#alas poor yorik

[thehamletdiaries]

Also bought at the National Theatre - new notebook and a matching bag.

#hamlet #shakespeare #hamlet x horatio #tragic danish boyfriends #alas poor yorik

[trollbreak]

Also need to draw eiteth sometime in the alas poor yorik pose. Bitch has a collection of bones they’ve 1000000% done that at some point lol

[courtpheasent]

A Brief Analysis of the “Alas! Poor Papyrus!” Line and Why It Hurts Me

We’ve all got a favorite quote from Undertale. It’s hard not to, with how good the writing and story telling is. I can still quote many lines from memory.

However, one line in particular often goes over looked. It’s not all that surprising, as it really doesn’t seem like to much on the surface. Just three lines of amusing filler before the real shit hits the fans. I think it’s more than that.

In a Neutral route, Papyrus will say two things upon his death. Firstly, when in the initial decapitation he will say “Alas! Poor Papyrus!” while still holding his head. Next, he will declare “Well, at least I still have my head!” before finally dying.

The last quotation is going to need an analysis of its own, so we’re just gonna focus on the first one for right now.

(Screenshot credit to Fallen Rub from SomethingAwful forums)

So! First off, that’s a pretty weird thing to say. Imagine your head just for socked off my a homicidal seven year old with a god complex. Would your reaction be to smile- because he is smiling- and say something odd like that? What does that even mean?

It’s Shakespeare.

He’s reciting a line from Hamlet. To be specific, line from Act 5, Scene 1 of the play. The title character is given the skull of the old Court Jester, Yorik. Hamlet proceeds to lament to the skull, discussing the fond memories he has with it, as if it were still alive. He contemplates the nature of death and memory, declaring “Alas! Poor Yorik! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy....” (Hamlet, Act-V, Scene-I, Lines 160-162).

(Hamlet Pictured here is David Tennant)

Interestingly, Papyrus is not putting himself in the place of Hamlet. He isn’t just declaring his mortality, he’s also calling himself a fool. Yorik as a character is characterized as a comic relief. He is a fool, a clown. Someone to be jeered and laughed at. Even in his death, he is called nothing more.

This may allude to Papyrus’s view on himself. Under all of his confidence and flamboyant personality, the guy clearly has some insecurities. He’s well aware that not a ton of people like him, or even notice he’s there. That’s got to wear away at someone after a while.

It’s a bit of a stretch, but I think it’s interesting none the less.

#idk it’s a bit of a stretch #but I like it so fuck you #I’ve actually never read hamlet #but I’ve seen the Alas! Poor Yorik! scene more times than I can coin #it was my first introduction to Shakespeare UwU #well that and my dad but shhhhh #undertale #papyrus #analysis #long post #papyrus analysis #hamlet

[angrywizard]

ceramic with iron oxide

#alas poor yorik #ceramic sculpture #goth #skull #3d art

[kategilbert]

#26 Stage rat

#Inktober #rat #shakespeare #hamlet #alas poor yorik #cartoon

[to-be-a-brit]

The red represents both the determination needed to actually eat one of these ‘biscuits’ and the thousands of lives lost to such hardheadedness each year.

#alas poor yorik #i knew him well

[heinretic]

“Put it back, put it back, PUT IT BACK!”

Panic! at the rp meme

“Alright, alright- would you please quiet down? Honestly, if desecrating their tomb didn’t arouse the spirits here, your yelling certainly will.”

If anything would anger a spirit, it was probably the gestures Hein made with the skull in hand, clattering the jaws together like a castanet. 

Spirits, however, weren’t the problem. The blob of dark matter convulsing in the stone casket was, drawing itself together behind the detective’s back. Actually, it was a little odd- Curran wasn’t even staring at the bone when he said that, he was staring past him…

Heinwald turned, only to crane his neck to properly see the beast of sludge, convulsing under it’s slowly gathering mass. 

“Scheiße.” He muttered to himself, glancing between it and the skull. Putting it back didn’t seem like much of an option anymore. 

#hein vc i fucked up. i fucked up #he was probably in the middle of an Alas Poor Yorik joke when curran started yelling #ilianquisition

[knivesrey]

Hamlet was good and im really sad that a lot of people dont like it bc of the way its taught in schools

#i wanna reread it #like the whole ashes to ashes thing?? iconic #to suffer the slings and arrows??? just fuck me up #alas poor yorik! i knew him Horatio #goddamn fuck me up!!!!

[bittybattybunny]

Alas poor yorik... wait this isn't yorik

More mermay stuff!!!

#mermaid #mermay #digital art #colors #original #finished #monster girl #i always love when Im iffy on a design and then i add shading and the whole thing cinches

[frogettableart]

"Alas, poor Yorik

I knew him, Horatio—a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is!"

Hamlet : Act 5, scene 1

#frog art friday #frog art #watercolor #penandink #shakespeare #hamlet #artists on tumblr

[tresdemarts]

Alas, poor Yorik. I knew him quite well actually. He had awful taste in hose. But he could make a mean pastry. Do you know there is something he invented called a danish? A bit on the nose but absolutely remarkable.

#good omens #good omens fanart #inktober #inktober day 5 #aziraphale

[smengart]

alas, poor yorik! i knew him.

#dc #batman #red hood #red hood and the outlaws #jason todd

[pyronado-moved]

*slams hand on desk* HAMLET HAD THE SKULL IN THE ALAS POOR YORIK SOLILOQUY. TO BE OR NOT TO BE WAS JUST HIS DUMB ASS PACING IN CIRCLES!

#FAR OUT! #shakespeare #hamlet #STOP INCLUDING THE SKULL DURING TO BE OR NOT TO BE SCENES #i am passionate abt this play

[shittyshakes]

If you think about it, Hamlet saying "Alas, poor Yorik!" Is pretty much Shakespeare's equivalent of "OH SHIT, YORIK!"

#hamlet #hamlet and horatio #hot take #shout out to the boy in my lab who pointed this out to me lmao #shakespeare commentary #mod leo #shittyshakesblogs #shittalking #shittyshakesblog

[official-lucifers-child]

went to the library hoping to find a book about writing. couldn’t. still trying to start writing again. alas poor yorik, he failed the vibe check

i usually go for biographies of authors! they often have some tips about how they got writing!

also there’s a lot of useful websites about writing, so i suggest looking those up too!

don’t give up, fren, i believe in you!!

[tealquacks]

Starting with a Heart...

Docthor day 5: Monstrous.

This is really fucking weird

@lostcybertronian

It stopped pulsating after three minutes, the longest Author had gotten. He looked up from his journal as it stopped moving on the table, laying still in a sinewy, bloody hunk, resting in a halo of fluorescent light. Cursing, he tore the page out of his journal, watching the heart on the table fade into nothingness, as if it wasn’t even there. Then, he sat perfectly still, silently fuming. Damn. Damn! He’d gotten close this time. The first attempts were much more pathetic, quivering things that flopped like a fish instead of properly pumping. Whatever he was doing wrong was minute, precise, necessary, and fucking stupid.

He looked over at the journal, copying the words he had written. They shone gold, a heart being made on the table bit by bit, stuttering before pumping, pumping. Loud enough to hear from under the floorboards. Author chuckled at his own joke, watching the heart and the clock ticking on the wall. He held his breath, as if one motion could stop it again.

“Honey?”

Author jumped at his voice, nearly falling out of his chair as he turned to see Edward in the doorway. Author stood. His hair was flipped to the other side, staring at him with soft, sleepy eyes. A white blanket slung around his shoulders was the only scrap of clothing he wore, Author peeking at the bruises and bitemarks trailing down his neck and chest, lips still swollen from god knows how many kisses.

“Edward-“

“You promised you’d stay, and I woke up alone. Come back to bed, pumpkin...” he trailed off, looking past him. Author cringed.

“Is that a heart?”

Author squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, dear.”

“A human heart?”

“A crude replica of one-“

Edward snorted. Authors eyebrows shot up. Suddenly, he was walking to the table and taking the heart in his hand, staring at it with his soft, sleepy eyes. Blood poured down his arm, then reached the blanket. He held it close to his face and stared into the gaping holes where invisible veins stuck out, shaking his head rhythmically.

“Firstly,” he whispered, voice still rumbling and heavy with sleep, “you made it too big. If you’re trying to make a human, it should be roughly the size of a fist. But this? It’s the size of two fists. Either way- I think the main problem is that you have no central nervous system, and the blood isn’t being oxidized at all. And it’s beating too fast.”

Author blinked, eyes transfixed on the blood pouring down his arm, staining the blanket, all while Edward stared, cold and clinical. The heart was red in the harsh light, held aloft in Edwards hand. Alas, poor Yorik, I knew him well…

He set the heart on the table and slinked up behind him, bloody hands resting on Author’s hips, sending chills down his spine. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y-you’re not scared? Or- or mad?” Author whispered.

“Curious,” Edward breathed, his lips grazing Authors neck. “Go on, continue writing. Make lungs. Make it breathe.”

Author’s head spun, hands shakily writing words, conjuring flesh out of nothingness, shaping it through words alone. Edwards voice rattled on in his ear, hypnotizing and heavy, saying yes, go on, make them breathe; there are filters in the lungs, honey. Make sure it’s connected to the heart, honey. Oh, that’s beautiful. Good. Fascinating.

The fluorescent light buzzed louder than any word they whispered, beating heart soon sequestered away in heaps of flesh. Between two lungs, shrouded in a thin, silky membrane. Ribs guarded the chest, then muscle and meat and finally, skin. Edwards head rested heavy on his shoulder. His hands rested under his shirt, now, wet blood on his skin. He thought to that night, when he came home with his story carved in his skin. Edward was naked and bloody, but he had been clean. Clean.

His body pressed against his, the words in his ear- he was drowning in blood. The stench of it. The rush of it coursing through his ears. With a soft noise, the blanket fell to the ground.

“I never knew you could make life,” Edward whispered, nipping his earlobe, “I always thought you were stuck killing, and that’s why you do it. I like seeing this side. You could stop hurting people, make life instead.”

Author was mum, his tongue a lump of lead in his mouth. A future laid itself in front of him, one where he stopped this endless hunt, created life instead of taking it, Edwards breath hot on his neck. He gave the creature fur. Gave it a proper brain. Edward suggested another pair of legs to support the body, hand gently brushing through Authors hair. A little bit of blood dropped from his hair to the page.

“Sorry,” Edward giggled. Author laughed in spite of himself, knees almost giving out as Edward kissed his jaw. His hand jerked, the monster spasming. He could hear Edward gasp. The thing was breathing.

It was a huge, hairy beast that looked almost like an insect, six muscular legs jutting out of its sides. Knife like claws scratched the table as it fell to the floor with a tile cracking thud. The spine curved perfectly, ending with a long panther tail, swaying gently like grass in the wind. Its head rose up, looking at the both of them with huge eyes. They were blood red. There were too many of them. It opened its mouth as if yawning, huge white teeth harshly gleaming in the light.

Author tried to step back, Edward holding him in place.

“See? I knew you could do it,” Edward said. His voice kept him steady. “I knew that you could be good. That you could make life instead of taking it. Why kill, when you can create?”

“I have to,” Author choked out. Edwards grip on his hip tightened.

“Why?”

“They’re for my stories-“

“Why not make a story where good things grow and live? A happy one. No killing, none. Have you considered that you could make your characters happy?”

The creature growled, deep and low.

“And what have they done to deserve that? Lied and cheated and whored themselves out. Why should they be happy when I’m… Nevermind. Liars. Cheaters. Whores. Bastards. All humans are the same.”

“Are you calling me a whore?”

“I’m calling you a human. An irrational, emotional human.”

“You’re human too, dear.” Edward felt too warm against him. Like a fire behind a door.

“Let me go.”

“Not until you listen to me.” His voice was gentle, despite his words being daggers. “You’re as human as I am. That may make you a liar, a cheat, a whore, irrational, emotional, whatever you think that means, but that’s all you are, a human. See-“ Edward grabbed one of Authors shaking hands, and pressed it against his own chest. He felt a dull thudding. “-You have a heart, too.”

The creature was circling around, restlessly. Black fur shone like hot tar under the cruel light. Drool sloshed from its maw.

“I am a god.”

“Then be a benevolent one.”

Author turned around, mouth open and ready to argue, but then he was being yanked close by Edward and kissed hard, hands covered with dried blood tracing their way over his spine, one resting at his hip. The creature howled behind them, broken and loud, Edward tilting his head to get a better angle. Something hot dripped down his face. He yanked away, and felt his face. Licked his hand. It tasted like salt.

“Why are you crying?” Author whined like the monster behind him, heart thudding in his ear.

Edward shook his head, face dry.

“It’s okay, honey-“

“No it fucking isn’t!” Author sobbed. Edward stepped back, eyes wide and lips still swollen. He looked pitiful- no. He was pitying him.

“You can talk to me. Please. Just talk to me.”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you! But no matter what I say or what I do, you never listen to me. For the last time- I’m not human! I’m above them! I am a god!”

“Then be a benevolent one!” Edward screamed. The room fell silent. He was panting like a dog, chest heaving and hands bloody. “You’re so obsessed with death and power and it’s tearing me apart, I can’t bear to see you go out and kill and kill without end… but look,” he crossed the room, reaching a hand out to the monster Author had made, “you can make life. You can be good, benevolent.”

“I didn’t do this to be good!”

“Then why did you do it?”

The monster made strange, metallic noises, grating and loud, scraping his ears and echoing on the walls-

“So I wouldn’t be alone! That thing? That’s my clone! A monster made of words!”

“You’re not fucking alone! You have me!”

“Edward, you don’t love me.”

The room was silent. Authors chest heaving. Edward was still looking at him so, so sadly, and he was starting to cry, too. Author wanted to explain, tell him about all the pages in the journal, all the time he spent writing their love, but it died on his tongue when Edward came close, gently pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We can talk about this in the morning,” he whispered, trailing his fingers on Authors shirt before walking away, shutting the door behind him. The monster made a strange noise, scratching the tiles, leaving deep grooves.

A monster made of words.

He looked down at his hands. They were free of blood, but not clean. He wiped his face, letting out another choked sob, trying to make it sound like a growl at the last minute. The monster rolled over onto its back like a dog, the blood red eyes intelligent and clear as a lake. Benevolent. Life giving. Pathetic. So wrapped up in himself he couldn’t see the truth. Edward’s blanket was a loose husk on the floor. Without another word, he turned his back on the beast and grabbed his bat, swinging it around, and around, and around.

He could take his benevolence and he could fucking have it.

-

Edward kept walking to their room even as the sounds of howls and cracking bone echoed through the building. Bim’s door swung open.

He ignored it.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Oh,” Edward whispered, not caring he was naked, “just a thunderstorm.”

“My mom always told me thunderstorms are what happened when god was angry.”

Edward stopped in his tracks. He looked down at his hands, covered in dry blood, then back to Bim.

“No, not angry. Just lonely. Just lonely.”

—

That morning, Author and Edward woke up together, bloody fingers intertwined.

“You’re not alone,” Edward whispered, “I’m here. I’ve always been.”

Author made a noise in his sleep, and he knew he couldn’t hear him.

“You’re not a monster,” he continued, brushing dried tears off Authors face, “just... misled.”

Nothing. At least there wasn’t a denial.

“I love you,” he whispered, even though he knew he wouldn’t get any response, even if Author was awake. Slowly, he pressed his head to his chest, Author’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

“You have a heart, my love.”

#docthorweek2k19 #the author #cyndago the author #dr. iplier #docthor #ya boy writes #bim trimmer #this is a weird one #and ~2000 words #tw blood