#i am a romantic to say the least. call me a silly little goose for this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hiimsociallyawkward · 4 years ago

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the wicked day

hey guys. i'm back with my random and annoying merlin thoughts. i should be studying for my bio quiz, but yk- i don't want to :,) love you @lady-ofmagic-andstars✨enjoy✨

literally every time i'm going watching i'm going to comment on john hurt that says young man instead of young boy

it's so subtle but wow. thanks i didn't need to be hurt so early on in the episode

i know i know i'm basically a child but this is so exciting

merlin is so cute

aw no not arthur being pouty abt his big birthday

I LOVE THE 'i heard that' thing so much. i love it i love it

off topic, but i love knife throwing. i've always thought that if i had to choose a weapon that's not a gun, i'd choose knifes. swords? maces? crossbows? sure. but knives?? that's where it's really at

i love arthur not wanting to overburden their citizens

ok uther? i hate him

but here? i love him

he's a good dad here. remembering arthur's birthday? that's so sweet. uther in season 4 is the only time i semi like him

AW ARTHUR AND UTHER AT DINNER

i love them

off topic but i like that arthur is wearing his 'every day' clothes, jacket and a tunic under his cape. that's it. the knights are all wearing his garb but arthur is just wearing his 'regular clothes'

hehe gwen being nervous about arthur being on the wheel is so sweet

idk why but i always get nervous at that last knife.

like of COURSe i know he's not going to get hit but it's scary.

the 'not wearing any trousers' thing omg. bbc really decided to do that

i wish we had more of this parental dynamic of arthur and uther

dam alright arthur. being out of it but still being in it enough to see the guy in the reflection? i stan

SKLFJASLDFJA uther fighting to protect arthur

literally me through his whole scene going 'oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez' on repeat.

so off topic but i kind of like the hairstyle they have for most of the guys in this show?? idk is that weird

oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez uther dying

like, i HATe him. i've been waiting for this since season 1 but this scene makes me sad

ok i don't remember the last episode of merlin so i forget what arthur says when he's dying in merlin's arms??

it's something like 'hold me' right? i feel like that has the same energy as 'stay with me' so while i can't exactly say this is sort of parallel, it's sort of parallel?

i mean, ok 1. dying in someone else's arms. 2. dying in the arms of someone you love? romantically, platonically, familial? doesn't matter. both uther and arthur died in the arms of someone they loved. 3. i'm just gonna say 'hold me' and 'stay with me' have the SAME energy, so if no one has called semi-parallels, i'm calling semi-parallels

bradley's single tear

stfu agarvaine. i'm serious. legit everytime he shows up i wanna pow pow pow him

legit. agaravaine needs to get away from morgana.

DO NOT GRAB HER ARM MISTER. LET GO OF HER

I DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE SECRETLY IN LOVE WITH HER. LET GO OF HER RN

i've said it once and i'll say it again, i love gwen

not to romanticize death or anything but i like candle light vigils.

ok maybe slightly symbolic but probably not? ok actually i think it is, not to toot my own horn but this is also just really straightforward too.

arthur wearing 'street garb' and his 'knight stuff' sort of differentiates between 'arthur' and 'prince arthur'. the scene where merlin and arthur are looking over the vigil and merlin's talking about how there's nothing that can be done, and arthur mentions using magic, i may be off about this but i feel like he's speaking more from prince arthur rather than arthur, uther is my father.

like of course arthur's hurting, everyone knows he's hurting. but idk. i feel like he feels like he's not ready to be king. he needs more time, and he can't be king yet. so therefore, prince arthur is talking about needing to save their king.

gaius and merlin are both right here. idk what else to say.

wow merlin 'you can't stop me' love that

jeez 'maybe this is my chance to change that' little do you know what's happening soon merlin.

oh shoot.

arthur asking merlin if he would use magic to save his father? i'm just thinking back to merlin crying, but not crying over balinor because he couldn't tell arthur, and merlin having to mourn his father in secret. vs. arthur, asking merlin for advice. sharing all his worries and insecurities with gwen. begging gaius to do something more for his father. this just makes me so sad

arthur TRUSTING merlin. with everything. taking merlin's opinion on things and aw

this is dumb but tbh i really like merlin's outfit. like tbh i think i dress in the same sort of style, just ✨modern✨ sadly, no neckerchief for me but i do have a necklace that says 'heather' despite my name being 'ashley'. ily conan gray

ugh. arthur calling merlin a coward but also calling him brave?? you need to pick a side arthur

LMAO ARTHUR STOP THINKING ABOUT WATCHING MERLIN PEE

bruh arthur breaking the vase. it's so dumb but merlin referring to the vase over and over actually makes me chuckle

ok merlin going 'you have come to kill me?' reminds me of another show but i can't remember but i thought i'd put it out here anyways

oh shoot i just realized/remember that uther got stabbed on arthur's birthday. hell of a gift am i right 😭

hehe arthur 'sweeping' with the broom. silly goose

dragoon sounds so vulnerable asking for the right to use magic freely

i love you arthur. this scene, i'm like YES. arthur i love him

i love the saying 'my word'. like, i don't want people to promise me anything anymore. i want them to give me their word.

HAHA THIS IS SO DUMB. MERLIN SAYING 'QUESTIONS. SO MANY QUESTIONS'. I LITERALLY SAY IT WITH THE SHOW EVERY TIME. WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME

aw arthur just sitting there with the cup and trying not to break it HAHA he's so sweet. slightly scared after that vase yk what i mean

ok i don't like morgana and everything but that necklace? that's a stroke of genius. yes girl. make up the plan as you go along

frick you agarvaine. do not scare gwen you PERV

jeez agarvainewas SO rude putting that necklace onto uther. like yes, ik you don't like him but STILL. that's just rude

i'm going to start calling people toads now

hehe arthur closing his door and merlin being right there. it's not necessarily a trope but it totally is and i love it

ah yes. merlin and the tavern. i feel like it's been referred to before but it's still funny.

ok ik arthur carrying merlin is there for kicks for the kids but i laughed anyways

apparently i have the humor of a 10 year old

this is really dumb but the scene with arthur and the two guards. i'm just thinking 'how tall are these guards'. ofc ik that the staging/perception could be doing something that might be making arthur look shorter, but my first reaction was 'bradley is 6' just how tall are these guards??'

merlin's speech about magic makes me sad

aw 'i hope, one day, that you'll see me in a different light'

dragoon has the same effect on arthur as merlin does

uther waking up 😭

AW. UTHER'S LITTLE SIGH AND THEN 'ARTHUR' BREAK MY HEART COVEY. BREAK IT A THOUSAND TIMES.

they're both so happy. this makes me so sad now. oh jeez. oh jeez. oh jeez

oh jeez oh jeez merlin's expression. AW merlin gave arthur his word. oh jeez this is very stressful and i'm only watching this

ok obviously. merlin doesn't want to see arthur in pain. but ALSO this was merlin's chance to change things once and for all. and now uther is dead. #no liam just payne

arthur's face post crying. skf;aldjfa;ldk AW

frick you agarvaine. literally die. i can't wait for merlin to kill you

i think this scene is pretty. the light on the left and the dark on the right? ok actually, i'm going to be making an off base comparison now because that's all i do.

i'm remembering this post i saw on here and it was like, arthur uther and morgana in the throne room. in order of the way they sit in the throne room, first it's arthur, uther, and then morgana

well. the really dumb and off base comparison here is the 'light' goodness of arthur and the 'dark' evil of morgana being mirrored in the picture above.

'light', bravery, doing what's right- being on the left. 'dark', evil, power on the right- and arthur in the middle of it, king

like i said, it's a dumb off base comparison, but at least the picture is pretty

oh jeez this scene

my heart breaks for both of them

merlin not being able to form a sentence at first.

😭😭😭😭 arthur please. you're breaking everyone's heart right now

you already knew i had to include this scene

arthur walking in there all alone

oh jeez he's all alone

dumb parallel number 2. arthur walking into the throne room with uther, father and son. merlin and gaius closing the door for arthur- pseudo father and pseudo son.

'he'll never know who i really am'

i want to do a DEH post soon but jeez. the line that hits hardest for me in DEH is 'i never let them see the worst of me. cause what if everyone saw? what if everyone knew? would they like what they saw? or would they hate it too? and jeez that's all i can think about when i think about merlin and his secrets

again. no liam, just payne

asldkfja;sldkfjas dlf merlin waiting for arthur

i have so many feelings

i love the show of affections for his father. you already know that uther wasn't affectionate when arthur was growing up, but still. forehead kiss? i love it

I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO FEEL THAT YOU WERE ALONE. i hate this and love this so much. i'm not saying merlin is completely selfless, because merlin wants magic to be leagalized and arthur is the way to do that. but omg merlin not wanting for arthur to feel like he's alone breaks me

first, merlin being physically alone while waiting for arthur. arthur was technically alone too, but he was with his father

but also, merlin being alone in the sense of his magic. no one knows except for gaius. lancelot knew and then they killed him. merlin is so alone when it comes to his magic, and morgana's enchantment only pushes merlin into his 'magic shell' more. arthur thinks magic is pure evil, and merlin is made of magic. what does that mean would think of arthur. this hurts me so much i'm so sad

friend 😭

arthur asking if he's hungry and them getting breakfast together

ok this sound track

pendragon red. i actually stan

gwen wearing a purple dress?? color symbolism?? nah i'm over thinking

ASIFA;SDLFJAD HE'S KING OF CAMELOT

IT'S LIKE I WANT TO CRY BECAUSE I'M SO PROUD RIGHT NOW.

oh jeez oh jeez.

and merlin saying 'long live the king' at the end of the episode?

chills

Anyways! I’ll be back next week to rant more about aithusa so I’ll see you then! thanks I love you bye

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whovillebutslutty · 6 years ago

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The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

John is a physician, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see, he does not believe I am sick!

And what can one do?

If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?

My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas.

Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.

But what is one to do?

I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.

I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the house.

The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.

There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.

There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and co-heirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.

That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is something strange about the house—I can feel it.

I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.

I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.

But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes me very tired.

I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.

He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.

He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.

I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.

He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, ��and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery, at the top of the house.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.

The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed, about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic sin.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame, uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard-of contradictions.

The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, unclean yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.

It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others.

No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to live in this room long.

There comes John, and I must put this away,—he hates to have me write a word.

We have been here two weeks, and I haven’t felt like writing before, since that first day.

I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of strength.

John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious.

I am glad my case is not serious!

But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.

John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason to suffer, and that satisfies him.

Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my duty in any way!

I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and here I am a comparative burden already!

Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am able—to dress and entertain, and order things.

It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!

And yet I cannot be with him, it makes me so nervous.

I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about this wallpaper!

At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.

He said that after the wallpaper was changed it would be the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of the stairs, and so on.

“You know the place is doing you good,” he said, “and really, dear, I don’t care to renovate the house just for a three months’ rental.”

“Then do let us go downstairs,” I said, “there are such pretty rooms there.”

Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose, and said he would go down cellar if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain.

But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.

It is as airy and comfortable a room as any one need wish, and, of course, I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for a whim.

I’m really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid paper.

Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deep-shaded arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.

Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in these numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of story-making a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to check the tendency. So I try.

I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.

But I find I get pretty tired when I try.

It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about my work. When I get really well John says we will ask Cousin Henry and Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put fire-works in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now.

I wish I could get well faster.

But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it knew what a vicious influence it had!

There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and two bulbous eyes stare at you upside-down.

I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths didn’t match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the other.

I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture than most children could find in a toy-store.

I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big old bureau used to have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a strong friend.

I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could always hop into that chair and be safe.

The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when this was used as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out, and no wonder! I never saw such ravages as the children have made here.

The wallpaper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticketh closer than a brother—they must have had perseverance as well as hatred.

Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed, which is all we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars.

But I don’t mind it a bit—only the paper.

There comes John’s sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful of me! I must not let her find me writing.

She is a perfect, and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no better profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which made me sick!

But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these windows.

There is one that commands the road, a lovely, shaded, winding road, and one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of great elms and velvet meadows.

This wallpaper has a kind of sub-pattern in a different shade, a particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights, and not clearly then.

But in the places where it isn’t faded, and where the sun is just so, I can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to sulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.

There’s sister on the stairs!

Well, the Fourth of July is over! The people are gone and I am tired out. John thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we just had mother and Nellie and the children down for a week.

Of course I didn’t do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.

But it tired me all the same.

John says if I don’t pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in the fall.

But I don’t want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands once, and she says he is just like John and my brother, only more so!

Besides, it is such an undertaking to go so far.

I don’t feel as if it was worthwhile to turn my hand over for anything, and I’m getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.

I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.

Of course I don’t when John is here, or anybody else, but when I am alone.

And I am alone a good deal just now. John is kept in town very often by serious cases, and Jennie is good and lets me alone when I want her to.

So I walk a little in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on the porch under the roses, and lie down up here a good deal.

I’m getting really fond of the room in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the wallpaper.

It dwells in my mind so!

I lie here on this great immovable bed—it is nailed down, I believe—and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we’ll say, at the bottom, down in the corner over there where it has not been touched, and I determine for the thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to some sort of a conclusion.

I know a little of the principle of design, and I know this thing was not arranged on any laws of radiation, or alternation, or repetition, or symmetry, or anything else that I ever heard of.

It is repeated, of course, by the breadths, but not otherwise.

Looked at in one way each breadth stands alone, the bloated curves and flourishes—a kind of “debased Romanesque” with delirium tremens—go waddling up and down in isolated columns of fatuity.

But, on the other hand, they connect diagonally, and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves of optic horror, like a lot of wallowing seaweeds in full chase.

The whole thing goes horizontally, too, at least it seems so, and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order of its going in that direction.

They have used a horizontal breadth for a frieze, and that adds wonderfully to the confusion.

There is one end of the room where it is almost intact, and there, when the cross-lights fade and the low sun shines directly upon it, I can almost fancy radiation after all,—the interminable grotesques seem to form around a common centre and rush off in headlong plunges of equal distraction.

It makes me tired to follow it. I will take a nap, I guess.

I don’t know why I should write this.

I don’t want to.

I don’t feel able.

And I know John would think it absurd. But I must say what I feel and think in some way—it is such a relief!

But the effort is getting to be greater than the relief.

Half the time now I am awfully lazy, and lie down ever so much.

John says I musn’t lose my strength, and has me take cod-liver oil and lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale and wine and rare meat.

Dear John! He loves me very dearly, and hates to have me sick. I tried to have a real earnest reasonable talk with him the other day, and tell him how I wish he would let me go and make a visit to Cousin Henry and Julia.

But he said I wasn’t able to go, nor able to stand it after I got there; and I did not make out a very good case for myself, for I was crying before I had finished.

It is getting to be a great effort for me to think straight. Just this nervous weakness, I suppose.

And dear John gathered me up in his arms, and just carried me upstairs and laid me on the bed, and sat by me and read to me till it tired my head.

He said I was his darling and his comfort and all he had, and that I must take care of myself for his sake, and keep well.

He says no one but myself can help me out of it, that I must use my will and self-control and not let any silly fancies run away with me.

There’s one comfort, the baby is well and happy, and does not have to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper.

If we had not used it that blessed child would have! What a fortunate escape! Why, I wouldn’t have a child of mine, an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds.

I never thought of it before, but it is lucky that John kept me here after all. I can stand it so much easier than a baby, you see.

Of course I never mention it to them any more,—I am too wise,—but I keep watch of it all the same.

There are things in that paper that nobody knows but me, or ever will.

Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day.

It is always the same shape, only very numerous.

And it is like a woman stooping down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don’t like it a bit. I wonder—I begin to think—I wish John would take me away from here!

It is so hard to talk with John about my case, because he is so wise, and because he loves me so.

But I tried it last night.

It was moonlight. The moon shines in all around, just as the sun does.

I hate to see it sometimes, it creeps so slowly, and always comes in by one window or another.

John was asleep and I hated to waken him, so I kept still and watched the moonlight on that undulating wallpaper till I felt creepy.

The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out.

I got up softly and went to feel and see if the paper did move, and when I came back John was awake.

“What is it, little girl?” he said. “Don’t go walking about like that—you’ll get cold.”

I though it was a good time to talk, so I told him that I really was not gaining here, and that I wished he would take me away.

“Why darling!” said he, “our lease will be up in three weeks, and I can’t see how to leave before.

“The repairs are not done at home, and I cannot possibly leave town just now. Of course if you were in any danger I could and would, but you really are better, dear, whether you can see it or not. I am a doctor, dear, and I know. You are gaining flesh and color, your appetite is better. I feel really much easier about you.”

“I don’t weigh a bit more,” said I, “nor as much; and my appetite may be better in the evening, when you are here, but it is worse in the morning when you are away.”

“Bless her little heart!” said he with a big hug; “she shall be as sick as she pleases! But now let’s improve the shining hours by going to sleep, and talk about it in the morning!”

“And you won’t go away?” I asked gloomily.

“Why, how can I, dear? It is only three weeks more and then we will take a nice little trip of a few days while Jennie is getting the house ready. Really, dear, you are better!”

“Better in body perhaps”—I began, and stopped short, for he sat up straight and looked at me with such a stern, reproachful look that I could not say another word.

“My darling,” said he, “I beg of you, for my sake and for our child’s sake, as well as for your own, that you will never for one instant let that idea enter your mind! There is nothing so dangerous, so fascinating, to a temperament like yours. It is a false and foolish fancy. Can you not trust me as a physician when I tell you so?”

So of course I said no more on that score, and we went to sleep before long. He thought I was asleep first, but I wasn’t,—I lay there for hours trying to decide whether that front pattern and the back pattern really did move together or separately.

On a pattern like this, by daylight, there is a lack of sequence, a defiance of law, that is a constant irritant to a normal mind.

The color is hideous enough, and unreliable enough, and infuriating enough, but the pattern is torturing.

You think you have mastered it, but just as you get well under way in following, it turns a back somersault and there you are. It slaps you in the face, knocks you down, and tramples upon you. It is like a bad dream.

The outside pattern is a florid arabesque, reminding one of a fungus. If you can imagine a toadstool in joints, an interminable string of toadstools, budding and sprouting in endless convolutions,—why, that is something like it.

That is, sometimes!

There is one marked peculiarity about this paper, a thing nobody seems to notice but myself, and that is that it changes as the light changes.

When the sun shoots in through the east window—I always watch for that first long, straight ray—it changes so quickly that I never can quite believe it.

That is why I watch it always.

By moonlight—the moon shines in all night when there is a moon—I wouldn’t know it was the same paper.

At night in any kind of light, in twilight, candlelight, lamplight, and worst of all by moonlight, it becomes bars! The outside pattern I mean, and the woman behind it is as plain as can be.

I didn’t realize for a long time what the thing was that showed behind,—that dim sub-pattern,—but now I am quite sure it is a woman.

By daylight she is subdued, quiet. I fancy it is the pattern that keeps her so still. It is so puzzling. It keeps me quiet by the hour.

I lie down ever so much now. John says it is good for me, and to sleep all I can.

Indeed, he started the habit by making me lie down for an hour after each meal.

It is a very bad habit, I am convinced, for, you see, I don’t sleep.

And that cultivates deceit, for I don’t tell them I’m awake,—oh, no!

The fact is, I am getting a little afraid of John.

He seems very queer sometimes, and even Jennie has an inexplicable look.

It strikes me occasionally, just as a scientific hypothesis, that perhaps it is the paper!

I have watched John when he did not know I was looking, and come into the room suddenly on the most innocent excuses, and I’ve caught him several times looking at the paper! And Jennie too. I caught Jennie with her hand on it once.

She didn’t know I was in the room, and when I asked her in a quiet, a very quiet voice, with the most restrained manner possible, what she was doing with the paper she turned around as if she had been caught stealing, and looked quite angry—asked me why I should frighten her so!

Then she said that the paper stained everything it touched, that she had found yellow smooches on all my clothes and John’s, and she wished we would be more careful!

Did not that sound innocent? But I know she was studying that pattern, and I am determined that nobody shall find it out but myself!

Life is very much more exciting now than it used to be. You see I have something more to expect, to look forward to, to watch. I really do eat better, and am more quiet than I was.

John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seemed to be flourishing in spite of my wallpaper.

I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intention of telling him it was because of the wallpaper—he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.

I don’t want to leave now until I have found it out. There is a week more, and I think that will be enough.

I’m feeling ever so much better! I don’t sleep much at night, for it is so interesting to watch developments; but I sleep a good deal in the daytime.

In the daytime it is tiresome and perplexing.

There are always new shoots on the fungus, and new shades of yellow all over it. I cannot keep count of them, though I have tried conscientiously.

It is the strangest yellow, that wallpaper! It makes me think of all the yellow things I ever saw—not beautiful ones like buttercups, but old foul, bad yellow things.

But there is something else about that paper—the smell! I noticed it the moment we came into the room, but with so much air and sun it was not bad. Now we have had a week of fog and rain, and whether the windows are open or not, the smell is here.

It creeps all over the house.

I find it hovering in the dining-room, skulking in the parlor, hiding in the hall, lying in wait for me on the stairs.

It gets into my hair.

Even when I go to ride, if I turn my head suddenly and surprise it—there is that smell!

Such a peculiar odor, too! I have spent hours in trying to analyze it, to find what it smelled like.

It is not bad—at first, and very gentle, but quite the subtlest, most enduring odor I ever met.

In this damp weather it is awful. I wake up in the night and find it hanging over me.

It used to disturb me at first. I thought seriously of burning the house—to reach the smell.

But now I am used to it. The only thing I can think of that it is like is the color of the paper! A yellow smell.

There is a very funny mark on this wall, low down, near the mopboard. A streak that runs round the room. It goes behind every piece of furniture, except the bed, a long, straight, even smooch, as if it had been rubbed over and over.

I wonder how it was done and who did it, and what they did it for. Round and round and round—round and round and round—it makes me dizzy!

I really have discovered something at last.

Through watching so much at night, when it changes so, I have finally found out.

The front pattern does move—and no wonder! The woman behind shakes it!

Sometimes I think there are a great many women behind, and sometimes only one, and she crawls around fast, and her crawling shakes it all over.

Then in the very bright spots she keeps still, and in the very shady spots she just takes hold of the bars and shakes them hard.

And she is all the time trying to climb through. But nobody could climb through that pattern—it strangles so; I think that is why it has so many heads.

They get through, and then the pattern strangles them off and turns them upside-down, and makes their eyes white!

If those heads were covered or taken off it would not be half so bad.

I think that woman gets out in the daytime!

And I’ll tell you why—privately—I’ve seen her!

I can see her out of every one of my windows!

It is the same woman, I know, for she is always creeping, and most women do not creep by daylight.

I see her on that long shaded lane, creeping up and down. I see her in those dark grape arbors, creeping all around the garden.

I see her on that long road under the trees, creeping along, and when a carriage comes she hides under the blackberry vines.

I don’t blame her a bit. It must be very humiliating to be caught creeping by daylight!

I always lock the door when I creep by daylight. I can’t do it at night, for I know John would suspect something at once.

And John is so queer now, that I don’t want to irritate him. I wish he would take another room! Besides, I don’t want anybody to get that woman out at night but myself.

I often wonder if I could see her out of all the windows at once.

But, turn as fast as I can, I can only see out of one at one time.

And though I always see her she may be able to creep faster than I can turn!

I have watched her sometimes away off in the open country, creeping as fast as a cloud shadow in a high wind.

If only that top pattern could be gotten off from the under one! I mean to try it, little by little.

I have found out another funny thing, but I shan’t tell it this time! It does not do to trust people too much.

There are only two more days to get this paper off, and I believe John is beginning to notice. I don’t like the look in his eyes.

And I heard him ask Jennie a lot of professional questions about me. She had a very good report to give.

She said I slept a good deal in the daytime.

John knows I don’t sleep very well at night, for all I’m so quiet!

He asked me all sorts of questions, too, and pretended to be very loving and kind.

As if I couldn’t see through him!

Still, I don’t wonder he acts so, sleeping under this paper for three months.

It only interests me, but I feel sure John and Jennie are secretly affected by it.

Hurrah! This is the last day, but it is enough. John is to stay in town over night, and won’t be out until this evening.

Jennie wanted to sleep with me—the sly thing! but I told her I should undoubtedly rest better for a night all alone.

That was clever, for really I wasn’t alone a bit! As soon as it was moonlight, and that poor thing began to crawl and shake the pattern, I got up and ran to help her.

I pulled and she shook, I shook and she pulled, and before morning we had peeled off yards of that paper.

A strip about as high as my head and half around the room.

And then when the sun came and that awful pattern began to laugh at me I declared I would finish it to-day!

We go away to-morrow, and they are moving all my furniture down again to leave things as they were before.

Jennie looked at the wall in amazement, but I told her merrily that I did it out of pure spite at the vicious thing.

She laughed and said she wouldn’t mind doing it herself, but I must not get tired.

How she betrayed herself that time!

But I am here, and no person touches this paper but me—not alive!

She tried to get me out of the room—it was too patent! But I said it was so quiet and empty and clean now that I believed I would lie down again and sleep all I could; and not to wake me even for dinner—I would call when I woke.

So now she is gone, and the servants are gone, and the things are gone, and there is nothing left but that great bedstead nailed down, with the canvas mattress we found on it.

We shall sleep downstairs to-night, and take the boat home to-morrow.

I quite enjoy the room, now it is bare again.

How those children did tear about here!

This bedstead is fairly gnawed!

But I must get to work.

I have locked the door and thrown the key down into the front path.

I don’t want to go out, and I don’t want to have anybody come in, till John comes.

I want to astonish him.

I’ve got a rope up here that even Jennie did not find. If that woman does get out, and tries to get away, I can tie her!

But I forgot I could not reach far without anything to stand on!

This bed will not move!

I tried to lift and push it until I was lame, and then I got so angry I bit off a little piece at one corner—but it hurt my teeth.

Then I peeled off all the paper I could reach standing on the floor. It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just shriek with derision!

I am getting angry enough to do something desperate. To jump out of the window would be admirable exercise, but the bars are too strong even to try.

Besides I wouldn’t do it. Of course not. I know well enough that a step like that is improper and might be misconstrued.

I don’t like to look out of the windows even—there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast.

I wonder if they all come out of that wallpaper as I did?

But I am securely fastened now by my well-hidden rope—you don’t get me out in the road there!

I suppose I shall have to get back behind the pattern when it comes night, and that is hard!

It is so pleasant to be out in this great room and creep around as I please!

I don’t want to go outside. I won’t, even if Jennie asks me to.

For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green instead of yellow.

But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.

Why, there’s John at the door!

It is no use, young man, you can’t open it!

How he does call and pound!

Now he’s crying for an axe.

It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!

“John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the front steps, under a plantain leaf!”

That silenced him for a few moments.

Then he said—very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!”

“I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front door under a plantain leaf!”

And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it, of course, and came in. He stopped short by the door.

“What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing!”

I kept on creeping just the same, but I looked at him over my shoulder.

“I’ve got out at last,” said I, “in spite of you and Jane! And I’ve pulled off most of the paper, so you can’t put me back!”

Now why should that man have fainted? But he did, and right across my path by the wall, so that I had to creep over him every time!

#the yellow wallpaper #Charlotte Perkins Gilman

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neisuinene · 7 years ago

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In Your Dreams Tonight - Chapter 3 – Fate and Love

Prologue 1 Prologue 2 Prologue 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

“So,” Kiyonori stepped forward, eyeing the four young boys in front of him, “are you boys ready to start?”

Before they could answer, the door slide open, Kan walked in. “Hey Neisui!” then she noticed the presence of other, gave a slight node to Kiyonori, “sorry to interrupt Sensei Taishi, but Neisui, your cousin Koichi is here looking for you.”

Huh? Koichi? What is he doing here? No why does he come here? Did something happen? Neisui dropped her wooden sword onto the ground, and looked passed through Kan. Behind her indeed standing her cousin, who is wearing a business suit, eyes on her.

“Neisui, I’m here to take you home,” he said.

“But I could go home by myself Koichi, don’t need to worry about me. It’s rare you are off so early from work, you should go home and spend more time with Nia.”

“Hmph,” was his reply, “that’s why I’m here. I decide we are going to eat dinner together tonight, all of us. There’s something I would like to say over dinner table, and I wish you to be present.”

Hearing this, Neisui had all her attention on him now. She knew her cousin does not like to talk while eating, since they were young, or at least since she was old enough to remember such details. Sometimes he would give a few sentences but that’s pretty much it, and it’s not done because he wants to enjoy food in silence, but it’s more avoiding the talk. He does not like his life discussed, especially over dining table. So whatever reason made him says this now must be really big, is it about her cousin-in-law Nia? Are they now getting back together?

Neisui gave a nod, “of course, I’m coming.” She grabbed her bag and bowed to Kiyonori, “sorry sensei I afraid I must cut my practice time short, we will continue this next time. I’m sure you would have fun teaching our newest members. Right?” she gave a playful wink as she passed through them and out the door.

“See you tomorrow Kan! Bye Sensei! Bye Toramatsu and everyone!!”

*** *** ***

Half the dinner progressed in almost complete silence, despite the fact that there were few more dishes on the table than usual when Neisui texted Nia about having dinner together and Koichi wants to discuss something over dinner.

Feeling mad, Neisui gave someone a kick underneath the table. When Koichi turned his gaze from the rice in his bowl to look at her, she gave him a meaningful look. Who was the one who said want to talk over dinner? Who was the one actually made the effort of going to school to fetch her so she can be present when he talk?! Neisui wanted to break the silence but tonight it should be focus on them, not her.

Finally, after finishing the eggplants on his plate, he cleared his throat. Neisui was just starting to feeling relieved until she heard him called her name. “So Neisui, who was that boy? Toramatsu? Is he the boy who gave you that scarf?”

Wait, what, why is Koichi suddenly talking about him? Why is he suddenly talking about her? That’s not what’s supposed on today’s topic right? And since they are living together and her cousin did see her wearing that red scarf when she just came back from Kyoto field trip, but how does he know it’s him?

“Koichi, why these questions all of a sudden? And…how do you know all that?”

“I don’t,” he shrugged, then crossed his arms. “You may not have noticed, but I saw how he looks at you, and his gaze followed you out the door. And how you said goodbye to your friend or teacher but then only that boy’s name was out from your lips.”

“…”

“And I saw the name on the scarf, a simple ‘Li’ was woven on it.”

“That still does not explain…”

“Remember the nights when I slept in your room on the floor?” Neisui held her breath, looking at him, waiting for the answer. “You don’t snore, but you do talk in your dreams sometimes. Something about Li Toramatsu, or rather, Li Naomasa.”

Neisui was now speechless, just how much secrets did she already gave away when she sleeping? But still, why talking about her now? Of all dinner talks that could happen? In front of Nia?”

“Sigh, I admit all those…but then I’m still confused. This classmate of mine and that samurai in my dream may very well be connected or maybe even reincarnation, but they are still two separate people. Aren’t they? Do you believe in reincarnation Koichi? Or perhaps in fate? Is it fateful that I have all these dreams of Li Naomasa while meeting this Toramatsu around the same time? Sometimes…at the time we met in Kyoto and today, somehow I feel so familiar with him yet still some distance. I can’t really describe the feeling. But somehow is that familiar feeling, or memory at that time that I accepted the scarf before I could further think to it.”

“Listen Neisui, and Nia,” he finally mentioned the name that was supposed to be brought up long ago. His look suddenly very serious, even his tone is lowered. “Neisui, I’m not sure of fate or reincarnation stuff, but you do feel for them right? They might be different, but to you they are also one. You have always liked fairytales since you were young, or about books that talk of fantasy stuff. Of all the story books I’ve read you before, there was this line, that I one day suddenly remember about it and went back for a reread.”

“And what is that?” Neisui wondered.

“Lives are hard enough with Gods meddling in it, but they do meddle.” Neisui gave him a complete silence, but she does remember this line. It’s about a God laying a wager with humans, the so-called conditions of game is also betting on human’s hearts. “Things happen, and you may decide how you react, but you can’t decide how you feel. And then, when things piled up of various causes and reasons, humans call it fate. Not because they are already written and decided by Gods, but that’s how our hearts lead to it.”

So her and Toramatsu, should she call it a fate now? But they have only just met and started. So it all now depends on how they, or rather how she reacts to him. She hasn’t given an answer yet.

“And Nia,” Koichi’s voice cut her thought, “do you know why I chose you to be my wife?”

“Because,” Nia finally talked, “because of my abilities, background, and the potential behind that could assist with you for a better career?”

He shook his head, “that might be a reason I be looking for if I were to matchmaking with other women, but with you, he paused,” his eyes all on her, “I thought that with you…I might be able to love you. It had nothing to do with any requisites. I thought that if someone had attracted me that much at that age…maybe I could love her. Maybe I could be attracted to you and not need a reason.”

“Koichi…” Nia whispered his name.

“Though our marriage earlier had not turned out the way I thought it would be, or part of me was still denying myself by having affair with Ai, but since that incident happened and we got more spending time together. You refused my talk of divorce and still took me as I am…at some point, I fell in love with you. Though you have already told me we would work through this together, I want to hear your answer again now, not as a husband who had failed his wife, but as a man who is in love with her.” Koichi suddenly got on his knees, eyes wavering between Nia and the floor.

Nia got up from chair and also knelt on the floor, to the same level as him and hugged him, “of course I do you silly goose. You know how my answer is. Though we may have not married for love, but at that day when we first met before lunch, you knelt down used your handkerchief for my broken heel of shoes so I could walk in comfort, or how you didn’t mind how I was barefoot running on the streets trying not to be late, or how you consoled the little crying boy about his ice-cream, I thought right at that moment I could learn to love you too. I believe we could actually make a happy family , and that belief goes on even now.”

“Nia,” his voice suddenly hoarse, took a small box out of his pocket, it’s a ring, though it’s not a lavish one. He puts it on her, “this ring might be little bit plain comparing to the diamond or those jewel rings, but I have it carved specially for you.”

The ring reads Nia Noa on the top, and inside it reads Nia My Love. This ring has your name on it. You are a designer for architect, and our language is truly beautiful. No is a positive article, and a means love and affection. So this is my love for you. You know I am not a romantic person and this is as romantic as I could get.”

“This is wonderful, Koichi,” Nia now has tears in her eyes, “thank you, thank you for accepting me to be your wife.” She now hugs him.

“Silly,” his fingers gently traces her hair, “I should be the one to say it.”

Neisui, watching the scene in front of her, she is so happy for them. But perhaps they are forgetting they have an audience? She shouldn’t interrupt them. She decided to go back to the room and should start packing and move out soon. She certainly doesn’t want to be a lightbulb now.

(Tagging who I have tagged before, some I forgot for previous chapter. This chapter is mainly based on Koichi from In Your Arms Tonight. And….I have no shame using my twitter name as character @nianoa but it works well? xP)

@akanojikan @asktoramatsu @shirokazekikagami @dreamfar628 @rose-of-yonezawa @thesassyscribbler @aqua-pikachu @my-funandgames @nitroforcepower @rainbowatnight

#slbp fanfic #voltage inc fanfic #slbp toramatsu #in your dreams tonight #koichi natsukawa #in your arms tonight

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unsettlingshortstories · 5 years ago

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The Yellow Wallpaper

Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1899)