already decided.
Baz, of course, knows this, but he tells me anyway. “Well, she lost all her tickets trying to win a goldfish, but then fell in love with your Sofia the Third–”
“Sofia the Third of her Name,” I correct.
“Right. She fell in love with your Sofia, but with no tickets she couldn’t even attempt. Besides, it’s already past her bedtime and her aunt needs to get her back home before it gets too late. It wasn’t really much of anything. Sofia cost me basically nothing.”
“Because you game the system,” I’m nodding along even as I hear Baz start to huff over it. It makes me laugh a little.
“I’m just good at the bloody games–” He protests and I’m still laughing.
“Good at breaking them, yes,” I agree, already moving on, “Anyway, you can get me a ride on the ferris wheel with all your obscenely large plushies and a stick of fried butter.”
“Simon,” Baz looks down at me, utterly appalled, “I absolutely refuse to get you a stick of fried butter. I refuse to be party to your early, untimely, cholesterol-related death.”
“But Basil,” I give him my best impression of those puppy dog eyes, “I thought you loved me.”
“We are getting you your ferris wheel ride, but there is absolutely no way I’m kissing you post fried butter. I refuse.”
I’m still pouting ferociously at him.
He’s avoiding looking at me.
We’re stopped in front of the dreaded butter stall.
He’s still not looking at me.
I keep pouting.
He caves.
I’ve got my butter stick, my ferris wheel ride, and kisses at the very top of it, despite his complaints and protests.
I love him so much I might die. I might also die of too much butter intake. I don’t care. It’s stupidly delicious. I’m stupidly happy. He could ask me to marry him right now, I’d definitely say yes. He’s too busy bitching about my butter lips to ask me to marry him though. He’s lying through his teeth.He bloody well adores my butter lips and I know it.
10 notes · View notes
lazaruspiss · 6 months
Text
Gotham Knights: Villains
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Talia al Ghul: As the daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, she was raised to be the League of Shadows' second-in-command, and has been fiercely loyal to their cause since childhood. Growing up within the League, she has come to see people as chess pieces to be manipulated, though there was a brief time when another path seemed possible. In hindsight, our brief relationship was a mistake. I should have known she would never betray her father by leaving the League. In recent years, Talia has grown resentful of her father for passing her over as his replacement. Ra's al Ghul: One of my oldest and most dangerous enemies. The leader of the League of Shadows, Ra's always believed that humanity needs to be reset, free of the corruption infecting society for the last thousand years. He has killed countless innocents in pursuit of this goal. He is hundreds of years old thanks to the supernatural effects of the Lazarus Pit. Ra's is not immortal and has been obsessed with the idea that I replace him at the head of the League, despite our rivalry. In recent years he seems to be losing himself, becoming more volatile and losing his sense of purpose. This is likely due to his repeated exposure to the Lazarus Pit.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Mr. Freeze: Victor Fries is a brilliant scientist with an unfortunate condition that requires his body to operate at sub-zero temperatures. As Mr. Freeze, he is one of my oldest adversaries. He long promised he would reform once he found a cure for his wife Nora's condition. However, after her recovery she rejected him because of the atrocities he committed in her name. Now, he seems to be headed down a very dark path. I'm working to develop an antidote for his condition, but until he accepts responsibility for his actions, he will never truly be cured.. Clayface: Basil Karlo was once an actor, but his delusions of grandeur and his ego lead him into a life of crime. I was unable to save Karlo from the accident that turned him into the criminal known as Clayface, and he has held a personal grudge against me ever since. His anger and his ability to mold his body into any shape have made for a dangerous combination in our past encounters. The last time we faced off, Karlo fell to his death, having been torn apart by a turbine. I couldn't stop it. Karlo may have hated me, but he never deserved a violent end. Clayface's motivations are simple. Vengeance. He's a spiteful person who has gone from being a burgeoning actor to be a disgraced criminal.
Tumblr media
Harley Quinn: Harley's incredibly agile and uses her acrobatic kicks and flips mixed with a massive sledgehammer to fight through anything in her way. Determined and incredibly stubborn, Harley's got an innate sense of her own abilities and will never stop. Previously Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a rising star in the field of psychology, she turned to a life of crime and feeding on the chaos it offered. She worked with my worst enemy for some time before going her own way. Harley has recently shown signs that she is interested in rehabilitation, and I want to believe she is capable of it. I have recruited her to assist me with something on my latest case, something she is uniquely qualified to help with. My hope is that she will get a taste of the good she can do and that may help her turn over a new leaf.
14 notes · View notes
lilac-gold · 9 months
Text
Omori Incorrect Quotes
Omori: I currently have 7 empty notebooks and I have no clue what to put in them. Suggestions? Kel: Put spaghetti in it. Omori: I'm currently taking suggestions from literally anyone but you. Aubrey: Put spaghetti in it. Omori: I'm currently taking suggestions from anyone but you two. Hero: Put spaghetti in it. Omori: I'm no longer taking suggestions.
Aubrey: Why are Omori and Basil sitting with their backs to each other? Mari: They had a fight. Aubrey: Then why are they holding hands? Mari: They get sad when they fight.
Kel: *Screams* Aubrey: *Screams louder to assert dominance* Hero: Should we do something?! Omori, observing: No, I want to see who wins this.
Perfectheart: Do you have any skeletons in your closet? Sweetheart: You mean literally or figuratively? Perfectheart: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...
Pluto: Where are you going? Spaceboy: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there
Hero: What do you think Aubrey will do for a distraction? Kel: She’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do. *Building explodes and several car alarms go off* Kel: ... or she could do that.
Mari, struggling to keep upright in her 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me Sweetheart, pointing at her and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.
Omori: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Aubrey: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? Omori: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Kel: edible
Perfectheart: Violence isn't the answer. Sweetheart: You’re right. Perfectheart: *sighs in relief* Sweetheart: Violence is the question. Perfectheart: What? Sweetheart, bolting away: And the answer is yes. Perfectheart, running after her: NO-
Sweetheart: Rules are made to be broken. Mr Jawsum: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Spaceboy: Uh, piñatas. Rococo: Glow sticks. Kite Kid: Karate boards. Doughie: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Sweetheart: Rules. Mr Jawsum:
Hero: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me Kel: Okay, but in my defense, Aubrey bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo. Hero: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!
The squad is trying to con some random guy Biscuit: Um, Doughie, why are you pretending I'm this guy's family? Doughie: We need money! Biscuit: You're scamming him? Doughie: I was thinking more like flat-out stealing from him? Biscuit: What?! No way! Doughie: Why not? We already stole Rococo! Rococo: Hey guys Biscuit: No, we didn't. Rococo can think and talk for himself, he can do whatever he wants! Rococo: I wanna steal
Omori: Here’s a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it. Hero: no. Kel: Mistlefoe. Hero: Please stop encouraging him.
*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’* Pluto: Thanks fam! Spaceboy: oh no Rococo: *cries* I love you too Mr Jawsum: Sounds fake but okay Roboheart: *A flustered mess* Sweetheart: can i get a refund
24 notes · View notes
lacrymatoryao3 · 7 months
Text
Redemption Was Just The Beginning
Chapter 2: September, 1899 (Continued)
[1]
To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.
(Rated explicit simply because eventually there's smut in this.)
3,315 Words (AO3 Link)
Tumblr media
Ana Maria Gardener stood at the counter of the Hoosier cabinet in the kitchen as her son groggily ate his breakfast. She put together his lunch for the school day, wrapping the contents into a tea towel and placing it in a tobacco tin painted and shaped like a wicker picnic basket with a sealed glass bottle of milk.
Her son sighed and stood up, taking his plate to the sink, “How much longer do I have to do this again?”
“Do what? Go to school?” Ana replied in Spanish, “Well, you just turned 10. I’d like you to stay in until the term ends after you turn 13. I think you’ll be enough of a man by then to take over some of my responsibilities.”
The young boy turned and looked at her. She reached over and smoothed his straight, raven black hair and continued with a more gentle tone, “So, I’m afraid you have another 3 years.”
He rolled his eyes. They were striking for a child of his ethnicity, especially compared to his mother’s deep brown ones, bright and soulful ocean blue. They cut through anyone he gazed upon, almost glowing in contrast with his light tanned skin.
The grandfather clock chimed eight times. Ana handed her son a balled up bundle of mint, thyme, and basil to clean his mouth and teeth. He dutifully put it into his mouth, chewing it as she followed him into the living room for his coat and hat and out onto the porch of the house where she handed him his lunch and books. He leaned over the railing and spit the concoction out when they became tasteless, sauntering down the stairs to the barn.
Ana wrapped the wool shawl over her shoulders tighter for extra warmth. She looked at the overcast sky above Cain Valley and the rocky peaks of the Bear Mountains. Autumn had not even officially arrived yet, and the snow was already threatening. She frowned. Even after so long her Mexican blood hated the cold. It made her long for Guadalajara, the birthplace she hadn’t seen since she was a child.
Her son came back to the house riding on top of Josefina, a patient dark brown and white Tobiano patterned American Paint mare. Behind them he was leading Enrique, an old a trusty Appaloosa stallion with a coat of white with black Dalmatian spots. Ana had taught him well, the boy was so gentle and patient with them. It made him more experienced than others his age. In those moments, Ana allowed herself to think of his father.
Ana hitched Enrique to the post in front of the house. He reached up to her son, who leaned down and let her kiss him on the forehead.
“No fights!” She said firmly, “I do not need another letter from Miss Svensson about it!”
The boy nodded, but she knew by the look in his eyes he wasn’t going to promise anything he couldn’t keep, “Si, Mama. See you later.”
“I love you!” She called as he rode away to meet with the other children waiting at the main gate of the property.
“Love you too!” He replied.
The group wandered out of sight as the stage coach arrived, dropping off new visitors to the hotel she owned and picking up the old ones waiting on the porch. They were a diverse bunch, around similar ages give or take a few years. Some were Chinese from Mr. and Mrs. Liang, some were Irish from Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, a couple were black from Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, and hers half-Mexican. Despite their presence in the town for many years, and most accepting and welcoming of them, there were still ones who were not. That extended to their own children. It was no wonder her son, strong in his convictions, ended up getting into schoolyard brawls. Another thing of his father’s she saw in him, that she couldn’t curtail no matter how hard she tried.
She walked across the curved brick driveway to the inn on her property. Through a back door she entered a small office. She sat down at the desk, opening a time book sitting on the surface. She scanned through the names, noting the days and times they worked. Very rarely did the team she had miss days, or not fulfill the 8 to 10 hours she asked of them, without her knowing beforehand. She mentally totaled the pay for them. She went into the drawer and took out the stack of paychecks. She pulled out six of them and filled them out one after another, adding the same information each time with the exception of the names they were for.
She got up with the paychecks in hand, taking a satchel off a hook and putting them inside it before slinging it over her shoulder and across her chest so it rested on her hip opposite. She went to a safe hidden in a cabinet below a bookcase, entering the combination to open it. Inside was the money the inn made the past two weeks. She quickly counted it, first the bank notes and second the coins - $300.76 in total - before she put them in the satchel as well. She also grabbed a gun belt with a loaded revolver, buckling it around her waist under the bag.
Ana returned to Enrique at the her house, who was idly munching on some grass along the path as far has his tether could allow him to reach. She unhitched him and mounted him sidesaddle. She scratched him behind the ears, the horse making an unbothered huff as she guided him onto the main street to the general store a short ride away.
The general store was always busy, however the crowd always cleared the counter when Ana arrived. She politely greeted them, scanning for any unfamiliar faces who might cause trouble with the business she needed to attend to.
Behind the counter was a Mr. Latini. He was a scrawny man who always wore thick, round glasses and sported a mustache almost too big for his face. He had been the proprietor of the store, like his father before him, and shared 50/50 ownership with Ana since her husband passed on his businesses to her. It was something he was never thrilled with. She could always see it in his eyes when she came in for her half of the profits. For what reason she was never sure, perhaps because she was a woman, or because she was Mexican, or both, but he was smart enough to never debate about it. They both made out well in the end. She was never unkind or unfair, so they simply made their pleasantries and he gave her the money - $591.04 this time around. She nodded, put it in her bag, and got back on her horse.
The Farmer’s Bank of Cain Valley was the grandest building in the town. It was an ornate two story Neoclassical styled with large windows. Inside it was just as fancy with its carved wood paneling and accents and chessboard marble floor. It wasn’t busy yet, Ana being able to walk right up to one of the teller’s windows.
She took out the money and paychecks, sliding them to the teller, “I’d like to deposit the money and get these notarized to distribute.”
The teller gave her a slip and a pencil to fill out while he placed the proper stamps on the checks to make them exchangeable. They traded the pieces of paper and the teller took the money, recounting it at lighting speed to make sure he had the right amount. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a receipt.
“Thank you.” Ana said, putting them in her bag and departing.
The sky had cleared when she trotted back to her property on Enrique, the sky a vivid light blue and the sun warming the area a bit more. On payday Ana felt like she was on a grand tour of some sort. She would go into the blacksmith’s, paying to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. She would go to the stable, putting Enrique in the paddock and paying Mr. and Mrs. O’Hogan, despite the fact Mrs. O’Hogan’s work was limited due to how pregnant she was. Her last stop was back to the inn, going through the main entrance to pay Mrs. Liang, who would hold onto her husband’s for when he returned in the evening. Ana took her satchel and gun belt back into the office.
Between the house and the inn Ana picked some bundles of herbs in the large garden, some for cooking and some medicinal. She carried them inside, walking through the floral wallpapered hallway to the kitchen. She hung them over the oven range nestled in the old renovated hearth to dry. She pulled out some small logs from under the oven, placing them into the firebox. She filled a kettle with water from a pump attached to the dry sink and placed it onto the stove.
She brewed tea, sitting at a secretary desk in the living room. She filled out a ledger book to keep track of everything she did that day, then moved on to reading the September issue of Good Housekeeping. There was once a time she believed reading those ladies’ magazines would teach her how to be a proper, honest woman. Now it often reminded her that most of the men and women who wrote for them were rich and metropolitan, out of touch and no understanding of how most people lived or raised their children. Damn Easterners.
Mr. Liang drove in a few hours earlier than expected, surprising Ana to see the wagon pull up in front of the living room’s large bay window. He jumped from the driver’s seat and raced up the stairs to the porch. He knocked on the front door rapidly, not stopping until Ana answered.
Liang bowed, “Madam Ana! Sorry to bother, but something important came up as I was return.”
Ana’s brow furrowed, “Is everything all right, Mr. Liang?”
“Came across man at Bacchus.” Liang began to explain, “He in back. He not good shape. Seem very sick. It came and go during ride, but I thought you could be help.”
Ana nodded and followed Liang to the wagon. Liang climbed into the back of the covered bed, hearing him say something to the man. The stranger grunted and replied.
His voice… Could it -? No. Ana knew that wasn’t possible. She swallowed that hope, waiting for Liang and the stranger to emerge.
Liang guided him out with the stranger’s arm around his shoulder. Liang told him where to step and had him sit down on the platform that doubled as a seat, letting him catch is horrible sounding breath. Ana’s eyes widened. A rush of disbelief washed over her, so intense it made her light headed. She stumbled backward, grabbing the stair railing to steady herself.
“You all right, Madam Ana?” Liang asked. Ana wasn’t able to form the words to reply, still staring at the stranger. He finally looked at her. His eyes were still the deep and soulful pools of ocean blue she remembered, but their clear sparkle gone. They were glassy and graying, bloodshot and sunken. Their life replaced by a painful sorrow.
He squinted in vague recognition, “…Anie?”
Anie… She hadn’t heard that in so long… His voice was still the same deep and warm baritone, but more rugged and raspy with age. It subsided the shock. She went over to him, sitting next to him and almost collapsing in the seat. She reached out, almost expecting the figure before her to disappear in an instant until her hands rested on his cheeks. She took in his face. He was older now, as was she, but the lines from the rough life he had led suited him more than it did her much softer ones. He had a few more scars than just the one on his chin that she remembered. She could tell his nose had been broken many more times. There was also the pitiful things. His features were gaunt. Under the deep purple and yellow bruises he was so pale, except for his cheeks and lips which were a feverish blush which burned under her fingertips. His beard had traces of both old and fresh blood trapped in the hairs. Above it all, he was there before her. After so long, she had him in her grasp again.
“Arthur…” Ana whispered, holding back tears, “It’s you… Dear God, it’s you…”
He nodded weakly, “Yeah. It’s me.”
Ana embraced Arthur tightly, burying her face in his shoulder. He felt so thin and fragile. His proud and strong, broad body withered away.
“You shouldn’t be this close to me, Anie,” Arthur said, “I’m real sick.”
Ana nodded. She let him go and turned to Liang, “Mr. Liang, could you go into the house and prepare the sick room? Afterwards I need you to fetch Dr. Anderson to take a look at him.”
Liang bowed, “Yes Madam.”
Ana put her attention back on Arthur. She took the shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around his.
She sighed and shook her head, “You look like shit.”
Arthur remembered how blunt she could be, especially in her accent. He was unable to keep himself laughing, “I feel like shit.”
Ana helped Arthur stand. She led him into the inn, keeping her hand on his back. It felt nice for Arthur to be inside, warmed by the fire that crackled in the lobby.
“Mrs. Liang!” Ana called.
A small Chinese woman appeared from a hallway holding a stack of clean towels, “Yes, Madam Ana?”
“Are any of the bath rooms available? This gentleman here badly needs one.”
Mrs. Liang handed Ana some of the towels and a white nightshirt, “I just do up them all. Everything ready.”
Ana thanked Mrs. Liang and led Arthur down the hall. She chose one of the bigger baths. Despite how thin Arthur had become, he was still a rather large man. She didn’t think to ask, maybe she probably should have, but she was more focused on the task. She took the shawl off him first, then started for the closures of his suspenders to remove them.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Arthur remarked, putting his hands up to stop her, “What’re you doin?”
Ana put her hands on her hips and raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “What do you mean? You’re filthy. You clothes are filthy.”
“Yeah… But… Y’know…”
“Arthur, we have seen each other naked. It’s been a long time, but still. There’s no need for false modesty. Especially in your condition. I need to see how bad it is.”
Arthur relented. He knew she was stubborn when she was determined about something. At least, she was when she was younger. He just wished it wasn’t stripping him bare. She continued with his suspenders, throwing everything on a mirrored vanity. She moved on to the black bandanna he had tied around his neck, the one he used as a mask during robberies, then to his shirt. Ana made a remark about it, surprised it was still in one piece. He tried to recall if he had it that long, the beaten light blue shirt with dark blue double pinstripes. He had to agree it had seen better days, showing its wear and tear with stains of various substances and origins permanently soaked into the fabric.
“Hold still.” Ana ordered. She circled around him, inspecting every inch of his torso. His chest and stomach were deeply bruised like his face. She traced her fingers along the lines of his ribs, finding fractures that had begun to heal. He had a fresh scar on his left shoulder, still a light shade of pink. His condition heightened her worry. He was so underweight he was nearly a skeleton.
Her voice broke, “Oh, Arthur… What happened to you?”
Arthur winced, “Tuberculosis happened to me, Anie. And a man who ain’t even worth givin’ a name to.”
“Consumption…” Ana exhaled. She rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to gather her thoughts. He was right. If it was that disease, he was sick, and there was very little to do about it.
“Then I guess you came to the right place.” Ana added. She tapped him chest, motioning to sit on a stool next to the bathtub. She pulled the boots off his feet, and helped him take off his pants. Like a mother, she instructed him to get in the tub.
The steaming hot water felt good on Arthur’s infirm body, scented by lavender and rose oil. He laid back with a hum, watching Ana wander around the room to get things. She put a large bath sponge and a bar of Castile soap on the tray over the tub, going to the vanity and producing a shaving kit and a pair of scissors. She sharpened the razor blade before sitting down on the stool, dipping the shaving brush into the foamy cream and painting his beard with it. As she was with other blades Ana handled the razor well, carefully but quickly taking the hair off his jaw starting from below his right ear and ending below his left. She dipped the razor in the water to wash it off and dried it. She wiped the rest of the shaving cream off Arthur’s face with a washcloth that was warmed on top of the pot bellied stove in the room.
Ana smiled and rubbed the scar on Arthur’s chin, “There you are! There’s the handsome man I knew.”
“I’m gonna have to disagree with you,” Arthur chuckled, “ain’t nothin’ handsome ‘bout me.”
Ana made a sour expression and then rolled her eyes. She dipped the bristles of a hairbrush into the water. She started working on his hair, which had grown long and fell down his neck. She brushed it until whatever trapped in his locks had been removed and it shone with golden tones of polished copper. They didn’t speak for a while as Ana focused on cutting his hair. She wasn’t a barber by any means, but trimmed it to a normal length for a man and keeping it a little bit longer on top. She gave it one last douse before parting it on his right side.
Arthur was the one to break the silence, “Madam, huh?”
“Only the Liangs call me that.” Ana replied as she moved on to washing his body, “It has something to do with their culture putting an importance on honorifics. The Chinese have a very specific view on courtesy.”
“I guess. Jus’ sounds weird is all.” Arthur said, hissing through the ache when she went over a bruise, “How long you been here anyway, Anie?”
“Ten years. I ended up here after…” Ana trailed off.
He looked at her and nodded, “I understand.”
“I was fortunate somehow.” Ana continued, “I got married. I had a baby. My husband died. I got left with this business of his. My son is t-… Nine now.”
“At least one of us figured out how to live honest.”
“It wasn’t easy, Arthur. In fact, it was almost unbearable for a couple of years. When you spend all your life on the run, doing whatever you needed to do to survive in spite of any law. Ending up on the other side of it, your instincts still remain.”
Ana assisted Arthur out of the tub. She wrapped him in the warm towels and helped him dry off. He put on the knee length white cotton nightshirt and a pair of matching slippers. After all of what he bad been through, he had to admit it was nice to be clean.
12 notes · View notes
duhragonball · 11 months
Text
Dragon Ball Super 083
Tumblr media
It’s baby time!
Tumblr media
No seriously, it’s baby time right now.  Get your li’l butt on out here, we got stuff to do.
Tumblr media
This the episode where Bulla is born, which was a big deal for the fandom, since we all expected Bulla’s birth to take place at some point during this series, but it was starting to seem like they’d never get around to it. 
The problem with this episode is very little else actually happens.  The least Bulma could do is get trapped in an elevator or something and Beerus has to deliver the baby by himself. There are TV shows that can get all sorts of mileage out of delivering a baby, but Dragon Ball Super isn’t one of them.
So the gang returns from the Zeno Expo and find Chi-Chi cooking food  while Bulma tries to encourage the baby to be born.  From what I can tell she’s already passed her due date and she just wants to get on with this. Beerus just wants to eat, since this might be his last meal before the entire universe gets erased.  Shin wants to hurry up and get a team put together.
Tumblr media
Gohan asks Shin how many inhabited planets exist in Universe 7, and Shin says there’s only 28, a number I find comically low.  For one thing, Akira Toriyama has introduced dozens of alien characters over the years, and every time Jaco does anything, we wind up meeting several more.  There’s a “Frieza Planet 79″ in this series, and I’m pretty sure Frieza named it that because it was the 79th planet he had conquered.
Also, Shin admits that he hasn’t even surveyed them all yet, which sounds pretty stupid if there’s only 28 of them.   What’s he been doing all this time?  Anyway, he doesn’t know of any warriors on those other planets who would be strong enough to help with this, and there isn’t enough time to go gallivanting off into space looking for something they might not even find.  So they agree to confine their recruitment drive to Earth for the moment.  
Tumblr media
Goku brings up a fantastic point: Monaka, whom Beerus claimed was the strongest mortal warrior in their universe.  But that was just a dumb lie Beerus made up to get Goku motivated, one that has backfired spectacularly twice over.  Beerus never told Goku the truth, and he’s not about to start now, so he says he already contacted Monaka and he’s too sick to participate. 
Tumblr media
So Goku and Gohan start throwing out names and when Krillin’s comes up, they do some image battling to simulate how Krillin would fare against Basil, one of the U9 fighters they met earlier.  Gohan doesn’t like Krillin’s chances, but Goku insists that he’ll be fine.  Then why did they do the image battle?
Tumblr media
Mr. Satan brings up Android 18, which also suggests the possibility of Android 17, if they can find him.  Shin asks if they’d be allowed to compete, since they’re “robots”, but Gohan clarifies that they’re enhanced humans.  Beerus pretends he didn’t hear that and says he’ll take whoever they can find as long as they can win.  What, so are cyborgs forbidden now too?  First time travel, now this.  It’s like Beerus hates the whole Cell Saga or something.  Up yours, Lord Beerus.
Tumblr media
The boys ask Vegeta to join the team, but he refuses, on account of he wants to be here when Bulma gives birth.  Beerus commands him to join the team, but he tells him that he’ll have to clear it with Bulma first, and that takes the starch out of Beerus real quick.  See?  It’s fun watching Beerus squirm. 
Tumblr media
So Whis goes to see Bulma and just teleports the baby out of Bulma’s body.  Or something.  What, am I a doctor?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Vegeta doesn’t like it when people make faces at the baby.
Tumblr media
Vegeta had been planning to give the baby a proper Saiyan name, one befitting a royal, but Bulma beat him to the punch and named her “Bulla”.  See?  The paper says so, no backsies.  Vegeta was planning on Eschallot, which does sound pretty good, especially when Chris Sabat says it with a bit of French accent. 
I’m pretty sure “Bulla” is a Saiyan name, though.  I mean, Toriyama named her after the word “bra” in keeping with the underwear theme of Bulma’s family, but “Bulla” can also be a play on the second half of “vegetable”.   Can’t help you with “Trunks”, though.
Tumblr media
Besides, Vegeta gets over it quickly enough.  Anyway, he can now join the team for the Tournament of Power.
Tumblr media
Meanwhile, Yamcha hears about the Tournament of Power, and dreams up this whole fantasy of getting asked to join the team, then turning them down, only to show up later right before the event begins so he can save the day. 
I have been critical of how the gang snubbed Yamcha for this thing, but now that I’m rewatching the series, I see how how this was kind of Yamcha’s own fault.  They didn’t ignore Yamcha.  If he’d asked to join, I’m sure they would have considered him, but he didn’t ask because he was waiting for them to ask, and if they had asked him, he would have turned them down.  So while he was waiting for his moment, they got a full roster and moved on, never suspecting that he was interested. 
That doesn’t let the creators off the hook, though.  Yamcha would have kicked ass in the Tournament of Power.  I’d rather have him on the team than Master Roshi of all people.
Anyway, that’s pretty much it. 
47 notes · View notes
thethirdromana · 11 months
Note
Do you have any thoughts on Dorian's protestation that he's not responsible for the vices of his peers, vis à vis the ongoing question of how responsible Lord Henry is for Dorian's *all that* ?
I started writing a nice short answer to this, then it turns out that in fact I have many thoughts, all a bit disconnected from each other. Sorry about that.
So TPODG is all about layers upon layers of influence. Dorian's influence on his peers is one of those layers; so is Lord Henry's influence on Dorian; so is the influence of the "poisonous" yellow book on Dorian; and above all of that, there's Wilde's influence on his readers and artists' influence on their audience in general, which the preface primes us to start thinking about.
Dorian's influence on his peers One thing I've just spotted is that Dorian disclaims his responsibility when it comes to corrupting men ("what is that to me?") but hedges when it comes to corrupting women ("You go too far"). Maybe that's because he is more responsible - I think the implication of chapter 12 is that Dorian had consensual affairs with Lady Gwendolen and Lord Gloucester's wife, but it's ambiguous.
There's a whole bundle of things that are probably too much to get into here: the fuzzy line for Victorians between being the victim of sexual assault vs being a willing and eager participant in an affair; Victorian feelings on female agency in general; and whether you could show a respectable noblewoman willingly committing adultery in a Victorian novel without being condemned for obscenity (see reactions to Jude the Obscure, for instance). I'm not sure which of these things were the greatest influence behind the choice of vices that Wilde implies.
Lord Henry's influence on Dorian Basil is the moral voice of the novel, and Basil thinks Dorian's influence is his own fault. But equally, Basil has heard all the same things from Lord Henry as Dorian has, and even quotes Henry in Chapter 12 ("I remember Harry saying once that every man who turned himself into an amateur curate for the moment always began by saying that, and then proceeded to break his word") but Basil remains a good man. So the very existence of Basil is an argument against the idea that Dorian is responsible for his friends' vices, or that Lord Henry is responsible for Dorian's.
The yellow book's influence on Dorian The book has a poisonous influence on Dorian... but Dorian "never sought to free himself from it". He is corrupted, but only because he lets himself be corrupted. He has agency that he declines to use. He could read something different! The novel concedes the point that what you read influences your choices, but not that this exonerates Dorian. (And interestingly, it's always the fault of the book, as if it were an independent actor, not the fault of the writer).
Wilde's influence on his readers The collected reviews and letters about TPODG, including Wilde's defence, are a fun read (nb spoilers for the ending):
(Wilde's replies are, above all, spectacularly snobbish. I'm less surprised that they hated him after reading them.)
It includes the critics who managed to miss the point spectacularly:
The "moral," so far as we can collect it, is that man's chief end is to develop his nature to the fullest by "always searching for new sensations," that when the soul gets sick the way to cure it is to deny the senses nothing, for "nothing," says one of Mr. Wilde's characters, Lord Henry Wotton, "can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
I mean. Guys. How much do you have to not get it to think that Lord Henry is a character we're supposed to agree with??
There's a three-way argument about the influence of the novel, where the options are:
It has no influence beyond what you bring to the table; it's art for art's own sake; there is no such thing as a moral or immoral book. Wilde makes that argument in his letters, though I always feel like there's an undercurrent of irony there.
It has a negative moral influence; it's corrupting and should have been censored. This is the view of the Scots Observer, among others: "Mr. Oscar Wilde has again been writing stuff that were better unwritten."
It has a positive moral influence; its moral is good. The Speaker thought so: "[Wilde] might fairly have insisted on the particular proposition—that the teaching of the book is conspicuously right in morality. If we have correctly interpreted the book's motive—and we are at a loss to conceive what other can be devised—this position is unassailable."
I think TPODG exists more to have this argument than to win it. No matter what your view, the different layers of influence in the novel give you something to argue with. I enjoy that a lot, and I suspect Wilde did too.
20 notes · View notes
strawwystraw · 2 years
Text
Michael Afton headcanons
He was born in 1967-1968 (I can't decide) on the 2nd of March
He has autism and ADHD
He was never diagnosed and no-one recognised his autism and ADHD, meaning they didn't accommodate, so he grew up thinking there was always a problem with him that just couldn't be 'fixed'
He was always talented in art and was encouraged by his mother. This ended up becoming the only/main thing he was validated for, making him build the majority of his self worth off of it, until he lost a lot of motivation to do art when his mother died and had to cope with the fact that he couldn't do it as much as he used to
He started getting back into it a lot more post-scoop
He did commissions at one point for some extra money
He's rather materialistic
His opinions of other can change a lot very quickly
One thing that can make him instantly dislike someone is them bringing up his family and/or the bite
He despises fazbear entertainment (obviously), but when they started to try and capitalise off the tragedies of the freddy locations, his hatred somehow grew
He joked about getting free pizza in the logbook but he hates the unnecessary amount of basil that is on freddy's pizza
He would rather do anything but take the dayshift. He hated being at fredbears when he was younger because of his sensory issues and he's not dealing with that again
He's like the handyman in his neighbourhood
He's not talkative, is quite reclusive, and isn't that charismatic, but he helps around alot
He shares similar facial features with his father but he got his mother's curly hair. He got freckles from both of them and his blue eyes were recessive
He's 6ft 1 and is of average attractiveness
He comes off as almost unfeeling but in reality he's very emotional
He has a childish sense of humour but will never admit it and has to stop himself from laughing at silly jokes when others are around him
He could be a good babysitter for a few hours but he could never be a good parent
He doesn’t like children because he thinks they're really mean
When he was a teenager, he was constantly angry. As an adult, he is still always angry if he doesn't have an outlet but now he is also constantly sad
He's an asshole, but he learnt to keep a lot of things to himself when he began middle school (although it didn't always work)
Petty as fuck
Uses exercise as an outlet for his anger
He switches between constant exercise to not doing anything for around a week
His favourite type of popcorn is sweet popcorn
Can cook but executive dysfunction gets in the way
Hes aromantic and asexual
Everyone headcanons that he faked an American accent when he was younger but I say he didn't have to because he rarely talked in the first place
When he's mad he's either extremely sarcastic or aggressive
Overtime he was healed by remnant, and was able to fit into society again. Thanks to this, he got access to the Internet, and then got access to the fandom surrounding the fazbear locations and it's tragedies
He has never been as infuriated as he was then
He talks to and visits his aunt (Mrs Afttons side) a lot. He wished she was his mother or that he could have been raised by her
Massages his throat often because he still gets the feeling somethings there, after the minireenas
He found a minireena still lurking in the house. He crushed and burned it
63 notes · View notes
aristocratic-otter · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
I'm hyped up by the quality of the work y'all are posting, @j-nipper-95, @blackberrysummerblog, @artsyunderstudy, @alleycat0306, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, and @whogaveyoupermission. And @ionlydrinkhotwater, I'm so excited for the dark AU!
As for me, it feels like I'm posting things constantly lately, but it's just a confluence of several events I've been working towards hitting their deadline and several long term WIPs somehow finishing around the same time. I promise it won't be like this for long. But I've still got, lol, two projects posting in the next seven days. Below are some snips of what I've been working on lately.
From my Age of Sail Au:
Baz
Being on a truce with Snow is harder than I thought it would be. For one, I have to constantly fight my father’s voice in my head. The voice that would say, when I wistfully watched some street urchins playing ball or jacks or other tomfoolery, “Basil, you are going to be a lord. You must not lower yourself by associating with such riffraff.”
I was a lonely kid. Our estate was miles from the nearest family my father considered elevated enough for me to associate with. But kids were all around me–the children of the maids and gardeners, children of the townsfolk when my father drove us through town. And they always seemed so happy. 
Sometimes I hated them for it. 
From my first day on this ship, Simon Snow seemed like another such street rat. Or maybe ship rat would be more fitting. Even though he worked like a full-grown man, he was always full of smiles and laughter. He’d joke with the crew and smile in adoration at that arsehole cook. 
And he’d stare at me, scowling, anywhere I went. 
I hated him. 
From the upcoming chapter of the Naked Next,
Penny
Baz has been trying to run engineering protocols from the bridge for the last fifteen minutes, and I don’t like the expression on his face. His scowl tells me that the news is not good. 
“Progress, Lieutenant? I say. 
“I’m afraid, Captain, that we’ve been locked out of everything. I can at least confirm that McNeil is the only crew member in engineering; there’s only one life sign in there.” The only evidence of his alarm is the tightness of his voice, but for Baz Grimm-Pitch, that’s practically a screaming fit. 
“Maybe he’s not too far gone to be reasoned with,” I say, thinking aloud. I tap my comm badge. “Mr. McNeill, come in please.”
“I’ll come in, Captain,” the voice that comes through is sly and insinuating. “I’ll come in whenever and wherever you want, babe.”
I clench my fists as I fight to keep my voice even. “Mr. McNeill. I can’t come in. You’ve got the doors to engineering locked.”
There’s near silence for a moment, though I think I hear humming. Then McNeil’s voice returns, but this time, he’s singing. “Oh, I’m the king of the ship here, sir, I’m the king of the fleet, I’m a jolly fellow, sir, as fine as you’ll ever meet.”
Lieutenant Murray winces at the off-key serenade. “At least he can still rhyme,” I hear him mutter to Ensign Elspeth. 
From my COBB (Posting on the 8th!)
Penny
I swear, Simon’s gone round the twist. He’s not been talking about Baz since the Normal started joining us at mealtimes. Instead he just stares and twitches and his magic stinks up the room. 
Maybe he needed to talk about Baz. Maybe the act of talking about Baz let off enough steam that it kept Simon from exploding, like a release valve on a boiler.
Ok, it's late and I'm tired, so I won't add more or tag anyone. Have a good day, y'all!
10 notes · View notes
aeide · 9 months
Note
10, 17, for the book ask thingy thing. Yeah
10. do you have a guilty fav?
I recently-ish decided I'm too grown for guilt. so I'll interpret this as a book I love despite it not being high literature / other people hating it, etc. the one that comes immediately to mind is the goldfinch by donna tartt. is it 400 pages too long? yes. is the polish in it nonsense run through google translate? yes, according to my polish friend. are large parts of it wildly unbelievable even under the suspension of disbelief of a novel? yes. is the book really super weird about women and anyone who isn't white? extremely.
but the enduring grief and brokenness of this little boy who lost his mother and never recovered is something that came through powerfully for me from the beginning of the book, and I still think about it sometimes, even though it's now been many years since I read it.
17. top 5 children’s books?
the outsiders by s.e. hinton, which I've read 1 billion times, and maybe will read again this weekend now that I've been reminded of it. truly a formative reading experience for baby aeide!
little women by louisa may alcott. is this a children's book? I'm counting it because they start off as children and because it's one of the first books I remember reading by myself in english. honestly it doesn't hold up for me as much now as an adult because of all the weird moralizing and yes I still despise amy, but I have a lot of nostalgic fondness for it.
number the stars by lois lowry. I remember regularly checking this book out from the library as a child and asking my mother incessant questions about the holocaust, which I think made her think I was a very morbid child.
royal diaries series and in particular the one about elizabeth I, which kicked off a fairly intense childhood fascination with the house of tudor, burning people at the stake, and all those beheaded wives. it is possible I was, in fact, a morbid child.
from the mixed-up files of mrs basil e frankweiler by e.l. konigsburg. two kids run away and live at the met. who wouldn't want that??? I recently learned that my husband has never heard of this book so I don't know what he was doing for his entire childhood but I might need to make him read it.
honorable mention for the true confessions of charlotte doyle!!
ask me stuff about books!
8 notes · View notes
barrowdearest · 10 months
Note
Oh for sure (In terms of Thomas having read Dorian Gray) even if it was heavily censored in its 1890 publication there are clear homoerotic vibes to anyone looking. Also not to be incredibly boring because I’ve studied this period/Oscar too much - Oscar’s trial testimony in 1895 was put verbatim in the newspapers and whilst it was likely done to condemn it just shows his wit. Paraphrasing but at one point the prosecutor is like I wouldn’t write this about another man (Bosie) and he’s basically like well obviously you couldn’t (implying he had no talent). Sorry random late 19th century working class North thought, there’s a totally common misconception that only the gentry and aristocrats had sympathy toward homosexuality and the show is unrealistic in vague tolerance but it actually wasn’t the case. As long as a man was of good character and a hard worker this so called ‘fault’ of character could be overlooked in a lot of working class northern communities- arguably Thomas wasn’t considered of good character which for some would have been a bigger sin haha. Anyway sorry for the ramble
Oh don’t apologize for rambling, I love it!
At first I just made the connection between Thomas and Basil because of how similar they behave (in the way that both can’t really have what [or who] they want and are obliged to push whatever they feel aside), and just the canon of beauty and similarities between Dorian and Jimmy; both having this (much to the end) carefree personalities and charisma that makes people either love them or hate them.
But returning to Wilde and whether his literature was read by Thomas (which, like you pointed, most definitely was), I’ve always wondered what the servants read. Specifically Thomas, but even the rest is interesting too, cause we definitely see them in separate occasions reading a book or at least having a shelf with them. I think the only distinct title we get to see is the book Robert gives to Carson during Christmas in season 2. And I think I recall reading in one of the series companion books about, precisely, what would they read, but they only mentioned maybe Mrs. Patmore reading the Bible. I’m not an expert in English literature (I do have a degree in literature, but is in spanish/hispanic literature), but it would be interesting to try and guess what other books occupied their shelves.
And just to finish my ramble, I think it’s so interesting what you say about people not being able (or rather, not wanting to) overlook Thomas being gay because he wasn’t of good character. I mean, we don’t really get many or more queer characters in Downton, but I’ve always thought that it’s implied that Bertie’s cousin was gay, but it’s not presented as shocking or as important as it was with Thomas. Or even when Robert jokes about every guy in Eton trying to kiss him, ; those actions are not put in the same level as Thomas’.
And, anyone, please feel free to add to this!! Whatever you think they liked to read or what authors would be relevant to the characters in Downton. Or really, anything!
8 notes · View notes
mkalodeas · 10 months
Text
Oiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
Listen up. I'm about to go on a Dorian Gray Character Analysis Rampage. Why? Simple, it's because someone decided that we were to be assessed on it for English. Which I will be writing tomorrow...(• ▽ •;) I totally did NOT procrastinate studying or anything...
Umhghhghg *cough* *cought*
Anyway, let me begin with the first character we meet.
In the novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray" written by Oscar Wilde, we are introduced to many different characters whom all have various motives and beliefs. It is through these characters that Sir Oscar Wilde debates many ideas that were scorned by people in the Victorian era.
The first character we are met with is Lord Henry Wotton (Absolute Bastard, The Bastard™[Hate this guy]), this is the character through whom Mr. Wilde displays the ideals of Aestheticism (value beauty) and Hedonism (value pleasure). He is a cold man and he views the world as a means to an end, he has no remorse for any of his actions.
(I'm not just claiming that) "...and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand and seemed to promise rich and fruitful results." Chapter 4, page 69 (in the textbook version I own), is a quote from the book that Lord Henry Wotton makes. In fact the entire passage tells the reader how Lord Henry Wotton views the main character; as an experiment. He is a manipulative and despicable person, and he is who Mr. Oscar Wilde chooses to use as the devil's advocate for his main character.
Then there is Basil Hallward; a peaceful, artistic and honest man. Basil is the complete opposite of Lord Henry. Though he does create the infamous picture, he never meant for it to become what it did. The picture was an honest representation of what he thought of Dorian Gray and was something he put much of himself in, as he says in the novel.
Basil is the moral compass of the story and it is for that reason we do not see much of him, because the novel is not about good being triumphant over evil. It is about the error of humankind and the twisted artwork that is the human psyche. Basil is the voice of reason that Mr. Wilde incorporated into his novel.
Finally, Dorian Gray the title character. Whom is weak willed when it comes to any form of responsibility and lacks the discipline to put any action behind the promises he makes to his self-conscience. He is whom the Victorian era would recognise as the epitome of beauty and with that recognition the assumption that he could do no wrong. Beauty back in that time was associated with good and innocence, which when first met Dorian is exactly.
He is a naive and entitled young adolescent, 20 years of age and easily influenced. However, he changes after a single conversation with Lord Henry Wotton and he knows that the ideas Lord Henry has planted in his mind are like weeds that will do him much disgrace. Dorian does not care about that and in fact already begins blaming everyone but himself for his actions and their consequences.
It is through such a thought process and the influence of Lord Henry Wotton that Dorian spirals into the world of Hedonism and Aestheticism where he eventually meets his demise.
Sir Oscar Wilde wrote "The Picture of Dorian Gray" with every intention of shocking the Victorian public and he definitely succeeded. Though that was not the only thing he sought to do, he wanted to shed light on the hypocrisy of the era and how it effected everyone. He did this by using characters like Lord Henry Wotton to embody the ideals of the era and Basil Hallward to be the moral compass. It is Dorian Gray whom is the stand in for consequences of leading such a life and how twisted the thought process of those who do is.
Thank you for reading my manic essay that probably won't help me a single bit. But I just wanted to rant about how much I dislike Dorian and Lord Henry.
Anywho, I have got to go. English test tomorrow and all. Byeeee(づ。◕‿‿◕。)づ
7 notes · View notes
vergess · 1 year
Note
Curious question, how many Sherlock Holmes adaptations have you watched? Also, if you watched several , which one is your favorite?
Well, setting aside the Great Mouse Detective because it's unfair to compare other adaptations to something I loved as a child and thus can only view with perfect adoration in spite of any actual truths.
I am a tumblr user of repute, so I've of course seen the BBC's Sherlock. I think that A Study in Pink is the best episode in the show because the editing and cinematography are outstanding and serve the story beautifully. The writing is mediocre but competently sets expectations for the quality of the rest of the show. Then the second episode is so shockingly racist. So overall, it's bad, but influential in fandom whether we want it to be or not. I enjoyed it at the time, but as a more... like. Informed adult? It's bad. Don't bother.
A Study in Emerald. Short story by Neil Gaiman. Barely constitutes an adaptation, but we deserve to be reminded of good writing after that last one. It's available for free on Mr Gaiman's website, here:
Apparently there's a graphic novel version of Emerald, but I've not read it. Unless the graphic novel is just the fake newspaper on the website? Wikipedia was somewhat unclear.
Downey Jr movies: I love them. Absolutely horrible adaptations, but fucking amazing films. More fun than you're expecting. Highly recommended.
Elementary: Probably the best modern adaptation. Captures the serial spirit and commitment to Solving Mysteries Realistically of the original. However, I cannot watch it. The lead actor's performance is basically perfect for 'what would the Holmes character be like today' but I cannot stand it for some reason. I haaaaate watching him, and that makes this one hard for me. I recommend it highly anyway.
I watched two of the Basil Rathbone films to the point of nausea as a kid, but over exposure to the Worst Kinds Of White People in high school discussions of his body of films left a bitter taste for me. Because these films were an adaptation for an audience MUCH closer to the audience of the original stories, there is a period and character authenticity that just cannot be matched by anything else. Honestly, if you only ever watch one adaptation, it should be one of these. I say that in spite of these movies attracting the worst people on earth. There's a reason the 'generic' image of Holmes looks that way, and it's Basil Rathbone.
I've only seen the Peter Cushing movie, not the show. But, he's very much the performance I imagine in my head when reading the stories these days. My favourite live action Holmes actor, and a really top tier Watson. Definitely worth the time. I'm told the show is, um. Not so good on the Watson front.
I didn't like The Private Life of Holmes. I thought it sucked. I have no redeeming statements for it. It's objectively better that the 2010 BBC show, but I have nostalgia for that one's fandom. I just hate this one. It's bad!! Watch anything else. Watch the Great Mouse Detective, it has the same plot but it doesn't suck.
Young Sherlock Holmes is also a bad movie, but it's a bad Pixar Kids Movie so it's still perfectly competent for what it wants to be. If you need something to give a Holmes loving kid under 12 has 'seen them all' give them this. It's forgettable, and thus kids never really see it anymore.
I haven't seen Enola Holmes yet, but I'll probably get around to it. So I guess that's a tentative recommendation there.
The BBC radio drama Adventures of Holmes and its sequel Further Adventures of Holmes is REALLY FUCKING GOOD. If you like podcasts or audio books or stage plays, you have GOT to try these. The first half is a complete adaptation of every Holmes story, and the second half is professional fanfic of identical quality. I've never tried the American version and don't intend to.
I liked the 3 VHS tapes of the Granada tv series that I watched as a little kid, but I honestly couldn't tell you if they're good. I haven't watched any of it since I turned 9. A lot of people like them to the point of thinking Jeremy Brett is THE Holmes actor, so they had to be doing something right.
Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century and Case Closed are both like... impossible for me to parse as Holmes adaptations. Wikipedia says they are but like........ okay. I've seen them both and they are their own entities to me lol. Case Closed in particular is bomb as hell, highly recommended. But like... in a retro anime way, not a Holmes way.
Miss Sherlock has been good so far. I haven't watched enough to have a strong opinion beyond, like. Gay shit. As a Known Fagotte, I gotta say. They sure did cast very attractive actresses and leave all the homoeroticism in place. This, reasonably IMO, distracts me from having anything valuable to say.
The Star Trek TNG episodes with Data and Moriarty are obviously personal favourites. If you can suspend your disbelief enough to accept the god like powers of the holodeck, I think it's a really good time.
And the only one I can remember that wasn't on the Wikipedia list of adaptations is Slylock Fox. These are riddle comics for very young kids, like, ages 3-7. They're to help early readers learn new vocabulary and practice critical thinking. They were my very, very first Holmes media.
I. Hated. Those. Goddamn. Comics. I wanted to kill them. Not the characters or the author, but the comics themselves as a concept. I NEVER solved ANY of the fucking riddles, and to this DAY I will NEVER FORGET that latex paint dyes water and oil paint doesn't.
Tumblr media
Probably good for kids who get bored in class a lot, but be ready for the rage.
13 notes · View notes
starscribes · 4 months
Text
NaNo Update Day 15
Words Written Today: 1929
Words Written Total: 24589
Overall Feeling: Mostly good I think? I'm enjoying setting up the monster-hunting team but I need a good name for them. And I felt like I did a lot of info-dumping today
Song: Lately by Shapes and Colors is from Sebastian's playlist because this feels like a song he would write, the actual voice of the artist is similar to the tone and pitch I imagine for him but the song also does a lot to describe how he feels on the inside about romance. He hates silence and he hates being alone, so he's very...active in the romance scene, sometimes in all the wrong ways. A big thing holding him back is his fear of commitment, because of the secret that he has to hide from all his potential partners, but when he meets a beautiful monster hunter in a different dimension could this barrier be broken through? *raises eyebrow*
Snippet: (under the cut) (two for today to fit today's theme of Sebastian and Scarlett)
Everyone started standing up to leave, but the blonde woman next to me turned in her chair to face me, a beautiful smile on her face. “That was amazing, Mr. Devlin, a brilliant presentation!” “Thanks, and call me Sebastian,” I replied, although I hadn’t really meant for it to be a presentation or brilliant, I was just bored. “I don’t think I caught your name.” “Oh, my apologies,” she blushed. “My name is Scarlett Basil, I’m apprenticed to the Commander, he’s my great uncle, he took me in after my father passed from Icy Fever.” Once she finished she blushed even more red. “That was…more than just my name, wasn’t it?” “I did think it was an oddly long name,” I smiled my signature charming smile. “But it’s nice to meet you, M-.” I started looking for a ring on her finger to determine if she was married but then realized that since I was in another world, they might not have the same traditions that we do. “You can just call me Scarlett,” she quickly assured, a certain flirtatiousness to the way she started to stand up, or maybe I was reading too much into it. “And it was nice to meet you as well.”
Later...
I shivered as the carriage pulled away from the museum and headed back to the detective’s house. The commander’s apprentice was that pretty girl from the meeting. Scarlett. What a beautiful name. I wanted to test it out, see how it felt for her name to move through my lips. “Scarlett is the commander’s apprentice, right?” I asked, giving myself an excuse, it felt good to say.
3 notes · View notes
tempural · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
ollie n basile 💖💙 remember to stan your own characters!
their ages vary a lot depending on the Problematic Ship Trope (the older the better for Basile 😏), but this is their default in HOOKY!  
I did not realize how many toxic traits Basile ticked, but that’s great.  He’s the toxic Squidward friend who drags you down into his pit of despair (but that squidussy so good).  And despite Ollie being an absolute idiot, Basile only looks smarter by comparison.  He’s still stupid and makes bad choices.
transcription:
Names: Ollie / Mr. S (basile)
Age: 23 / 58
Problematic ship trope: Squidbob (elderly neighbor harassment)
Negative first impressions: “Ew!!! He’s FRENCH!” / “It lives in its mom’s basement.”
If they got sent to jail, it was because: Sold oregano as weed / Stabbing
Biggest complaint about the other: Sourpuss / annoying
Spy is 100% remorseless and neutral between evil-doer and innocent.  Scout is neutral between evil-doer and innocent as well, and 10% more on the remorseless side than apologetic.
Spy is 100% arrogant, no humbleness at all, and 33% of the way to idiot.  Scout is 100% idiot and 70% arrogant.
Toxic Traits: 
Ollie is manipulative, narcissistic, and argumentative.  His custom toxic trait is “manchild”.
Basile is manipulative, dishonest, uncommunicative, narcissistic, infidelity, contemptuous, and argumentative.  
0-100% scales:
I can fix him - I can make him worse: Ollie is 33% and wants Mr. S to cheer up, Basile is 50% and doesn’t care.
Casual - Devoted: Ollie is 110%, Basile is -10%
Unpleasant Sex - Mindblowing Sex: Ollie is 110% (dude is just excited to get laid), Basile is 50%-80% in a squiggly confused line.  He kinda likes getting pounded like a rubber doll, but kinda hates it.
Indifferent - IN LOVE!!!: Ollie is 110%, Basile is -10%.
42 notes · View notes