when you mentioned in your tags that there was hardly any laughingstock i didn't believe you at first, but holy shit ur right. YOU AND @krasytoonz MADE ME INTO A LAUGHINGSTOCK BELIEVER. I WILL PAY TRIBUTE TO THESE SKRUNGLY FUCKERS SOON, MARK MY WORDS *shakes fist into the void*
no yeah Seriously though its just us out here, fighting for our lives in the fucking Trenches. in ten years someone is gonna use the word 'laughingstock' casually in conversation and im gonna have War Flashbacks
Romano thoughts:
He was spoilt as a child; growing up with grandpa Rome meant spending his childhood grazing on fruit and wine and not doing much other than looking pretty. They're Rome's grandchildren, he and his brother exist to be small and spoilt, to not engage with politics or war but instead take long walks in the emperor's gardens and laze around in the private baths.
But then the Empire turned Christian, and it started losing: the Huns, the Goths - barbarians coming in droves across the river Danube to bring reckless and ruin to its people. Eventually, Rome was sacked; Rome which sits at the heart of Romano's territory.
There's something very poetic about the transfer of power in the western world and Romano's authority figures. The shift from Pagan Rome to Catholic Spain. There's similarities between the two of them: the warm skin and the kind eyes, the desire to build empires and conquer nations, the flirty Casanova personality and their capacity for such endless cruelty.
And then of course, there's God. Of course he's a godly boy; he looks like a Renaissance angle, his olive tones and soft brown eyes. Unlike his brother, he has no smile lines or crows feet, his complexion betrays his upbringing: apathetic, decadent, unmarred.
But there's a scar on his chest, a little cross over his heart - a reminder of beloved grandfather's undoing, of his own unwavering loyalty to Spain.
He loathes himself, the boy. Catholic guilt they say, the belief that something is inherently wrong with oneself - the original sin. Maybe it is a product of his devoutness. Or maybe, just maybe, its guilt: guilt for loving the man who champions the faith which killed grandfather. But he'll never be able to do anything about it, for he wasn't made to live for himself. Holy boy, he who exists to worship another. God, Rome, Spain - to sit at the feet of powerful men and resent its own weakness.
My girlfriend is the absolute love of my life and I am REELING right now. She met Dee Bradley Baker today and got him to sign a picture of Dogma she drew for me and I'm going to fucking CRY y'all look at this shit.
"Dogma deserves forgiveness!" BRO I AM CLUTCHING MY CHEST AND WAILING RIGHT NOW.
Good afternoon, delightful Tumblr people. It’s a gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous weekend in upstate New York in the Catskills. I’ve had Morse on the brain all weekend. Between writing that little vignette, and trying to explain to my mother why the show is so amazing, and our season seven project, I’ve been talking a lot and thinking a lot about his various life stages and iterations. It made me think of the very very very beginning. This scene never fails to move me. There’s so much emotion in it, and yet he isn’t even shot from the front. We barely see an entire profile. And of course, his eye roll…it says so much. it’s hard to believe this was supposed to be a one off, and he’d never played the character before. It’s just remarkable. The music is everything here too.