top gun is great because tony scott was like “i want to make a movie about sunsets” and the us navy was like “No you’re gonna make recruitment propanganda for the navy” and val kilmer was like “the studio has tricked me, juilliard trained val kilmer, into being here, so i’m going to portray a closeted homosexual” and tom cruise was like “i’m in a ray bans commercial!”
I’m personally not a hamratio/tragic danish boyfriends shipper (for a variety of reasons, one of which is just not being super into shipping in general). But I have a question for those of you who are!
How do you deal with Hamlet and Horatio’s relationship, if you deem it romantic, in the context of the Ophelia plot?
One of the reasons I don’t like the pairing is because it seems to take importance off of the Hamlet/Ophelia relationship that’s critical to the play. Most of the depictions of hamratio that I see on this website portray it as a mainly wholesome and constructive thing (because regardless of romance, Hamlet has a healthier relationship with Horatio than pretty much everyone else). And most of these depictions also support Ophelia as a character (as they should!). But couldn’t Hamlet being in love with Horatio while spurning Ophelia add another layer to Hamlet being kind of awful? It’s just a weird combination of vibes that I personally struggle to reconcile.
So I’m genuinely curious- how do you handle it in the greater context of the play? Aside from just deciding on polyamory, I mean.
You stand above your brother in his bed, occupied now by more than just pillows and blankets, for the woman at his back is fair and terrifying, even in sleep. You look between them, and you stand above your brother and think -
Is it too late to kill him now?
There are no ships on the horizon - yet - and if you present a body along with the stolen wife when the husband turns up, will that break the omen your mother dreamed?
Is it too late to kill him now?
You drop your hand down - perhaps to close around his throat, another already clutching one of those many, many pillows, and in the dark it'd be easy, wouldn't it? All you do is caress his cheek, your fingers digging stiffly into the pillow. He exhales, a tender shallow ease of breath, and there is this little smile on his lips.
You stand above your brother in his bed, there are ships on the shore, and you have cursed him for a plague, a bane, a cruelty raised by the Olympian to bring your house down, and -
it's too late to kill him now.
It'd be easy to do it, however. You carry a dagger at your belt even now, having left your own bed. Or you could perhaps stir up one of your other brothers, the city, some of your father's council. The baby was almost killed once, after all; what would it matter if it was realized now? Kin-blood believed to have been spilled is surely no less polluting than it being done in reality. The attempt might only have been in the handing over of a fragile infant into another's hands, handed over into the bosom of a mountain, wild and no place for such a tender little being.
But the mountain had been merciful, and nurtured instead of torn asunder, and now you're standing above your brother in his bed.
It's too late to kill him now, but would anyone blame you, blame anyone at all they might suspect, as much as they hate him, a hatred unsaid? Simmering. You don't know how he walks through the palace, the city, his life and not cower from the knowledge; he can't not know.
Your brother - pretty, soft, laughing, shining - doomed and dooming all of you from the start. What does an infant know of causing death? Your father tried to kill an innocent. Some of your brothers attempted it next, an innocent only wishing to reclaim what he thought belonged to him and them not knowing who the slave they felt so insulted by was.
Perhaps it's only fair he will kill you all, merely by existing, by batting those ridiculous lashes to lure the woman still sleeping at his back out of her home, her marriage, her life, and into yours.
You stand above your brother in his bed, and brush your knuckles down his cheek.
It's too late to kill him now, and no matter that you've cursed him and wished him dead - to his face, to your parents' faces, but never to anyone else's - with every angry word to spit at him there's always this echo of the wide, wide eyes, the trembling hand in yours as you help him up from kneeling next to the altar in your head.
Your little brother, that you failed to protect when he was born. And what are you if you don't protect? It's too late to kill him now, anyway. Was always too late.
You meet the gleaming whites of Helen's gaze in the darkness, watching her smooth her grip on your brother's arm into a stroke. Both of you can feel the relief staining the air as you turn away, pretending like she wasn't ready to help you.
I'm begging other trans people to read an ounce of Black Feminist or Decolonialist Feminist writing. I'm on my hands and knees and begging you. I promise you, I promise you, there is so much more to Feminist theory than anything you have picked up from White/Radical/Pop/Liberal Feminism I promise you. Read There Is No Hierarchy Of Oppressions By Audre Lorde. I have a link to the PDF right here you can read it for free. Take my hand I can't do this alone (thanks glass beach). Peace And Love On Planet Earth.
I would like all Americans (and everyone else) who are excited for the Superbowl to know: Before the actual Superbowl there's a live tournament on TV, here in Germany, called "American Ice Football".
It is exactly what it sounds like: American Football but played on Ice, in shoes with entirely smooth soles.
It's a tournament with 4 teams and they are called Eastside Ossis, Westside Wessis, Northcoast Naughties and Southside Smoothies and it's just hilariously entertaining.
hey! shhhh, it's okay, you're safe here. why don't you sit beside me for a little bit and catch your breath? we're on the porch and the soft breeze is tugging at our clothes. the sun is embracing the trees, and it's warm on our faces. would you like some tea, my love?
I know it's been really hard for you lately. but i want you to know that I see how hard you're trying, every single day, and i'm so so proud of you. it's not always going to feel this hard, but you can take all the time you need to figure it out as you go. you're learning how to be alive, and it's a very difficult but rewarding journey. look at the sun! the birds! the breeze! the warm tea in your hand! joy was never meant to be a crumb, even if sometimes feel like that's all it is. you're growing, even if you don't believe it. I'm very proud of you :)
history repeats itself only because conditions don’t change drastically enough to halt the cycle from reoccurring and that’s why studying history gives you an intellectual leg up cause you can raise your hand and be like this happened already guys idk if you remember but this happened☝️we know the answer guys ☝️
if any fellow r&g are dead fans have links to recordings of productions of the show that are good/fun/interesting, would you consider perhaps sending them my way? pretty please?