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#englishman jack
autismguy55 · 15 days
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controversial, but: jack being irish is a very common headcanon and i honestly just can’t see it. in chapter 2, jack says “we’re english, and the english are best at everything.” if lotf takes place in the 40s-50s like many assume, the irish war of independence had only happened about 20 years prior and ireland was freshly liberated. i’m sure we all know the atrocities the english committed against the irish, and i just don’t think an irish kid would say “the english are best at everything,” especially so soon after ireland gained independence. i don’t mean to bash anyone by the way, this is only my opinion
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moratoirenoir · 11 months
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1nm806 · 7 months
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goober morning i think i should go and have some tea and crumpets just like any good englishman in the morning
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enchanting-jewel · 2 years
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What's really in that witch's cauldron?
Folk names for herbs
Ass' Ear- Comfrey
Bat's Wing- Holly Leaves
Beard Of Monk- Chicory
Bear's Foot- Lady's Mantle
Bird's Eye- Germander or Speedwell
Blind Eyes- Poppy
Blood From a Head- Lupine
Blood Of Ares- Purslane
Blood Of Hestia- Chamomile
Bloody Fingers- Foxglove
Calf's Snout- Snapdragon
Cat's Foot- Ground Ivy
Crow's Foot- Wood Anemone
Devil's Ear- Jack In The Pulpit
Devil's Plaything- Yarrow
Dew Of the Sea- Rosemary
Dog's Mouth- Snapdragon
Dragon's Teeth- Vervain
Elf Leaf- Lavender
Englishman's Foot- Common Plantain
Fairy Eggs- Nutmeg
Flower Of Death- Vinca
Goose Tongue- Lemon Balm
Graveyard Dust- Mullein
Hawk's Heart- Wormwood
Juno's Tears- Vervain
Jupiter's Beard- Sempervivums
Lion's Foot- Lady's Mantle
Little Faces- Viola
Man's Bile- Turnip Sap
Mortification Root- Rose of Sharyn
Nose Of Turtle- Turtlehead, Chelone
Nosebleed- Yarrow
Our Lady's Tears- Lily Of The Valley
Old Man's Flannel- Mullein
Ram's Head- Valerian
Scale Of Dragon- Tarragon
Semen Of Ares- White Clover
Semen Of Hermes- Dill
Serpent's Tongue- Dog's Tooth Violet
Sparrow's Tongue- Knotweed
Tree Of Doom- Elder
Unicorn Root- Boneset
Weasel Snout- Yellow Archangel
Wool Of Bat- Moss
Body Parts as Plants:
Eye- Blossom or Seed
Heart- Bud or Seed
Beak, Bill or Nose- Seed, Bud or Bloom
Tongue or Teeth- Petal or Leaf
Head- Blossom
Tail- Stem
Hair- Dried Herbs or Stringy Parts Of Herbs
Privates, Genitals Or Semen- Seeds Or Sap
Blood- Sap
Guts- Roots or Stalk
Paw, Foot, Leg, Wing or Toe- Leaves
Animals as Plants:
Toad- Sage
Cat- Catmint
Dog- Grasses, Specifically Couchgrass
Frog- Cinquefoil
Eagle- Wild Garlic
Blue Jay- Laurel
Hawk- Hawkweed
Lamb-Wild Lettuce
Nightengale- Hops
Rat- Valerian
Weasel- Rue
Woodpecker- Peony
I borrowed this from:
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gracelsalvatore · 1 year
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hii! can you do a Jude Bellingham nsfw alphabet please?
NSFW ALPHABET – Jude Bellingham
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Jude asks a lot of questions. He will ask how you are feeling and if you are okay. He will examine your bruises, if you have any.
Later, he will ask you to go to the bathroom. He knows that peeing after sex is important for women, so he tries to convince you to do it every time after sex.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
He likes his belly. He likes how muscular it is and he likes, when you touch his belly.
In you, he likes your shoulders. Especially when he puts his hands on them, holding you in place.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He likes to see his cum on your hand. Bonus for you, if you put your fingers in your mouth afterwards.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
I would like to say he has some dirty secrets, but really, I don't think he has. He tells you everything, even if it's the most shameless thing in the world.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
He is Englishman and he is young. I think he may or may not have had one partner before you. Nevertheless, he still has a lot to learn.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Spooning. This makes it possible for you to make love, even if you are tired.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He doesn't joke around so much during sex, but he isn't serious either. He is something between.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He doesn't pay attention to it. He just makes sure that it doesn't look very bad. Other than that, he doesn't pay much attention to it.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Jude wants to be close to you during sex and will make sure he is. When you have sex, he is even more clingy, than usual.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He prefers, when you help him. But if you don't feel good about it, he takes matters into his own hands. He usually masturbates with you in his mind.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He has something for playing with breath. He likes to put his hands around your neck and choke, while he fucks you. He also likes, when you do it on him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Once you had sex in the pool in front of his house and it was something wonderful for him. Since that, it is his favourite place.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
When you sit on his knees and you start sucking his neck. It makes him crazy.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Hitting your face. He can spank you, but hitting your face is off limits.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
He loves receiving oral. Especially after winning a match. You kneel in front of him while he enjoys your oral. He also likes to give, especially when you can cum on his tongue many times.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
His movements are quick and powerful. He always makes sure he enters you whole during each movement.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
YES, YES, YES. Quickies are sometimes the only thing you can do, between his training and matches.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He likes to experiment. He often finds things on his own that you could try together.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
He can go many rounds and he won't be tired. And he can have sex every day. He is so horny.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He doesn't have any. But if you offer one and he likes it, he will buy it.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
He plays with sex and with you. Therefore, he is very unfair, denying you an orgasm. But when he sees that you are on the verge, almost overstimulated, he agrees to let you cum.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He is quiet. But when he cums, he begins to gasp and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Sometimes he imagines you masturbating in front of him and he is the one who controls whether you can cum or not.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He is big. Definitely above average. When you started dating, you needed some time to get used to his size.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Jude sees in sex a way to relieve stress. Matches often stress him out, so his sex drive is high.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Jude falls asleep very quickly. As soon as he makes sure you are okay and both of you are clean, he falls asleep right away.
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findingnemosworld · 6 months
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𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐫𝐮́𝐛𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐬
• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬
( 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 )
𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭.
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A year had passed since the last they saw one another.
She had moved out of Manchester, asked for a transfer and found herself working in London's Chelsea Football Club, the staff, the players and everyone working there had been nothing short of kind, one in particular had become her closest friend - Benjamin Chilwell, the Englishman was the first person she had met, as well as the one to help her settle in London, the pair had built a well rounded friendship which stood the test of time when Ben tried his luck in courting her only for her to gently put him down, citing personal reasons for her desire to be involved with anyone romantically.
Ben understood her reasoning and the pair instead strengthened their friendship, albeit he was curious to know as to why she refused his advances.
She was young, only a year younger than him, a kind, gentle soul that had always been helpful both in and out her job, yet when it came to romance, it seemed as if there was an unspoken ache in her eyes. It wasn't until the Manchester City vs Chelsea bout for the Carabao cup that he finally understood why she was in ache for the past year and a half.
He'd noticed how a certain Portuguese defender from the other side had not so subtly been staring at her for far too long, so much so that he also noticed she was attempting her best not to approach the other side, even to greet the players she had worked with for the past three years, once the warm ups were concluded, both teams were lead in to prepare for the match, Ben had approached her. " Hey love, you got a minute? "
She looks at him, then nods leisurely - he leads her to a secluded corner, " Is everything ok? " she asks, concern lacing her voice.
" Yeah, I'm fine but are you ok? " He asks, his eyes revealing that he had understood her reservations.
She tried to brush his concern away by forcing a smile, " I'm fine Chilly, what do you mean? "
" Love " He interjects with a soft tone, " Be honest, did Dias play a part in your departure? "
Her body stiffens, horrid and haunting memories plague her mind - her chest tightens as she looks away to collect her composure before she nodded leisurely, without any word uttered.
Ben's jaw tightens, he wasn't a stranger to the Portuguese's antics seeing as the media loved to report on him any chance they can get, much like his fellow national teammate, Jack Grealish. He clenches then unclenches his first, " What happened? "
She recounts everything, with a ponderous heart and glossy eyes, " I loved him Chilly, so much, yet each time we were with our mutual friends, I wasn't his girlfriend, he didn't even want to admit it, I was just the girl he spent time with, it didn't make it easier that he flirted with women in front of me, but I loved him so much that I was willing to look past it "
" That piece of ... " He stops himself, inhaling then exhaling to calm himself, he breathes out a soft breath. " Love, why didn't you say any thing? "
" I was ashamed, and to be honest I had grown tired of the back and forth, so I kicked him out and never saw him again " She murmurs.
" Did he try to contact you? " He wonders.
She nods once again, " He tried, I rejected all of his calls and he even had John call me, but I made sure that he understood my message, I don't want to see him again "
He nods in understanding, " Will you be ok out here? "
" Yeah " She states with a soft tone, " I'm a big girl Chilly, I can handle myself "
Ben couldn't help but say, " But I will be concerned, especially since that bonehead wasn't hiding it that he was staring " he rolls his eyes then shakes his head, " I'm going to kill him if he so much as tries to do anything "
" Chilly, let it go please! " She pleads, grabbing his hand. " I'm not going to let him affect my mood, much less risk the chance of you guys riding up the table, so don't let it get to you "
Ben nods, " I'll try, just be careful ok "
She smiles then wraps her arms around his shoulder, " I love you Chilly, I appreciate your friendship "
" I love you too, you'll always have me by your side " He murmurs.
Their embrace along with their interaction was witnessed by quite an enraged Rúben who was burning with covetousness, and was now very determined to win her back, even if she was still against it.
Soon afterwards, the match begins - she was seated with the medical team on standby, despite attempting her best, her eyes would often trail to Rúben who seemed to work on a different engine, an engine of rage which unfortunately backfired as on the 10th minute, Mudryk had managed to give Chelsea the early goal thanks to a slip up by Rúben who despite being consoled by John, seemed hellbent on ensuring that he will get his payback.
And on the 22nd minute, he had assisted Haaland in scoring the equalizer which sent the Chelsea fans in a frenzy, cheering on the players to bring the lead back to them, the first half had been remained balanced until the very last minutes where a scuffle ensured between both Ben and Rúben after the latter had tackled the Englishman quite violently causing the pair to square up against one another.
Her eyes widened in horror, however relief washed over her body when teammates on both ends helped ensure that scuffle is put out but not before both players were shown a yellow card, thus ending the first half on a 1-1 draw.
Just as she walked in to retrieve something from her bag, she was tugged in a secluded corner causing her to yelp in pain, " What the fuck? " she said before her eyes hardened at the realization of who it was. " You!!! "
" Meu amor, hear me out " He tries with a gentle tone before a sharp sting was felt across his cheek.
" I don't want to hear anything from you " She states with a sharp tone before she spat out, " Go fuck yourself "
He looks down, inhaling then exhaling a deep breath, he looks back up to her and says. " I love you "
She laughs dryly, " Ah, of course, after fucking everything that has a pulse, you're suddenly regretful for the way we ended " she shakes her head, " No, I'm not falling for this shit, so go back to your team "
Afterwards, the second half begins and around halfway through in the 60th minute, Haaland scored his second goal much to the dismay of the Chelsea fans, even more so when Rúben celebrated with Haaland, as the second half was coming to an end in the extra time, Ben was able to equalize the match ending it on a 2-2 draw.
______________________________________________________________
She returns home later on, had a quiet dinner meal, opting to lay on her couch watching a rerun of Friends when the doorbell rings inciting confusion in her, she'd spoken to Ben who claimed that he was ok, yet she could see that he was frustrated with the draw, she pushed the blanket away, stood up then walked towards the front door, she looks through the peephole and in that minute rage fills her body all over, and she flings the door open, " What do you want? "
" Can we talk? " He pleads with a soft tone, " Please "
" We don't have anything to talk about " She retorts, " You screwed me over Rúben, I was just a toy to you "
" And I regret it " He said, " Just ... please, please let me in "
She gnaws on her bottom lip, " You have twenty minutes " she said then stepped to the side to let him in.
Rúben walked into her flat, as she closed the door - she lead him to the living room, " Sit " she said with a curt tone, before going to the kitchen, she pours two glasses of water, she grabs them then retreats back to the living room, she walks up to him and hands him the glass. " Here "
" Thank you " He murmurs.
They spent about four minutes in silence before she said, " So? " she asks.
" I'm sorry " He begins with a ponderous sigh, " I really am sorry meu amor, I'm an idiot, the biggest idiot there is, I had you in my arms and I did not appreciate you "
" You didn't " She chuckles dryly.
" I thought it was the right decision, to hide it because, I thought that it was for the best, I thought I was protecting you when I ended up hurting you " He states, with a regretful tone. " The truth is, I loved you then and I still love you now, I don't think I can live without you "
She meets his gaze which held regret, authenticity and love. " You hurt me Rúben! " she exclaimed.
" I know I have, and if you let me, I promise I will try my best to ensure you that I'm here, I'm here for you, and I will always be here for you " He said.
She grows silent, downing the rest of her glass before she stood up then walked over to where he was seated, he cranes his head up the minute he felt her hand over his cheek. " Do you regret it? "
He nods leisurely, then rests his forehead over her abdomen, " More than anything "
" Prove it " She said with a soft yet authoritative tone, " I'm going to fuck you the way I see fit "
He freezes, once again craning his head to look up at her. " Huh? "
" You heard me " She said, hooking her finger under his chin to get him to look at her. " You love me, prove it "
He stands up just as she leads him to her bedroom, they walk in and she says, " Sit at the edge of the bed "
He complies, his eyes never leaving hers as she undressed herself entirely before undressing him - she pushes him onto the bed, his back hits the mattress as she sat on top of his lap, he reaches over and tries to grip her waist but she swats his hands away, " I'm in charge " she wraps her hand around his cock, a spec of precum leaks through the slit, she presses her thumb over it then gently pumps his hardened cock inciting a strangled moan from him. " You've had your chance, now I have mine "
He relented, allowing her to take the reigns, she'd always been the only one to know exactly how and when to hit him, his lips were parted, releasing soft moans, grunts and sighs which only grew deeper the moment he felt his cock being enveloped entirely by her slick walls, " Oh Fuck! " he sighs.
" You broke my heart Rúben " She whimpered, " Yet not a single man in the world, knows me the way you do "
" I promise you " He groans, " I promise I won't hurt you again, I'm going to scream my love for you to the whole world "
She sets a moderate pace, moving up and down, throwing her head back. " Fuck, Fuck ... just like that " she takes one of his hand placing it over her waist while the other landed over her clit, " Rúben " she moans.
" Oh meu amor, you feel so good wrapped around my cock, I'm going to cum " He grunts.
" Cum inside of me " She whimpers.
" Meu amor " He retorts in concern.
" I'm on the pill, it's ok " She assures him, whining as he rubbed her clit at a rapid pace. " Fuck, fuck ... just like that, don't stop "
The pair chase their high together before Rúben tugged her in his arms, " I'm never letting you go " he murmurs, pressing soft kisses on top of her head.
" You better not to " She whispers.
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bedtimedadbf · 23 days
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These are the bedtime stories I like to read at bedtime. Feel free to suggest more.
(I'll do a bio pinned post later, this is enough for now)
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
This fairy tale originated in Britain in the 19th century. It’s about a little blonde-haired girl who finds an empty house in the woods. Though she doesn’t know it yet, the home belongs to three bears: Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby Bear. Goldilocks tries their porridge, sits in their chairs, and goes to lay in their beds. When the bears come home, a frightened Goldilocks escapes in the nick of time.
The Ugly Duckling
The Ugly Duckling is a Danish fairytale written by celebrated children’s author Hans Christian Andersen in 1843. It tells the story of a duckling who was born “uglier” than his siblings. They ostracize him, and he spends a year looking for a home, unable to find where he belongs. When he’s nearly given up, he throws himself at a pack of beautiful swans, expecting them to kill him. However, the swans accept him as one of their own, and when he sees his reflection, he realizes he’s grown into a beautiful swan himself.
Jack and the Beanstalk
This British fairy tale was originally called The Story of Jack Spriggins and the Enchanted Bean in 1734. It’s about a boy who trades his poor family’s only cow for magic beans. Though his mother is enraged at his foolish purchase, Jack plants the seeds and they grow into a gigantic beanstalk that reaches above the clouds. Jack climbs it to find the home of a giant. Though the giant can sense Jack’s presence, shouting “Fe Fi Fo Fum, I smell the Blood of an Englishman!” Jack is able to escape with the giant’s treasures, including a goose that lays golden eggs. The giant tries to chase him down the beanstalk, but Jack is able to cut it down before the giant can reach him.
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Published in 1900, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a children’s book written by L. Frank Baum and illustrated by W. W. Denslow; it was later adapted into a film in 1939. It’s about a girl named Dorothy who lives in Kansas. When a tornado sweeps up her home, Dorothy finds herself transported to the land of Oz. Intent on finding a way home, she follows a yellow brick road, on which she picks up other characters looking for something. This includes a cowardly lion, a tin man, and a scarecrow. They all head to Oz to find the wizard, who they believe can solve their problems. However, the wizard turns out to be just an ordinary man. Still, together they are able to find what they were looking for.
Beauty and the Beast
This fairy tale originated in France in 1740 where it was originally published as La Belle et la Bête. Written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, it tells the story of a beautiful young girl, Beauty, who is forced to live in a castle with the Beast after her father plucks a rose from the Beast’s castle. The Beast plans to marry Beauty, but she only sees him as a friend. It is only after the Beast dies of shame, and beauty cries for her lost friend, that he is transformed into a prince. He tells Beauty that he was cursed by an enchantress for his selfish ways, and only true love could break the curse.
Cinderella
Though this story has origins in ancient Greece, the first literary version was published in Italy by Giambattista Basile in 1634. In this fairy tale, a beautiful young girl named Ella tragically loses her mother. Her father remarries an evil stepmother, who has two cruel daughters. Tragically, her father dies soon after the marriage. Ella’s stepmother and stepsisters make Ella their maid, giving her the nickname Cinderella, since she is often covered in cinder from her work. When the family is invited to the royal ball, Cinderella cannot go because she has nothing to wear.
However, a fairy godmother appears and makes her a beautiful dress and carriage; the only catch is that she must be home by midnight. She arrives at the ball and catches the eye of the prince. They dance through the night, but when the clock gets close to midnight, Cinderella hurries away, leaving a glass slipper behind. The prince finds her slipper and vows to find the woman it belongs to. He goes to each house until he finds Cinderella, who becomes his princess.
Little Red Riding Hood
The earliest known written version of this fairy tale was by Charles Perrault in 17th century France. Little Red Riding Hood is about a young girl who must travel through the woods to deliver food to her sickly grandmother. Along the way, a wolf stalks her path, and asks her where she is going. Foolishly, she tells the wolf she is going to her grandmother’s house. The wolf manages to get to her grandmother’s house first and eats her grandmother. The wolf then disguises himself as the grandmother. When Little Red Riding Hood arrives at her home, she is initially fooled by the disguise, long enough for the wolf to convince her to enter. Finally, he eats the young girl as well.
The Tale of Peter Rabbit
Written and illustrated by English writer Beatrix Potter in 1902, The Tale of Peter Rabbit is about a mischievous bunny whose mother warns him and her other three rabbits, Mopsy, Flopsy, and Cottontail, not to enter Mr. McGregor’s vegetable garden. She tells them that their father did so, and Mr. McGregor made him into a pie. Though his siblings follow their mother’s advice, Peter goes into the garden anyway and gorges on vegetables. Mr. McGregor spots him and chases him away. Peter escapes, but his clothes are left behind; Mr. McGregor ends up using his clothes as a scarecrow.
The Boy Who Cried Wolf by Aesop
This story is about a boy who continually says he’s spotted a wolf when he hasn’t, just to get attention. However, when a real wolf finally does appear, no one comes to his aid, as they no longer believe him.
King Midas and His Golden Touch by Nathaniel Hawthorne
King Midas wishes that everything he touches would turn to gold. He is initially delighted when his wish comes true, but soon he discovers that it is a curse rather than a gift, as he can’t even touch food without it turning into gold.
Wise Old Owl author unknown
An owl hears more the less he speaks, and so he speaks less to hear more.
The Tortoise and the Hare by Aesop
A hare makes fun of a slow tortoise, and so the tortoise challenges him to a race. The hare accepts, but since he believes the tortoise will be so slow, he decides to take a nap. Slowly but steadily, the tortoise continues on, passing by the sleeping hare. The hare wakes up too late, and the tortoise wins the race.
The Golden Egg by Aesop
A merchant living in a village with his wife and children has a hen that lays one golden egg per day. The merchant decides this is not enough; he wants all the eggs at once. He decides to kill the hen to get all the eggs inside it, but he realizes after he kills it there are no eggs inside, and he has no way to get more golden eggs.
The Farmer and the Well by F. K. Waechter
A farmer in need of water buys a well from his neighbor. However, his tricky neighbor won’t give him the well’s water, telling him he only bought the well, not the water. The farmer seeks counsel from his emperor’s courtier, who tells the neighbor that if the farmer cannot have the water, then the neighbor must remove all the water from his well.
The Wolf who Wanted to Change his Color by Orianne Lallemand
A wolf decides he is unhappy with his natural color, so he tries a series of methods to change his coat. Each method fails, and in the end, he realizes that his original color suited him best.
The Dragon Who Couldn’t Puff by Chelsea Burgess
A house dragon wants to learn how to breathe fire like his mother and sister, but when he tries, he can’t. His mother teaches him that he’ll need to try many times before he is successful. At first he doesn’t want to keep trying, but he learns that to do it right, he’ll need to.
The Princess and the Pea
Little Red and the Very Hungry Lion by Alex T. Smith
There was a Lady who Swallowed a Fly by Rose Bonne and Alan Mills
How the Moon Regained Her Shape by Janet Ruth Heller
The Lorax by Dr. Seuss
Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown
Frog and Toad series
The Mitten by Jan Brett
Care Bears nighty night
One fish two fish red fish blue fish
The elves and the shoemaker
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amphibious-thing · 11 days
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Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England: Roast Beef, English Nationalism, Effeminacy and Epilepsy (ft. Lord Hervey)
While today if asked what the national dish of England is some might say bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding or chicken tikka masala in the 18th century the answer was roast beef.
It was roast beef that was the star of the patriotic 18th century song The Roast Beef of Old England. Originally written by Henry Fielding for his play The Grub-Steet Opera (1731) and then reused in Don Quixote in England (1734) the more popular version was written by Richard Leveridge who set it to a catchier tune and added five new stanzas:
When mighty roast Beef was the Englishman's Food, It ennobled our Veins, and enriched our Blood; Our Soldiers were brave, and our Courtiers were good. Oh the roast Beef of old England, and old English roast Beef. But since we have learn'd from all-conquering France, To eat their Ragouts, as well as to dance, We are fed up with nothing, but vain Complaisance. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Our Fathers, of old, were robust, stout, and strong, And kept open House, with good Chear all Day long, Which made their plump Tenants rejoice in this Song. Oh the roast Beef, &c. But now we are dwindled, to what shall I name, A sneaking poor Race, half begotten-and tame, Who sully those Honours, that once shone in Fame. Oh the roast Beef, &c. When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the Throne, E're Coffee, or Tea, and such Slip-Slops were known, The World was in Terror, if e'er she but frown. Oh the roast Beef, &c. In those Days, if Fleets did presume on the Main, They seldom, or never, return'd back again, As witness, the vaunting Armada of Spain. Oh the roast Beef, &c. Oh then they had Stomachs to eat, and to fight, And when Wrongs were a cooking, to do themselves right; But now we're a-I could, but good Night. Oh the roast Beef, &c.
Leveridge's version espouses the masculine qualities roast beef making Englishmen "brave", "robust," and "strong". Fielding's version from Don Quixote in England contrasts this English masculinity with the non-roast beef eating "effeminate Italy, France, and Spain". (Edgar V. Roberts, Henry Fielding and Richard Leveridge: Authorship of "The Roast Beef of Old England")
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[Politeness, print, after 1780, published by Hannah Humphrey, after John Nixon (1779), via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]
A common element of English nationalist propaganda was to contrast the masculine beef eating Englishman with the effeminate frogs legs eating Frenchman. The satirical print Politeness compares the masculine John Bull to a stereotypical effeminate Frenchman. John Bull is depicted as a plainly dressed man, holding a pint of beer, with a Bulldog at his feet and a cut of beef hanging behind him. The Frenchman in contrast is depicted as foppishly dressed, holding a snuff-box, with an Italian Greyhound at his feet and a bundle of Frogs hanging behind him. John Bull says "You be D_m'd". The Frenchman responds "Vous ete une Bete". The caption narrates:
With Porter Roast Beef & Plumb Pudding well cram'd, Jack English declares that Monsr may be D------d. The Soup Meagre Frenchman such Language dont suit, So he Grins Indignation & calls him a Brute.
In 18th century English print culture the butcher became somewhat of a stock figure representing English masculinity. There was a series of prints in which a masculine butcher is depicted assaulting a fop. Often with bystanders cheering him on. Some of these prints identified the fop as a Frenchman (such as The Frenchman in London by John Collet and The Frenchman at Market by Adam Smith) but others either don't identify nationality or indicate that the fop is English.
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[The Beaux Disaster, print, c. 1747, via The Wellcome Collection.]
The Beaux Disaster depicts the aftermath of an altercation between a butcher and a fop. The butcher has hung the fop up by the back of his breeches on a hook next to cuts of meet. A crowd of passersby point and laugh at the fop, enjoying his misfortune. The caption narrates:
Ye smarts whose merit lies in dress, Take warning by a beaux distress. Whose pigmy size, & ill-tun'd rage Ventured with butchers to engage. But they unus'd affronts to brook Have hung poor Fribble on a hook, While foul disgrace! expos'd in air, The butchers shout and ladies stare. Satyr so strong, ye fops must strike you How can ye think ye fair will like you, Women of sense, in men despise The anticks, they in monkeys prize.
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[Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge, print, c. 1773, published by Carington Bowles, via The Metropolitan Museum of Art.]
Docking the Maccaroni–or the Butcher's Revenge depicts a butcher cutting off a macaroni's queue. Fashionable men in the late 1760s and 1770s would wear elaborate hairstyles sometimes with hair tied back into a 'club'. This hairstyle is a common element of macaroni satire (for a more flattering rendering of the style see George Simon Harcourt by Daniel Gardner). The caption narrates:
A Spruce Maccaroni whose Hair and whose Clothes, Were the envy of Fops, and the Patterns of Beaus; Looked with Scorn on a Butcher; in passing the Street, And turnd up his Nose, at the sight of the Meat. Says the Butcher you Pig, if you'd eat such as that, You'd credit your Country, and grow plump and fat. Greasy Brute cry's the Fop! then the Butcher enrag'd, Snatch'd a Knife, & to punish the Coxcomb engag'd: Then seizing poor Mac, who began to look pale, He docked his Fools noddle, and cut of his Tail: Now Now cry'd the Butcher the People may stare. At a Skull without Brains, & a Head without Hair.
The macaroni was often portrayed as a traitor to English culture not only for his love of french fashion but also his love of Italian pasta. The fabled 'macaroni club' was a reference to Almack's Assembly Rooms at 50 Pall Mall. (see Pretty Gentleman by Peter McNeil p52-55) The Macaroni and Theatrical Magazine (Oct 1772) explains that the origin of the word macaroni comes from:
a compound dish made of vermicelli and other pastes, which unknown in England until then, was imported by our Connoscenti in eating, as an improvement to their subscription at Almack's. In time, the subscribers to those dinners became to be distinguished by the title MACARONIES, and, as the meeting was composed of the younger and gayer part of our nobility and gentry, who, at the same time that they gave into the luxuries of eating, went equally into the extravagancies of dress; the word Macaroni then changed its meaning to that of a person who exceeded the ordinary bounds of fashion; and is now partly used as a term of reproach to all ranks of people, indifferently, who fell into this absurdity.
(Cited in Catalogue of Prints and Drawings in the British Museum edited by Frederic George Stephens and Edward Hawkins, vol.4, p.826)
Foppishly dressed men were blamed not only for the popularisation of pasta in England but also the growing disfavour for roast beef. A letter written to The Connoisseur in 1767 complains:
By Jove it is a shame, a burning shame, to see the honour of England, the glory of our nation, the greatest pillar of like, ROAST BEEF, utterly banished from our tables. This evil, like many others, has been growing upon us by degrees. It was begun by wickedly placing the Beef upon a side-table, and screening it by a parcel of queue-tail'd fellows in laced waistcoats.
(Volume 1, Edition 5)
With both his dress and diet the fop had betrayed English masculinity for French and Italian effeminacy.
Passed down by Lady Louisa Stuart* as an example of the "extreme to which Lord Hervey carried his effeminate nicety", when "asked at dinner whether he would have some beef, he answered, "Beef?— Oh, no!— Faugh! Don't you know I never eat beef, nor horse, nor any of those things?" Stuart was somewhat skeptical of this story wondering "Could any mortal have said this in earnest?"
*anonymously. Stuart wrote the introductory anecdotes included in the 1837 edition of The Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu.
While it's anyone's guess as to whether Hervey said these exact words it is true that he didn't eat beef. Not because he "courted" effeminacy with the "affected and almost finical nicety in his habits and tastes" as John Heneage Jesse suggests (in Memoirs of the Court of England from the Revolution in 1688 to the Death of George the Second) but for his health.
Lord Hailes explained:
Lord Hervey, having felt some attacks of the epilepsy, entered upon and persisted in a very strict regimen, and thus stopt the progress and prevented the effects of that dreadful disease. His daily food was a small quantity of asses milk and a flour biscuit : once a-week he indulged himself with eating an apple : he used emetics daily.
(The Opinions of Sarah Duchess-Dowager of Marlborough edited by Lord Hailes, p43)
Lord Hervey's doctor George Cheyne believed that "a total Milk, and Vegetable Diet, as absolutely necessary for the total Cure of the Epilepsy". (The English Malady, p254)
In An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey explains that he followed such a diet for three years on Cheyne's prescription eating "neither flesh, fish, nor eggs" but living "entirely upon herbs, roots, pulse, grains, fruits, legumes". (p969) However after three years he reintroduced white meet. He explains his diet in a letter to Cheyne, written on the 9th of December 1732:
To let you know that I continue one of your most pious votaries, and to tell you the method I am in. In the first place, I never take wine nor malt drink, or any liquid but water and milk-tea ; in the next, I eat no meat but the whitest, youngest, and tenderest, nine times in ten nothing but chicken, and never more than the quantity of a small one at a meal. I seldom eat any supper, but if any, nothing absolutely but bread and water ; two days in the week I eat no flesh ; my breakfast is dry biscuit not sweet, and green tea ; I have left off butter as bilious ; I eat no salt, nor any sauce but bread sauce. I take a Scotch pill once a week, and thirty grains of Indian root when my stomach is loaded, my head giddy, and my appetite gone. I have not bragged of the persecutions I suffer in this cause ; but the attacks made upon me by ignorance, impertinence, and gluttony are innumerable and incredible.
Intriguingly in An Account of My Own Constitution and Illness Hervey focuses more attention on colic than epilepsy, dismissing his seizures as rare, but admits he had "two this year". This leads to the impression that his diet was prescribed to treat colic rather than epilepsy and Cheyne did prescribe a milk and vegetable diet in cases of "extreme Nervous Cholicts". (p167) Perhaps it was prescribed to treat both. But why downplay epilepsy in an account of his own illness?
While some enlightenment doctors approached epilepsy with a more scientific approach, superstitions still remained. Some believed epilepsy was a form of lunacy that was controlled by the moon (the word lunatick coming from luna). In An Historical Essay on the State of Physick in the Old and New Testament Dr. Jonathan Harle claimed that "people in this distemper are most afflicted at full or change of the moon." (p124)
Many believed epilepsy was caused by possession and this belief was supported by the bible. Mark 9:17-27, Matthew 17:14-18 and Luke 9:37-43 tell the story of a man who brings his possessed son to Jesus who "rebuked the unclean spirit, and healed the child". The boy's symptoms resemble those of an epileptic seizure and these bible verses are cited by Dr. Jonathan Harle as "an exact description of one that is an epileptick (had the falling sickness) or lunatick". (p124) Harle claimed that was "a truth as plain as words can make it" that some people with epilepsy were "possess'd by the devil". (p22)
Epilepsy was also believed to be caused by sexual depravity. The popular anti-masturbation pamphlet Onania: or, the Heinous Sin of Self-Pollution claimed masturbation caused epilepsy (p23). Onanism: or, a treatise upon the disorders produced by masturbation, or, The dangerous effects of secret and excessive venery claimed that a 14-year-old boy "died of convulsions, and of a kind of epilepsy, the origin of which was solely masturbation". (p19)
With the stigma surrounding epilepsy its no wonder that Hervey kept his seizures secret only telling a select few. One of the people he trusted with this secret was his lover Stephen Fox. Hervey describes having a seizure while at court and keeping it hidden from the Royal Family in a letter to Fox written on the 7th of December 1731:
I have been so very much out of order since I writ last, that going into the Drawing Room before the King, I was taken with one of those disorders with the odious name, that you know happen'd to me once at Lincoln's Inn Fields play-house. I had just warning enough to catch hold of somebody (God knows who) in one side of the lane made for the King to pass through, and stopped till he was gone by. I recovered my senses enough immediately to say, when people came up to me asking what was the matter, that it was a cramp took me suddenly in my leg, and (that cramp excepted) that I was as well as ever I was in my life. I was far from it ; for I saw everything in a mist, was so giddy I could hardly walk, which I said was owing to my cramp not quite gone off. To avoid giving suspicion I stayed and talked with people about ten minutes, and then (the Duke of Grafton being there to light the King) came down to my lodgings, where * * * I am now far from well, but better, and prodigiously pleased, since I was to feel this disorder, that I contrived to do it à l'insu de tout le monde. Mr. Churchill was close by me when it happened, and takes it all for a cramp. The King, Queen, &c. inquired about my cramp this morning, and laughed at it ; I joined in the laugh, said how foolish an accident it was, and so it has passed off ; nobody but Lady Hervey (from whom it was impossible to conceal what followed) knows anything of it.
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anonymousewrites · 7 months
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One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Thirteen
Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader
Chapter Thirteen: One Hell of a Prince
Summary: Sebastian, (Y/N), and Ciel find a strange prince and his khansama in London.
            “Have you still not apprehended the culprit, Abberline?!” cried Lord Randall as (Y/N), Sebastian, and Ciel walked up to another crime scene of an Englishman being hung upside down naked in the street.
            “I-I am profoundly sorry, sir!” said Abberline.
            “Failing to catch Jack the Ripper, doing nothing but putting feathers in that brat’s cap…” Randall huffed.
            “That brat? Do you mean Ciel Phantomhive?” said Abberline as he looked over case files. “I cannot help but feel he bears some immense burden even though his is still but a child.”
            “A child?” remarked Ciel, leaning over to see Abberline’s files without announcing himself. “A series of incidents targeting those who have returned from India?”
            “Master Ciel!” exclaimed Abberline.
            “It seems there haven’t been any fatalities yet,” said Ciel. He stepped up and took another paper from Randall’s hands. “ ‘Crazy and lazy children, huh?’ ” He read from the statement of the perpetrator. “The culprit’s choice of words is very accurate. I also think this country would be considerably better off without the nouveau riche who cam back from India. At any rate, this mark is…”
            “They’re making fun of us and Her Majesty the Queen!” declared Randall. “The culprit has to be Indian.”
            “Ah, so that’s why I was called out,” said Ciel. “The vast majority of Indians who have been smuggled into the country are situated in the East End underworld society. Scotland Yard still has no idea of the exact number or their precise location, does it? There is no way we can sit idly by while the royal family is slandered. Let’s go, Sebastian, (Y/N).”
            The small group walked along the port to where many suspects might live. As they walked, a man bumped into Ciel.
            “Oh, so painful!” cried the man dramatically as more men surrounded them. “I think one of my ribs has fractured! Damn it, I might die!”
            “This is terrible,” cried another man. “You should get compensation to pay for a doctor!”
            “You better leave us everything you have,” said another voice in the crowd.
            “We seem to have been surrounded by rather loutish thugs,” remarked Sebastian.
            “So unfortunate. We should clear the way,” said (Y/N).
            “Take care of this quickly,” said Ciel.
            “Understood,” said Sebastian.
            “Hey!” The man grabbed Ciel by the collar. “All the Indians around here have a grudge against you English!”
            Which is fair, all things considered, thought (Y/N).
            The man raised a dagger, and Sebastian flicked him in the forehead. The simple motion threw the man to the ground.
            “Are you alright?” asked Sebastian with a smile.
            “Yes,” said Ciel.
            “You bastard,” growled the man. He raised his dagger again.
            “Wait,” said a new voice. Everyone paused as a two well-dressed men, one with purple hair and the other with white, stepped out onto the street. One held a really terrible drawing. “We are looking for someone. Have you seen this person?”
            “What do you want, you bastard?! Don’t interrupt me!” said the thug.
            “Are you having a duel or something?” said the new man brightly. He blinked as he saw (Y/N) and Sebastian beside Ciel. “Oh, he has a khansama with him. Are you one of the English nobles?”
            “And if I am?” said Ciel coldly.
            “In that case, I shall side with my countrymen in this quarrel,” said the young man. He turned to the man following him, the white-haired one, and said, “Agni.”
            “Yes?” said Agni.
            “Defeat them,” said the man.
            “Jo anja,” said Agni dutifully. He began to unwrap his bandaged right hand. “My right hand, blessed by the Gods, shall be wielded for my master.”
            Agni ran at them. Sebastian grabbed Ciel and jumped out of the way, and (Y/N) blocked Agni’s attack, their eyes narrowing as Agni’s inhuman strength, yet he was as human as anyone. Agni adjusted quickly, turning midair, kicking, flipping, and striking with blows faster than the human eye could be. (Y/N)’s reactions were catlike with precision, perfectly timed with his attacks.
            “I’ve hit your vital points several times now,” said Agni. “You should already be paralyzed. How can you still move?” (Y/N) smirked at his confusion.
            “Hey! We were just passing through here!” said Ciel. “It was those men who looked to rob me.”
            “What? You people, did you attack the little one over there for no reason?” asked the purple-haired noble. “That is not right! This time, my countrymen are at fault. Agni, take the little one’s side.”
            That’s how easy it is to change is mind? (Y/N) raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
            “Understood,” said Agni, and in a moment, all the men were lying in a heap on the ground. “It’s taken care of, Prince Soma.”
            “Good,” said Soma. “Well, then, I was in the middle of looking for someone, so I had better be going. See you.” He sighed and turned away with Agni. “English roads are too complicated. Let’s head left next.” And they just…walked away.
            What strange humans, thought (Y/N).
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            “I’m completely drained,” muttered Ciel once they made it back to the townhouse. “The culprit might have been one of those we saw.”
            “Let us await Lord Randall’s report,” said Sebastian.
            “Young Master, welcome home,” greeted the rest of the servants.
            “If I keep getting called out to London for all these trivial incidents, there’ll be no end to it,” huffed Ciel.
            “Ah! Earl, you really did come!” Lau opened the front door, not caring for decorum or invitations as usual.
            “You’re always so unannounced!” said Ciel. “I keep telling you, if you’re going to visit, at least send a letter or something first.”
            “Have you said that?” Lau’s memory was terrible as always.
            “Since we have a guest now, I shall prepare some tea,” said Sebastian.
            “Fine,” said Ciel.
            “I’d prefer an English Chai blend,” said a familiar voice.
            “Fi—!” Ciel’s eyes widened as he saw Soma and Agni standing in the doorway.
            “Ah, I met them around the corner,” said Lau. “They said they wanted to meet the Earl.”
            “Why are you here?!” cried Ciel.
            “Why? We got acquainted earlier, did we not?” said Soma.
            “Acquainted?” questioned Ciel.
            “And, also, we saved you,” said Soma, walking confidently into the house.
            “Saved?! In what way?!” cried Ciel.
            “In India, hosting for those to whom you are indebted is common sense,” said Soma. “Is it the English way to throw such people out under the cold sky?” He walked upstairs casually to a bedroom.
            “Who are you anyway?!” demanded Ciel as he threw the door open after Soma and Agni.
            “Me?” Soma was lounging happily on the bed. “I am a prince.”
            “A prince?” asked (Y/N). The rest of the servants peeked into the room next to them.
            “This personage is the Bengal Kingdom’s prince, the twenty-sixth son of the King of Bengal, Prince Soma Asman Cadart,” said Agni.
            “I’ll be imposing on you for a while, Little One,” said Soma.
            Presumptuous. He’s going to be an irritating guest, thought (Y/N).
            “Wow! A prince!” exclaimed Finny.
            “A prince!” echoed Mey-Rin.
            “This is the first time I’ve seen a real prince in the flesh!” said Baldroy.
            “You may approach me,” said Soma. The servants crowded Soma with questions.
            “So, you brought your servants with you this time?” remarked Lau.
            “Yes. We have a guard dog to protect the manor while we’re away now,” said Sebastian.
            “Well, that must be a relief,” said Lau.
            “Sebastian, (Y/N), keep an eye on them,” said Ciel.
            “Understood,” said Sebastian.
            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N).
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            “Master Ciel, it is time to wake up.”
            Ciel’s eyes opened before jumping in shock. Agni and Soma were in his room.
            “Namaste, Master Ciel,” said Agni, smiling.
            “Why are you in my bedroom?!” cried Ciel.
            “We’re going out, Little One! Show us around!” said Soma brightly, picking up Ciel.
            “Why should I have to?!” demanded Ciel, trying to push out of Soma’s arms. “And I have a proper name! It’s Ciel, not Little One!”
            “Then, Ciel, I ask that you be our guide,” said Soma. “Come!”
            “Sorry to intrude,” said Sebastian, stepping into the room before Soma could run away with Ciel. “But the Young Master has studies and work duties to attend to today to today.”
            “You’ll have to accompany yourselves,” said (Y/N), smiling.
            “No, we shall stay and wait for Ciel,” said Soma, smiling as if that was normal.
            (Y/N)’s nose twitched in annoyance.
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            Sure enough, Soma and Agni were not far behind Ciel as he practiced violin. (Y/N) watched in amusement as Sebastian, in a tutor outfit (which made (Y/N)’s eyes unabashedly roam him), instructed him.
            Ciel played as best he could, and Sebastian listened for imperfections. The melody was interrupted, however, when the sound of prayers began. Agni and Soma had erected a statue of a Hindu goddess and were praying before it.
            “What on earth?” asked Ciel.
            “It seems they’re praying, but that’s a rather fantastic idol, isn’t it?” remarked Lau.
            “I’ve seen Cults. This is reasonable for hu-people,” said (Y/N).
            “All I can see is a statue of a woman carrying a head with a necklace of heads around her neck, dancing on the body of a man,” said Sebastian.
            “She is one of the Hindu gods we worship, the Goddess Kali,” said Agni.
            “Hindi gods, eh?” said Ciel.
            “Kali is the wife of Shiva and a goddess of power,” explained Agni. “In far distant times, a certain demon recklessly challenged her to a fight. Of course, the goddess Kali won. However, after that, unable to quell her destructive urges, she went on a rampage of death and destruction. In a bid to defend the Earth, her husband, the god Shiva, lay down at her feet. Having stepped on her husband with unclean feet, the goddess Kali returned to her senses, and the Earth once again became peaceful. Kali is the great goddess who defeated a demon after a mighty battle. As proof of that, she has the demon’s head in her grasp.”
            “So he says,” said Ciel, glancing back at (Y/N) and Sebastian.
            “To think there was a god as strong as that…” murmured Sebastian. “I will have to be careful if I ever go to India.”
            “I rather liked Egypt when I traveled there,” said (Y/N). They smirked. “I convinced some people to worship me.”
            “Well, then, our prayers are concluded, so let’s go out!” said Soma.
            “As I said, I’m busy!” said Ciel as Soma tried to drag him out again.
            “What are you even doing anyway?” sighed Soma.
            “You’re being distracting. Be quiet!” said Ciel. He picked up his fencing sword. He had practiced violin, now it was fencing. “If you want my attention so badly, then I’ll be your opponent!”
            Soma excitedly took the other sword. “So, if I win against you, you’ll come out with us?”
            “If you can,” said Ciel.
            “Good luck,” said Agni.
            “Well, then, begin!” said Sebastian.
            Agni is going to be beaten, thought (Y/N). He clearly has no idea what he’s doing.
            Sure enough, Agni swung the foil at Ciel’s leg, and it bent.
            “There’s no benefit to hitting the foot with a foil,” remarked Ciel sarcastically.
            Agni parried a few blows and huffed. “That’s unfair! I don’t know the rules!”
            “A match is a match,” said Ciel. “It’s your fault for not knowing.” Ciel had the upper hand and was about to finish the match with a blow to the stomach.
            “My Prince, look out!” Agni intervened. One hand held a cup to block the tip of the fencing foil, and the other struck Ciel’s pressure points, causing his arm to go limp. Agni’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d done. “M-Master Ciel. I’m so sorry. When I thought that His Highness was going to lose, my body moved of its own accord.”
            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. Agni seemed to have some honor, even if Soma seemed immature and naïve. They would remain careful around the unnaturally talented human, but they had to admit, he wasn’t the most intolerable mortal they’d met.
            Sebastian noticed (Y/N) observing Agni, and his eyes narrowed.
            Soma laughed. “Agni, you protected me well. I give you my praise! Agni is my khansama and belongs to me. Therefore, the win was mine.”
            “Th-That’s ridiculous!” said Ciel.
            “Oh, dear, Sebastian, it seems like the Young Master’s honor must be defended,” said (Y/N). They smirked and tossed Ciel’s fallen foil to Sebastian.
            He caught it effortlessly. His eyes turned to Agni. Well, he had to prove a point now that the human had gotten (Y/N)’s attention. “Good grief,” he said. He masked himself easily with disdain at Ciel. “This happened because you teased an amateur who doesn’t know the rules.”
            “My fault?!” huffed Ciel.
            “Nevertheless, as a butler of the Phantomhives, now that my master has been injured, I cannot sit by and watch,” declared Sebastian. “All else aside, we’re ten minutes behind schedule.”
            “So, that’s what you’re really irritated about,” muttered Ciel.
            Not even close to correct, thought Sebastian.
            “I will allow a duel,” said Soma. “Agni, in the name of Kali, do not lose!” Agni bowed and took the fencing foil.
            “Sebastian, this is an order! Shut the brat up!” said Ciel.
            “Make this entertaining, you two,” said (Y/N) brightly.
            “Yes, of course,” said Sebastian, smirking.
            “Jo, ajna,” said Agni.
            “Begin,” said (Y/N).
            Agni and Sebastian were instantly in motion. With each thrust and parry, they danced around one another. Both were perfectly matched for the duel with inhuman grace as they fought. (Y/N) watched in fascination. Agni was most definitely human, but his skills were equal to those of Sebastian at the moment. It was truly fascinating to wat
            At the last moment, Agni and Sebastian both thrust their foil’s out, and the tips met. The foil’s bent. They snapped.
            “Oh, my. The foils snapped,” observed Sebastian.
            “The match is a draw,” said (Y/N), blinking in surprise.
            “Ciel’s khansama is pretty good,” said Soma. “Agni is the best fighter in my palace. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone fight on par with him.”
            Ciel walked to Sebastian and (Y/N) and whispered, “Just what is this man? He’s not one of those…” Reapers…
            “No, he’s definitely a human,” said Sebastian.
            “But with that power…He’s a likely suspect for the hangings,” said (Y/N).
            Sebastian nodded. “Indeed. Hanging people would have been an easy task for him…” Perfect. (Y/N) would be wary around him instead of interested in any way.
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            It seemed that everyone else was having a positive reaction to Agni, as well. When Sebastian and (Y/N) stepped into the kitchen, they expected the usual chaos. Instead, Baldroy, Finny, and Mey-Rin were working well beside Agni.
            “Thanks to everyone’s hard work, it looks like the food will be delicious,” said Agni.
            “This can’t be real,” said (Y/N).
            “Indeed, to have this lot helping you…” Sebastian didn’t have to elaborate.
            “Everyone is born with their own talent,” said Agni. “They have a duty and path laid out for them by the gods. We children of the gods abide by that and do what we can.”
            “You are a most well-rounded individual, aren’t you, Mr. Agni?” said Sebastian.
            “Not at all. Until I met the prince, I was a hopeless fool,” admitted Agni. “I will be forever in his debt. I injured those around me, strayed from the gods, and accumulated many sins. Finally, my day of judgement came. Without leaving any attachment in this world, I would…have died. But Prince Soma gave me a new life. To me, who had not even believed in the gods, who had thrown everything away…A god appeared! Indeed, that day, I saw the holy light of God within the prince.”
            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. An interesting mortal.
            “The prince is both my king and my god,” said Agni. “Therefore, I will use this new life to protect the one who gave it to me and grant as many of his wishes as I can.”
            “Interesting,” said (Y/N), cocking their head. “You truly are devoted to him.” They had no loyalty to anyone in that. Well, almost anyone, but as a demon, they had to be ready to let go of attachments at any moment.
            “Yes,” said Agni. He brightened for a moment. “Ah, and I wanted to say something to you, (Y/N).”
            “Yes?” said (Y/N).
            Agni bowed. “I apologize for fighting you when we first met. Had Prince Soma and I known our countrymen were at fault, I would not have attacked.”
            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. They put on a smile. “I am perfectly capable of defending myself against you, and you were following your prince’s orders as a servant should.”
            Sebastian’s respect for Agni’s devotion to his master and pure humanity was quickly losing to his desire to throw the man out of the house.
Taglist:
@technikerin23
@im-making-an-effort
@izzieg3987
@jinxxangel13
@alexpangender
@otomyoli
@neenieweenie
@nex-crowley
@anxious-chick
@bellacastiel
@v1l-ismissing
@agentdedf1sh
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naturalrights-retard · 2 months
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Police in the UK have begun arresting citizens who commit the ‘crime�� of carrying a British flag around in public.
A man was arrested this week during a pro-Palestine protest in Liverpool after police spotted him carrying the Union Jack.
“I believe he said something to the crowd and the police have arrested him,” said YouTuber Charlie Veitch, who captured the incident on camera. However, when asked, the man in handcuffs denied saying anything.
Modernity.news reports: The YouTuber then noticed the Union Jack flag and warned the police that they risked eventually inciting a “civil war” for “arresting an Englishman flying a Union Jack when there’s people here tacitly supporting October 7th.”
“It’s not our country no more, lads,” says someone off camera.
As the man is led away in handcuffs, some of the pro-Palestine supporters cheer him being bundled into a police van.
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miwhotep · 2 months
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THE PROBLEMS WITH MILVERTON’S WRITING IN TWO CRIMINALS
This post didn’t mean to hate on the Two Criminals Arc, since there were great aspects of the story I really enjoyed, too: the Sherlock and John parts or the Sherlock-William face-off. I just want to talk about what are my problems with it when it comes to the writing of Milverton, because from his viewpoint, most of the things just don’t make sense.
Let’s start with Milverton’s visit to Sherlock’s office. I used to hate this part, too, for being so heavily based on BBC Sherlock, where Milverton also claims Sherlock’s office as his and makes a disgusting scene, including pissing. When I first read the story, I was angry since copying the scene didn’t make sense: in BBC, Milverton is a foreigner who wants to demonstrate how domesticated English people are with pissing and being able to get away with it – but YuuMori’s Milverton is an Englishman, who even likes to act like someone from the high-class: he is evil, but shown before being generally moderate when it comes to interacting with people. I was also angry because I felt that the scene is literally pissing on the meaning of a character like Milverton: he doesn’t need to act petty or threatening, he is a blackmailer, his whole existence is a threat. He is scary because he tortures people wearing a mask of a smooth-talker, even polite gentleman.
BUT! What if his tendency to make scenes like this is a strategy on his part? With his behavior, he pushed Sherlock to the point where he didn’t find breaking in to his house a problematic thing – he wanted Sherlock to surely break in to him, after all. Milverton angered Sherlock and his companion to make sure none of them, neither the more moral John nor Mary finds anything bad in the break-in, so Sherlock will do as he expected.
Before we move to the second part of the arc, let’s take a look at Milverton’s personality, methods and the conclusions he made about the Lord of Crime while investigating him.
Milverton more than once mentions that he always does a thorough research when it comes to his “cases”, and we also see proofs to this statement beside the Lord of Crime case: Sherlock mentions that he seems to know how much money exactly the people he want to blackmail have or their past and present relationships, he got Mary’s secrets and even the list with her name – so recovering any documents he wish for is not a problem for him either, - or during the White Knight arc, he knew the pressure points of both that police guy who killed Whiteley’s assassin or Sturridge and he was able to use them for his advantage. Milverton also mentions that he knows everything about everyone in London – because he is a control freak who just NEEDS to know everything. Getting information on someone is an everyday job for him – he is not just a blackmailer; he is also the King of Media.
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Beside researching, Milverton’s method also includes analyzing people’s psychology and their weak points – as we see in the White Knight arc – to help him decide what actions he needs to take to make his victims act like he wants: whether it’s about forcing them to do crime or just make them act like catalysts to others.
When it comes to Milverton’s research regarding the Lord of Crime / William James Moriarty, he mentions that he spends every hour getting information on him: he knows fully the childhood of the original William, his relationships with other people, what type of person he was while he also researched everything about the present William. He notices the inconsistency between his personality before and after the fire happened, and able to deduce from getting through the court case of the fake-William who the William James Moriarty now is. He also researched Albert and Louis carefully and knows how much the three brothers are caring about each other. He also knows that the Lord of Crime is a Robin Hood figure, that’s why he foiled his Jack the Ripper agenda or took up Whiteley’s crimes to preserve the equality movement. The Lord of Crime’s good nature is how he deduced William James Moriarty being the Lord of Crime.
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Before Two Criminals, Milverton is shown as a smart and competent villain who was able to outwit Sherlock more than once and didn’t make any bigger mistake.
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Let’s finally move to the second part of Two Criminals where everything what got previously build up regarding his character falls to pieces.
First, Milverton not knowing the relationship between Sherlock and William despite the research he did – it seems so impossible since Sherlock and William met at least three times and he could’ve easily gotten to know about all of them.
The Noahtic incident: this was especially a big thing, Moriarty’s staged crime to expose Enders – and Milverton is a media mogul, a news like this surely caught his eye either looking into what really happened onboard just for his curiosity – don’t forget, he NEEDS to know about everything – or later connecting it to the Lord of Crime when he started doing his research. (And there was already a rumor among the common people about the Lord of Crime’s existence who helps the good – if I think it through, it seems so unbelievable that Milverton only started researching the Lord of Crime after the Jack the Ripper thing: Milverton is the Big Bad of the city, he should’ve feared that the Lord of Crime coming after him once, too). And when he researches the guest list of the ship to find Moriarty’s name on it, he could’ve noticed that Sherlock Holmes was aboard, too.
The train incident: well, that was a more isolated case, but it surely ended in the news – so how no journalists knew that the one who solved the murder case was a noble, alongside the famous Sherlock Holmes? The people aboard surely started gossiping about it, it should’ve been breaking news and Milverton could’ve easily gotten know who was the noble. And this would be also an example of a noble and detective’s social spheres colliding – what he was so surprised about in Two Criminals. (Adding to this point: Milverton, as a blackmailer, deals with all kinds of people: he loves ruining both nobles and commoners, why would he think that colliding of the social spheres of a noble and a detective is impossible? Milverton himself was an example that all kinds of people can meet, after all.)
Durham: no, I don’t start theorizing on that one of the students appearing in that exam looked exactly like Ruskin – but Milverton looked up William’s professor life, too. How could he not know that once the famous Sherlock Holmes went to Durham, too? Students surely started gossiping about their math teacher meeting the famous detective.
Second, Milverton miscalculating William’s pressure point – Milverton always knows the pressure points of his “cases” and he did such a wide research of William’s personal life, he knows the strong bond between the three brothers. He also knows that William is a Robin Hood figure and noticed his method in action: during the Jack the Ripper case, Liam united the police and the commoners against the fake Ripper, how hard would have been for a person like Milverton (who more than once outwitted Sherlock and has a good grasp on people’s personalities) figuring out William’s true plan: uniting the nobles and commoners against the Lord of Crime? He should’ve known that William’s pressure point is not his name published, but his family.
Third, miscalculating Sherlock as a person. Milverton faced off Sherlock more than once in the past and surely expected to face him again at other blackmailing cases, he must’ve done enough research on Sherlock Holmes, too – he likes being fully armed when he goes to battle after all. So Milverton knows that Sherlock has his own type of morality – he even relied on that when he calculated that Sherlock will break in to him for the greater good. Milverton also knows that William is a Robin Hood figure who does crimes for the greater good and he surely suspected that Sherlock figured this out, too – so why was he so sure that Sherlock will arrest William when they meet?
Fourth, the safety of Milverton. He always travels with bodyguards and a shielded carriage – if he is doing something so dangerous like facing the Lord of Crime who murders evil people like him, wouldn’t it make sense to make some arrangements providing his safety? Like Sherlock once pointed out, he is a coward – why was he so stupidly brave in such a dangerous situation like this? It doesn’t make sense at all.
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And the last one I’m most mad about: he was killed off so easily, despite that he meant to be a formidable foe to the Moriarties. Killing him was no effort to them. He was originally built up as a cunning villain in the acts before: defeating him should’ve required more brains than brawn. Milverton became a totally wasted character who had so many possibilities to explore but ended up being just a way to make Sherlock and William face off. Even if it’s about Milverton’s hubris of being overconfident – one big mistake is tolerable, but four at once? To a person who barely made any mistakes before? Now it’s just a total inconsistent character writing.
I thought a lot about how Milverton could’ve gotten defeated without totally massacring his character and I came up with an idea. First, Milverton threatens William to publish Albert and Louis’ identities as the helpers to the Lord of Crime – Liam would never let anything to happen to his brothers - to make him let Sherlock arrest him, while blackmailing Mary. Sherlock ending up arresting William and Milverton doesn’t get killed on that night. But Albert lets William out so he can escape and do his purge as the Lord of Crime and continue with the Moriarty plan. During the revolution Liam causes, Milverton’s crimes get to the light, too, so the people whom he toyed with finally take their revenge and cause his downfall like he did with so many others – society casts him out as a human trash. Milverton either get killed, brought to court or get chased away from London.
This was a really long essay, but I wanted to show my viewpoint about the story and why I am so angry about it when it comes to Milverton: a competent and smart character getting turned into an idiot. It was a really disappointing ending to his arc.
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recordofheadcannons · 4 months
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Lies of P gave me another brainrot sooo can I ask for a Jack x Reader, where the reader is a doll but starts being more and more human thanks to Jack?
Like he maybe found them during one of his missions and took them with him basically? (He prolly would read Shakespeare to them tho- that's for sure. Man can't go without his tea or Shakespeare books)
Hope you have a wonderful day!✨️
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Jack meeting a Doll!Reader who starts to become more human-like thanks to their interactions would include…
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ - When he first met you, you were nothing more than a ‘collectors item’, owned by a man in one of the many bookshops that surrounded London. You served to help your master with the bookstore by organizing books and helping patrons find anything that they needed while they were there. As well as answer any questions that you could.
One would think that the few human interaction that you had would, at the very least, make you… oh, what’s the word? Act more like a ‘person’? However, it was quite the opposite.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - You we’re incredibly robotic in your responses and mannerisms, for many, it struck the ‘uncanny valley’ nerve in them and made people want to avoid you which didn’t do much to help you in your predicament.
However, when Jack first laid eyes on you, he swore that he could feel something inside of him speak and tell him that he needed to do something about it… about you.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - As a result, Jack made it a point to always visit the bookstore of which you resided in, and always approached you for anything he could possibly need. As a result, slowly but surely, you learned through him as to how to behave more… human-like and less like a machine.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - One day, Jack successfully sneaks you out of the bookstore and takes you on a fun day, just the two of you doing all sorts of things. From going to a local shop and enjoying tea (that you cannot drink, but you marvel at him with curious eyes as you watch him drink the liquid), then you go to a park where he reads Shakespeare to you..
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - Towards the end of the day, as you’re both relaxing at a park, under the shade of a tree, you turn you head to Jack and;
“…Jack?” You perk up, your familiar monotone voice marking the Englishman’s ear’s perk up at its sound.
“Yes?” He turns to look at you, “Is something wrong, my dear?” He asks you.
“…I-“ you pause, trying to find the correct words, eventually you settle on just one, “Why?”
He cocks his head curiously at you, “I’m… not sure I follow…”
“Why…” you start, before continuing, “Why would you go out of your way to do all of this? For me? I’m just a doll… I’m not even human like you or my master…”
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - It’s in that moment that Jack explains to you how when he first saw you, he had this feeling inside of him that insisted he help you. He explains to you how, in the oddest way to put it, it saddened him how others treated you like you were a wandering street cat who had no place being there.
How others would barely give you any chance and how your own master neglected teaching you how to behave like a real human being.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - And while he does tell you that he does understand that you aren’t a human and you’re just a… magically living doll, he does tell you that this doesn’t change his opinion of you;
“-you’re still a living being, capable of thoughts and emotions, why would I treat you any differently?” He asks you.
And you sit there, stunned at how… kind he has been towards you.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - Slowly, as more time passes, the moments that you two spend together serves to help improve you as a person and allow you to turn you more and more into an individual.
You greet him with more enthusiasm, you start to ‘talk with your hands and body’ (meaning that when you speak, you look more animated and lively), and overall the way you interact with others begins to change more.
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - Over the course of several days, the patrons begin to take notice of your change in behavior and it earns you a few friends here and there. In particular, you befriend a group of older women who now visit the bookstore more often. One of the ladies gifts you a handmade dress (or suit) for you to wear!
͟͟͞͞➳❥ - As a result, your owner/master ends up thanking Jack for what he did with you and even offers him the ability to ‘own’ you if he ever wants, to which Jack replies with;
“-Neither you nor I have the right to own a living being, __ owns themselves.”
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moratoirenoir · 11 months
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fireflywritesgt · 7 hours
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Mathilde
Part 18 of my story! Read the index and content warnings here. *lampshades the square cube law in this chapter and moves on* Anyways today we're wrestling with The Canadian Identity and how our tinies fit into that. Warning to readers: colonialism and the Canadian residential school system gets alluded to later in this chapter.
Harry Avery was not supposed to be working so soon after suffering the fracture. He was also not supposed to be thinking about Joe Piccoli after finally seeing the man in a half-decent outfit, but as he opened up a new case record for the only patient he would be seeing that day, he did both. After all, it was not only Harry’s commitment to the good of mankind that spurred him to see this particular patient in spite of his injuries, but also his soft spot for Joe.
“She’s crying, Harry. She says there’s something really wrong with her and she wants a quick consultation. Nobody else will see her. Just ten minutes. It won’t take that long, right?” Joe had said.
A crying woman was bad enough, but when paired with Joe, a tender-hearted soul artfully disguised as the opposite, Harry couldn’t say no. What sort of monster would he be if he did?
When his latest patient sat down before him, Harry immediately regretted this decision. Madame Bélanger, a wife and mother roughly thirty years of age, did not speak a lick of English, and the six-year-old accompanying her who had gone straight for the toys in the parlour knew even less.
“I am… I am…” That was about as far as Mme. Bélanger got before she helplessly searched for a phrase in English; then she began to pantomime going to sleep. “Très fatigué. Comprenez-vous? Fatigué.”
"... sleeping?" Harry guessed, which the woman could neither confirm nor deny.
This consultation was going to take much longer than ten minutes, Harry accepted. The most the doctor could gather was that his patient was very tired, but it told him precious little else. She certainly appeared sick; she looked frail as a dying bird and had all the facial hallmarks of someone who had lost a lot of weight in very little time, but from what exactly the doctor could not tell. He mirrored her helpless expression as he nodded along and took what notes he could while the jack-in-the-box little Mathilde was playing with squeaked out in the parlour. His once-decent handwriting was now befitting of a doctor as he scribbled single-handedly in his notepad.
Ontario was an Englishman’s world, and Harry had not learned a single word of French during his school days out on the prairie either, having attended, as one Manitoban education minister so put it, a Canadian school with Canadian teachers setting forth Canadian ideals and teaching the language of the country. Even his tour in Belgium had offered him precious little conversational French - at most he had learned the odd street name here, the odd greeting there, all of which he could just as easily have confused with Flemish before he had promptly forgotten everything. Yet as this woman sat before him, looking as though she might start crying again, he couldn’t help but wish he knew the bare minimum. Harry's duty in life was to help people, but he had little hope of doing so in this case.
He handed his notebook over to the woman, hoping that she might write something that would jump out at him whenever he could arm himself with a bilingual dictionary. As little Mathilde chased the clockwork horse down the hallway, Harry couldn’t help but wonder how Joe had managed to schedule the appointment at all.
“Qu’est-ce que c'est!? Maman! Maman! Qu’est-ce que c’est!? Un homme minuscule! Un homme minuscule!” The little girl shouted from the parlour.
She seemed to be enjoying those toys, Harry thought. Mme. Bélanger looked up from her writing only briefly.
“Mathiiiilde!” The tired woman wailed. “Viens ici!”
She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, but for all Harry knew, it could be Mathilde keeping her awake.
“Je veux jouer, monsieur! Laissez-moi jouer avec vous!” Said Mathilde, presumably in reply to her mother.
The little girl, as all children do at some point in time, refused to listen. The crash from down the hallway came as no surprise to either adult in the examination room, but it did cause a wave of dread to hit Harry like water from a cold hose when he realized the noise came from the area Joe was supposed to be working in. He dashed into the hallway and froze at the sight of the fallen candlestick phone. As the stricken doctor drew nearer to where Mathilde had wandered all the way to the end of the hallway, to his mixed trepidation and relief, he could just make out the voice of his poor assistant.
“Va t’en! Je dois travailler! Va t’en!” Joe shouted in passable French: go away, I have to work.
“Qu'est ce que vous faites?” The little girl responded: what are you doing?
She ventured ever closer to where Joe had fallen onto the floor and Harry ran to stop her as she reached out to grab him.
“TA-
BAR-
-NAK!” Joe barked.
Harry didn’t need to know a single word of French to understand that what Joe had just said was a swear word. Mathilde's curious hand slowed and drew back as she noticed the doctor looming behind her. She may as well have been sticking her hand in a cookie jar with the expression on her face, and as she froze Harry seized the opportunity to position himself between her and Joe like a wall. Then, the excitement was good as over when a voice thundered from down the hall.
“MATHIIIIIILDE!” Two streaks of tears ran down the exhausted mother's face as she boomed so loudly the walls shook. “ICI.”
She pointed to the spot directly beside her, and the child, looking like she had just witnessed the wrath of god itself, ran to her mother’s side without hesitation. Meanwhile, a million questions swarmed like bees between Harry's ears.
Chief among those questions was,
“Joe! Are you okay!?”
He gently picked Joe up and whispered it to the tiny as the mother gave her child a stern lecture about proper conduct at the doctor’s office that transcended language barriers. He could tell by the way Joe was rubbing his neck and shoulders that the fall had thrown something out of alignment.
“Oh, I’ll live. What was that thing you said about the toys keeping kids away, doc?” Joe said, cracking his neck back into place.
Harry looked back to the Bélangers, then to Joe in amazement.
“I didn’t know you spoke French.” He said.
“The hell is French?” Asked Joe. “You mean Belle? Langue Belle? I learned it at Usine.”
Harry’s buzzing brain went haywire for a moment at the fact that Joe, apparently, spoke French but did not understand it as such. It explained how he was able to schedule Mme. Bélanger’s appointment. Perhaps now, Harry reasoned, he could be of further assistance. He slipped his friend into his front pocket.
“Could you help me with something?”
Soon Joe was Harry’s unofficial translator, and as the tiny interpreted the patient’s notes it painted an intriguing picture, one of fatigue, weight loss, increased thirst, blurred vision. Now Harry knew exactly what he was dealing with: it was not the side effects of an unruly child, but a woman at death’s door thanks to acute-onset diabetes mellitus. Luckily for her, though the condition had been a death sentence a mere four years ago, it was now manageable through the recent implementation of insulin therapy by some nearby colleagues. A simple urine test would confirm his suspicions, and with any luck, this mother could receive proper treatment and lead a long and fulfilling life. The trick now was explaining it to her in words she could understand.
After much whispering, Harry repeated the phrase Joe, just out of earshot of Mme. Bélanger, shouted up at him from his front pocket.
“Vous devez pisser dans une tasse et puis je peux vous donne l’insuline.” Harry relayed to her, with all the grace of a foul-mouthed toddler: you have to piss in a cup and then I can give you insulin.
At first the woman looked utterly affronted. Then, to Harry’s surprise, a smile spread across her face and she doubled over in laughter.
“D’accord, docteur. Je pisserai.” Said the grateful woman as her tears of sadness turned to tears of joy: okay, doctor, I'll piss.
-
With the Bélangers seen off, Harry righted the fallen phone at the table and took the sore tiny along with him on his journey upstairs.
“You were right. That one was serious, but that’s the last appointment I’m taking this week. Tell everyone else I’m unavailable.” Harry said, watching as Joe sat down on the base of the lamp by the nightstand and massaged his shoulders. "...are you all right? Do you need me to..."
Gently he reached out to Joe, whose eyes widened at the sight of the hand. With all the hauteur of a spoiled prince the tiny sized his fingers up and then nodded in approval.
"You make this any worse and I'm taking you to court." Joe said.
"Nonsense, it looks like it's just a little bit out of alignment..."
Harry gradually pressed a thumb to Joe's chest, then placed his index finger on Joe's upper back and carefully stroked him down the spine to straighten his posture.
"Easy! Easy!" Joe said.
"I'm not pressing too-" Harry began.
"EASY!" Joe cut him off.
There was a crack so loud even Harry could hear it, and Joe heaved.
"...hard am I?"
Harry swiftly withdrew his hand and watched Joe's reaction in suspense. At first he couldn't tell if the way Joe flopped over onto his back was a good thing or a bad thing until Joe finally spoke up.
"...Harry, you need to do that more often." He breathed.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of him. The wild life had certainly taken its toll on Joe. As he sat there, those questions from earlier still swirled in his mind, and now seemed like a favourable time to ask them.
“So how do you know French? Are you… from… Quebec?” Harry asked with no small amount of awkwardness.
Only once those words were spoken out loud did it strike Harry as wrong somehow to be asking Joe such a thing. It was invasive, certainly, with how secretive the little man was, but some element of the question seemed so unduly othering that, when Joe’s eyebrows rose and he let out a laugh, Harry immediately regretted raising it.
“I dunno. Is Quebec in Italy?” Was Joe’s batshit response.
Harry was at a loss for words as he tried with all his might to explain the concept of Quebec to his downstairs neighbour Joe Piccoli.
“No it’s… it’s an area north of here, a part of Canada where people speak the same language Madame Bélanger speaks.” Harry said.
Joe looked just as lost as Harry was.
“Maybe if that’s where Usine is. I dunno Harry, I—I dunno places the way you know 'em—” Joe got up, paced around, and tossed his head back as he tried to explain himself “—I don’t even know where I was born.” He admitted.
Harry’s eyes followed Joe’s movements in utter bafflement.
“Well then what do you know?” He asked.
Joe stopped dead in his tracks and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked up at Harry hesitantly, as if he were about to impart a deeply-held secret.
“I'll tell you the whole story. It’s kind of funny, actually.”
There it was again, that phrase Harry had come to dread. Joe started pacing again and fidgeted as he told his tale.
“My mom and dad got on a boat with my brother before I was even born, right? Whole bunch of other miniatures on board. When they got off the boat this earless son-of-a-bitch is herding women and kids one way, and men another way. After that I don’t have a dad anymore. I don’t even know if he’s alive, Harry – I’d bet my last scrap he got snatched! Bet the only reason my mom and brother didn’t get taken along with him is ‘cause the snatchers had no use for a pregnant mom with a kid.”
Joe did not come to tears, so much as tears came to Joe. Harry could see that he was holding them back now, and once again he had to fight against his urge to touch the tiny, though he feared throwing that sore back of his out of alignment again. The toe of Joe’s boot hammered against the nighstand's surface as he composed himself and continued.
“…but my mom never stopped looking. She was obsessed. I remember—when I was really little, we lived in this huge city. Way bigger than this one. Bigger than the one Usine was in, even. And every year, we’d move in to some new building full of miniatures, because that was mom’s thing. I could name five different ones that I remember, all of them just as busy as this Toronto-Star-place is to you giants." He explained, mistaking the name of the daily newspaper for the city's name. "She was convinced there were snatchers after us. That they’d take us too. Which… we’re tinies, Harry. There’s always something out to get us.”
Harry leaned in as he listened from where he sat on the side of the bed, utterly amazed at Joe’s story so far. A city that big could only conceivably exist south of the border. Joe certainly didn't sound terribly different from a cruder version of the occasional Yankee businessgiant who wandered his way into Bay Street - but if that was the case, he wondered, how did Joe end up in Canada of all places?
“Eventually, she gets it in her head we’re in serious danger, and we need to travel north 'cause rumour had it there's no snatchers up north. I’m about eight at the time. So she loads us onto one steam engine and then another, and the next thing we know we’re in this place called Usine. Pretty lively borrowing town, plenty of people, but none of us spoke the language. So I learnt some of their language and they learnt some of our languages and we fit in just fine after that for about three years. Longest we’d ever stayed anywhere. Then we moved to this other place 'cause mom thought Usine was a bad influence on us – Nouveaulieu. I was about eleven or twelve then. That's when my ma' and brother disappeared on me, or…”
Joe's voice cracked and the tears welled up in his eyes again.
“Or what?” The question escaped Harry before he could stop himself.
Joe let out a bitter laugh as he suppressed his feelings and kept talking.
“…or they left without me.”
“Left without you!?”
Harry was so outraged he could barely think. What would compel anyone to abandon a twelve-year-old, especially at Joe’s scale?
Joe just kept on smiling through the pain.
“Yeah... it happens if you're uh... a certain kind of person." Joe didn't seem to want to dwell on the topic any further, and he abruptly changed the subject. "Anyways, after that I hopped a train over to this place, and that’s how I know 'French.' ...but I'm better at Muddle.”
"Muddle?" It was a term Harry could hardly guess the meaning of.
"You know..." Joe put two fingers up to the sides of his head, mimicking the ears of a cat. "J'ai heard un cat. The chat is très big. Anyone at Usine could figure that one out."
Harry stared at Joe in absolute wonder as he processed everything his friend had said to him up to that point.
“So you traveled all that way? And your parents crossed an entire ocean?” He said.
It hadn't occurred to him until this point that miniatures could travel that far. He tried to imagine what Joe had looked like as a child as he studied him; the tiny looked youthful enough as an adult now that the gauntness in his cheeks had filled in. He pictured a face even younger, a lad half Joe’s current size if that; a shrewd newsboy type like the ones that swarmed Yonge and King. The man before him now was no bigger than Harry's thumb, and the world was dangerous enough to him as it currently was. How harrowing it must have been for Joe at age eight, or even at age twelve, to get on a train and travel thousands of miles away. In that moment, Harry had nothing but respect for Joe. How brave it was of him to travel all that way. Even journeying to the hospital across town was something Harry doubted he would have the emotional capacity to do at Joe’s size, yet the tiny had done it without a second thought for no other reason than to brighten Harry's day.
Harry, who was a hundred times bigger than Joe, looked up to the tiny as he gazed down at him in awe, but all Joe had to say in response was,
“…well, yeah. Of course we go places, Harry, I mean-a ton of you giants got to this place after getting on a damn boat, didn’t you? At least, that's what a guy at Calloway's told me. It's the same for us too.”
“Fair point.” Replied the doctor, whose own father had arrived in Canada from Merry Old England after getting on a damn boat. "...where do you miniatures usually go when you travel? Do you have a destination in mind?"
"Nah. We go to heaven, usually." Joe said, and when Harry flinched at his dark reply, he added, "...you were supposed to laugh at that."
"I know I was." Harry said. "So is it common practice if it's that dangerous?"
"It's as dangerous as everything else we do. Not all of us do it. Some of us... there's tiny families that have lived in the same old houses for hundreds of years. I've heard stories about 'em. My family just didn't end up like that."
The thought of family, and of Harry's own father, raised even more questions. Did miniatures have documentation? Visas? Birth records? That was not what Harry was really wondering in asking himself these lesser questions, of course. There was another, much more contentious question Harry couldn't keep himself from bringing up.
“So... are you a Canadian, or...? Do miniatures... have Canada?” Was Harry's best attempt at asking a question he didn't actually know how to ask.
It was another stupid question to Joe, no doubt. He could tell by the way the tiny leaned up against the lamp with his hands behind his head.
“Y’know what, Harry? If I'm a Canadian, I don’t know that I wanna be one.” He said. “Canada... I don’t give a shit about it, not until people start treating each other better. That guy at Calloway's told me the only reason Canada was invented is 'cause the guys on the boats killed a bunch of people who were here first and started taking their kids away. That ain't right, Harry.”
Harry had a minor identity crisis as Joe slid down the side of the lamp and sat at its base. For all intents and purposes he should have been affronted by what Joe was saying, but the more he thought about it, he realized to his dismay that he didn’t know if a Canadian was something he wanted to be either. It was a downright sacrilegious idea to explore, the notion that a war hero like him could even contemplate feeling such a way. Yet learning the art of war was precisely what drove him to question himself in this moment: what god, he had wondered, what nation, what leader, could march a bright-eyed boy like Georgie off as though he were a lamb to the slaughter? Why did the citizens of this proud colony, enamoured with wartime fantasies as they were, thank him so profusely for his supposed bravery when, if they knew that the most he had accomplished during the war consisted of bleeding and crying in equal measure, they would disown him in a heartbeat for not living up to their ideal? Why wouldn't Canada kill people, then? Why wouldn't it steal children? Why not?
It was as if knowing Joe, being given a glimpse of this inverted Canada that the miniatures were familiar with, a Canada full of death and negligence and danger, had opened up a whole new way of thinking about the world. It shone a light on something he had always sensed underneath society’s surface but had never been able to fully articulate to himself. That line from On the Life and Death of the Miniature about miniatures knowing no king, border or nation was starting to ring true, and with that thought, another quote from the book came to mind:
“The miniature defies all laws known to mankind. His mere existence spits in the face of Galileo Galilei. His eyes should be blind, and yet he sees. His voice should be mute, and yet he speaks. He ought to be short-lived and ephemeral and yet miniatures in good care live long as the humans do. In spite of his small size, relative to his body his strength is herculean. The contradictory being of the miniature is incomprehensible in the face of modern science.”
Incomprehensible. That was one word to describe the existence of Joe Piccoli, who spoke French but did not call it French, who thought Quebec was part of Italy, who did not even have a concrete birthplace to his name. In the absence of comprehensibility, Harry decided, friend was the only label of Joe's that really mattered to him.
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For all of us who’ve been wondering since its May release, Jack does us a solid:
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YLM was written 1.5 years before the official breakup announcement.
So right after she released Red TV and YB was nowhere to be found (hiding out in Panama “filming” in the movie where Margaret was higher on the call sheet and helped him get the part). Right when she was writing all the other Midnights tracks.
And after our fave green-eyed Englishman had spent the fall touring Fine Line and kissing a heart tattoo/linking Two Ghosts and Falling/NOT being able to sing TBSL.
Hooray for data points!
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dukeofriven · 4 months
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It's a bit frustrating to look at the Aubrey-Maturin tag and be deluged with gifs from the movie. Now I like the movie, it was my introduction the series as giddily presented to me by my grandmother when it hit theatres (her copies of the series are over on my left), and if half of it hadn't been filmed on now-awful-looking 2K digital film, I'd love it even more: the cinematography is excellent. Russel's Crowe's Jack Aubrey is about as good as we are likely to get from Hollywood: he's nowhere near fat enough, he's nowhere near scarred enough, he's not nearly taut enough with his officers and men (because somebody probably complained it made him sound 'mean' if it even reached the script stage—several times in the film he lets his officers give their opinions, which goes against Jack's character), and he honestly not nearly goofy enough (the famous weevil crack is about the most we get), but all in all it's a good performance for a Hollywood flicker and it acquits itself well. It's the Jack in Heroic mode we essentially get throughout, and I get the motivations behind it even if it lacks the complexity of the character I love. But Paul Bettany's performance as Maturin is frustrating. First, its offensive in and of itself to cast as an Irishman an Englishman who is so English his father is godfather to the wife of Prince Edward. You wouldn't know Bettany's Maturin was Irish (much less half-Spanish) if he didn't expressly say so in the picture. For a character so inextricably Irish to just be an Englishman is very vexing. He looks like Stephen Maturin even less than Russel Crowe looks like Jack should: he's much too handsome, much too well-dressed, and far too pleasant. None of Stephen's peevish waspishness makes it into the movie: at best FilmStephen mopes, and none of his cutting wit, far less his erudition, really makes it to the screen. Part of the problem, of course, is the same issue that inflicts every Jane Austen adaptation too: a distinct refusal by the part of filmmakers to depict an era with such a different understanding of intimacy among the upper classes. Even O'Brian struggled with this, as I once heard an interview where a historian complained that in the early books it was downright promiscuous how often O'Brian's characters shook hands. So of course both characters come off as less-formal on screen than they do in the books. But the movie flattens all of Stephen's wrinkles out, leaving him a caricature of his dynamic, prickly, funny, often dangerously drug-hazed, Butcher of Boston, sometimes stuffy, sometimes radical, always sui generis self. It's not a bad performance, Bettany does what he can with the material he's given, but the character on screen is decidedly not Señor Esteban Maturin y Domanova, MD.
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