#horse girl andromache | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

youssefguedira · 2 years

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ok so i just discovered your tog lotr au and i LOVE it, it works so well. i wanted to ask, how did andy and quynh fall in love/get together in this au?

this ask was sent a while ago oops but it goes a little something like this

Quynh is young, the equivalent of twelve years old in human terms, when she sees Andromache of Scythia, heir to the throne of Gondor, for the first time, though she does not know yet who Andromache is, nor who she will become.

She's heard mention of something happening for days, yet everyone has been carefully vague about what exactly it is around her, and whenever she has asked directly the only answer she's received is usually along the lines of you'll understand when you're older. Suffice to say, it's been frustrating.

Of course, she has another plan.

She'd been the one to discover the place not long ago, a section of roof that, when she climbs up and lies flat on her stomach, provides a near-perfect view of the path that leads to Rivendell's gate and into the courtyard. So on the day that the something is supposed to occur, that's where she goes.

Nico's already waiting for her when she arrives, shuffled close enough to the edge to make room for her, looking out over the courtyard. He’s ten in human terms, shorter than Quynh, a fact which frustrates him endlessly, and Quynh’s best friend in the world. “I think they’re arriving soon,” he says as she climbs up. “Whoever’s coming.”

“Who do you think it is?” She hauls herself up properly to lie beside him.

“I don’t know. Other elves, maybe? From Mirkwood?”

“They would have told us,” she points out. They would have told him, at least - he’s from Mirkwood, after all, even if he’s lived in Rivendell for almost his entire life.

“Maybe,” Nico says. “Wait. I see something.”

He points towards the furthest point on the path that they can see from here, where sure enough, two horses are approaching, cloaked figures atop their backs, one of them noticeably smaller than the other.

It’s not until they arrive in the courtyard where four elves - including Quynh’s father - are waiting to greet them, and lower the hoods of their cloaks, that their faces become visible. They’re similar in appearance, both with long black hair pulled back in neat braids and pale eyes, dressed in simple leather armour, and with rounded ears instead of pointed. Human, then. The taller of the two bears a long, double headed axe strapped to her back. The smaller is perhaps Quynh’s age in human terms, perhaps a little bit younger.

“What are they doing here, do you think?” Nico whispers. Quynh shushes him, gaze fixed on the new arrivals as they dismount their horses, the younger one coming to stand beside the elder, who must be a relation, perhaps her mother. The elder is speaking, but Quynh cannot make out the words.

Quynh’s father nods, and then steps aside, beckoning to the girl, who steps forward, looking back only once at the elder. She smiles, sadly. Quynh’s father places a hand on the girl’s back and says something to her, then the two of them turn and walk towards Rivendell, leaving the elder behind.

Quynh watches until they disappear from sight.

“Who do you think she is?” Nico wonders aloud.

“I don’t know,” Quynh responds.

-----------------------

Quynh actually meets Andromache, heir of Isildur, for the first time almost a year later. She and Nico are largely kept away from her for the first year of her time in Rivendell, either by their own obligations that keep them out of mischief, in her father’s words, or by the older elves finding ways to redirect their curiosity. Quynh never forgets about their strange guest, but after the first few months, she stops actively trying to seek her out.

She and Nico are in the gardens, having escaped their duties for a brief time, though Quynh’s certain it won’t be long before someone comes looking for them. Nico is crouching on the bank of the stream while Quynh perches on the edge of the bridge, scouring the ground for pebbles which he slips in his pocket, his slingshot clutched in the other hand, chewing on his lip in concentration.

“I bet you can’t hit that branch from the bridge,” Quynh says, leaning back on her hands and swinging her legs.

Nico looks up, never able to resist a challenge. “Which one?”

“That one.” She points to a small branch a good distance away - too far for Nico to hit, she’s sure. He’s a good shot, but she’s better.

Nico tilts his head to one side, calculating as he studies it. “What do I get if I win?” She knows he’s only pretending to be considering it - they’re both far too competitive to let a challenge slide. Frighteningly similar, her father had told them once.

“Satisfaction,” Quynh says. At Nico’s unimpressed look, she holds up the bundle she’d wrapped carefully in cloth earlier. “And this, I suppose.” It’s a roll of bread she’d stolen from the kitchen, filled with sweet honey.

(They’ll share it, she knows, regardless of who wins. They always do. But it’s fun to pretend.)

“All right,” Nico says, and Quynh grins. He positions himself at the spot Quynh picks, the very center of the bridge, and takes aim.

The pebble flies through the air and misses by some considerable distance, dropping into the stream with a neat splash. Nico curses while Quynh laughs. “I told you you couldn’t hit it.”

“I bet I could,” a new voice says from behind them. Quynh and Nico turn sharply towards the speaker.

The human girl is leaning against a tree, her arms folded.

“You’re welcome to try,” Nico responds. “What’s your name?”

Andromache looks at Quynh.

“Andromache,” she says, taking Nico’s previous spot on the bridge. “What about you?”

“Nicolò,” Nico says. “Of Mirkwood.”

“Quynh,” Quynh responds. The curious side of her is overjoyed to finally have learned something about the guest they’ve had for a year but never met, while the competitive side is bristling at her easy confidence. Nico passes Andromache the slingshot, and she takes aim.

The pebble misses narrowly, but misses nonetheless. Andromache unleashes a colorful string of curses in both Elvish and the human language, many of which Quynh has never heard before. She smiles despite herself and holds out her hand. “My turn.”

Quynh takes longer to fire than Andromache or Nico had, carefully sizing up the distance and the height before she shoots - and hits the branch, causing it to shake from the impact. She whoops in victory, while Nico sighs heavily, largely more for show than any sense of real disappointment. Andromache just watches Quynh curiously, her blue eyes piercing.

“I win,” Quynh declares.

“I’ll beat you next time,” Nico mutters.

“Of course you will,” Quynh says sweetly, not meaning a word of it. She unwraps the honey roll and, even though she’d won, breaks it into three, passing a piece to Nico and then offering one to Andromache.

Andromache looks down at it almost disbelievingly before looking back up at Quynh.

“Are you going to take it or not?” Quynh asks.

Andromache takes it.

-----------------------

After that point, the three of them become near-inseparable: Andromache fits perfectly into Quynh and Nico’s lives, and they quickly discover that the amount they can get away with becomes significantly more when there is a third person in their group to help them. The terror of Rivendell, Quynh’s father calls them, shaking his head but smiling fondly when they get caught yet again.

Andromache is always vague about exactly why she’d come to Rivendell, but the way she speaks about it suggests it had been out of necessity. Quynh never pushes, and Andromache never offers any further information.

When Nico’s training as a healer means he’s busier than usual and therefore kept away from her by one thing or another for most of the time, Quynh spends her time with Andromache, wandering the gardens of Rivendell, sparring (Andromache is good, but not better than Quynh is, and she wins most of the time), or simply talking for hours on end. Andromache is an incredible storyteller, and funny, and smart.

It feels only inevitable that, as the three of them move from childhood into adulthood, that Quynh falls for her.

It’s gradual at first, a slow build and then a sudden, sharp realisation that of course that’s what this is, of course she loves her, how could she not?

She never breathes a word to anyone, but Nico figures it out quickly - he’s her brother in all but blood, after all, has known her since they were too young to remember. They’re by the stream in one of their now-rare moments of free time, Nico sitting with his back against a tree and reading, Quynh standing on the bank. She is supposed to be practicing her spellwork; she is completely distracted. Her current position gives her a perfect line of sight to the courtyard, in which Andromache is sparring with one of the guards, axe in hand, her movements beautifully precise, as if she’s dancing. She’s beautiful, laughing as she dodges her opponent’s next blow, and Quynh is weak.

“Your mind is not where it should be,” Nico says, still largely focused on his book.

“Oh, shut up,” Quynh tells him half-heartedly, watching Andromache push her hair back from her face with a wide grin.

He looks up at her over the top of his book, follows her gaze, and it’s in that moment that he puts two and two together, his eyes widening. “Wait, you-”

“Not a word, Nico,” she says, but it’s too late.

“How long?” he asks. She finally forces herself to look away from the courtyard and back at him.

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Forever, it feels like.”

“Forever, huh?” he teases. She sits down on the grass near him and uses the proximity to kick him in the shin. He yelps.

“You mustn’t say anything, understand?” she says. “Nothing. I don’t want her to know.”

“Not even if-” he begins, but relents when she gives him a sharp look. “Okay. I will not say anything,” he says, serious, and she knows he won’t, even if he teases her about it. She loves him for it. “But I think that you should,” he adds. “Who knows? Maybe she’s been secretly in love with you this whole time, too.”

Quynh doesn’t respond, doesn’t want to talk about that possibility any further. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“And you don’t?” Nico fires back, and the subject is dropped.

-----------------------

Andromache, chieftain of the Dunedain and the person Quynh has been hopelessly in love with for years, leaves them when she is 20 years old. By that point, both Quynh and Nico are almost adult elves, halfway through their respective training, and still referred to by Quynh’s father as the terror of Rivendell. Some things don’t change.

Andromache tells them herself, one evening when they’re perched on the roof - the ledge is too small to fit the three of them, especially now that they’re not children any more, but they’ve adapted. The stars are bright overhead, and it’s late enough that Quynh’s fairly sure Nico has fallen asleep. Andromache is beside her, curled close for warmth, and the sight of her gilded in starlight makes Quynh’s heart skip a beat. She’s resting her head on Andromache’s shoulder, halfway to sleeping herself.

“I spoke to your father a few days ago,” Andromache says, drawing Quynh from her thoughts.

“Hm?” Quynh asks sleepily. Maybe she’s more tired than she’d thought.

“I think I have to leave,” Andromache says then, and Quynh sits up, suddenly very awake.

“What?”

“If I’m ever going to become- the person I’m supposed to be,” Andromache says, “I can’t stay here forever. I wouldn’t leave for good, just… for a little while.”

Quynh had never even considered the possibility that Andromache would leave. She understands why, but. She hadn’t expected it.

“Where will you go?” Nico asks, sitting up. Not asleep, then, though he blinks and rubs at his eyes as if he hadn’t been far from it.

“I don’t know,” Andromache says. “But I’ll come back.”

Quynh believes that, even if she’s not sure of anything else.

Andromache leaves exactly a week later, the same way she’d arrived so many years ago - on horseback, long hair braided back, with her axe strapped to her back just like her mother had had. Quynh watches her go as part of the group sent to bid her farewell, wearing the silver circlet that marks her as her father’s daughter. She lingers there for a long time after Andromache disappears from sight. Nico stays beside her and doesn’t say a word, his hand gentle on her back, reminding her he’s there.

-----------------------

Andromache of Scythia, future king by fate, wanderer by choice, returns to Rivendell ten years to the day after she had left.

The ten years she’s gone aren’t lonely. Quynh has Nico, of course, and her training. She travels, on occasion, sometimes with Nico, sometimes by herself. She is given more and more responsibility within Rivendell. She doesn’t forget Andromache, but she doesn’t spend all of her time waiting for her, either.

She misses her, though, so much it aches sometimes. Andromache never writes, and Quynh doesn’t expect her to - they’d never talked about that, but it doesn’t stop Quynh from wanting to hear from her, if only to know that she lives still, and is well.

Ten years later though, Quynh finds herself once again in the courtyard, waiting with her heart in her throat. It’s been so long, and she has changed so much, yet she still loves Andromache more than she knows what to do with.

“You’re nervous,” Nico says beside her.

“I’m not,” Quynh lies, even though she knows full well he can see the way she’s fidgeting with her sleeve. “It has been a long time.”

Whatever else Nico was going to say is cut off by the sound of hooves in the distance, far away but growing closer with every beat of Quynh’s heart. And then she’s there, Andromache, not cloaked this time but riding towards them like the king she was born to be, head held high, already smiling. Her hair is cropped short, which is new, and she’s dressed in human clothes, leather bracers on her wrists. She’s still the most beautiful thing Quynh’s ever seen.

“Andromache of Scythia,” Quynh’s father says. “Welcome. I believe we have much to speak of.”

Andromache dismounts and approaches, her eyes flicking to Quynh for just a moment. “We do.”

“Come, then,” Quynh’s father says. Just like he had all those years ago, he gestures for her to follow, and she does.

Quynh doesn’t see her again until later. They’re in the gardens, she and Nico, and Quynh is not-so-subtly watching the treeline for any sign of Andromache.

“What if-” she begins, but Nico cuts her off before she can start.

“Nothing is wrong,” he says. “It’s Andromache, Quynh. She’s our friend.”

“It’s been ten years.”

“And we knew her for almost that long before that. Relax. Stop pacing. And maybe you’ll be able to stop pining after-”

Nico will forever deny that the sound he makes upon being pushed into the stream is a shriek. Quynh knows better. It’s really not all that deep, and he knows it, but he glares at her anyway as she laughs.

Andromache finds the two of them like that, Nico sitting waist deep in the stream and trying very valiantly to look angry, Quynh laughing so hard she has to lean back against a tree. “What did Nico do this time?” she calls, and Quynh freezes in place.

Andromache’s grinning as she approaches, and Nico scrambles to his feet, and then she’s there, pulling Quynh into a hug, and all Quynh can really do is cling to her - she’s missed her.

“It’s good to see you,” Andromache says warmly when she pulls back, reaching up to trace Quynh’s braids. “You look good.”

“So do you,” Quynh says. She runs her fingers through Andromache’s now-short hair. “This suits you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Andromache says. Nico clears his throat, as if to remind them both he’s still there.

“I just remembered,” Nico says, entirely un-subtle, “there was, ah, something I needed to finish. I’ll see you both later.” It is, perhaps, the worst excuse she’s ever heard him make up. She’ll make fun of him for it later - for now, she’s distracted.

He leaves them alone, and suddenly there’s nothing keeping Quynh from saying everything she’s wanted to for the past ten years (and more). The prospect is both thrilling and absolutely terrifying.

Andromache is the first one to break the silence. “I brought you something,” she says, reaching into her pocket. “Spent some time with the dwarves, learned how to work with metal.”

She opens her fist, and lying in her palm is a silver pendant, sparkling in the sunlight: not quite circular, a white jewel like a drop of starlight circled by a band of silver, beautifully engraved. Quynh takes it, holds it up to the light to watch how it catches it. “You made this?” she whispers.

“And this,” Andromache says. This time, she pulls a dagger from her belt, its hilt decorated with engravings that match those of the necklace, another gem embedded within it.

“They’re beautiful,” Quynh tells her.

Andromache looks almost nervous, which feels unthinkable. “I wasn’t sure if- it’s been a long time,” she says. “I wanted to write, but I didn’t know if you would want-”

“It would have been welcome,” Quynh says. “You will always be welcome.”

For a long while, Andromache is silent. Then, “May I?” she asks, taking the necklace back.

Quynh melts, winding one arm around Andromache’s neck and the other around her waist, presses close until there’s barely any space between them. Andromache cards her fingers through Quynh’s hair, runs her hand along Quynh’s spine. When they part - because, it seems, they do still need to breathe - it takes Quynh a moment to open her eyes.

Quynh nods and turns around. Andromache’s fingers brush her neck lightly as she fastens the necklace’s clasp, and Quynh closes her eyes, gathering her courage - what for, she doesn’t exactly know, only that she has to do something.

When she turns around, Andromache is watching her with something unreadable in her eyes. “I missed you,” she says. Neither of them move; Quynh barely breathes. Then, finally, Andromache mutters something under her breath Quynh can’t quite catch, leans in, and kisses her.

They should talk about it. They will have to talk about it at some point. But then Andromache smiles like the sun, and all Quynh can do is kiss her again.

-----------------------

(“Something you needed to finish?” Quynh mutters to Nico at dinner that evening. “Really, Nico? That’s the best you had?”

“It worked, no?” Nico points out, gesturing to Andromache beside her. Right now, she’s talking to someone else, but her hand is resting on Quynh’s knee under the table, and Quynh’s never been happier.

“I suppose,” Quynh concedes. Nico grins.

“And now, maybe I will get a break from your pining,” he continues. Quynh kicks him lightly under the table, because, well. Some things don’t change.

She loves him, really.)

#neon answers #anonymous #neon writes #tog lotr au #this one contains a lot of quynh and nicky bc their relationship in this au means a lot to me but yea #the necklace is a rough combination of arwen's and quynh's in tog. i dont know how well i achieved this but i had a go #this is posted with the caveat that this au's canon is subject to change based on me or mary going hey this would be cool-#but in my head its something like this. feat nico and quynh's endless competitiveness #userlyde #actual answer: andy is fostered in rivendell when quynh is a kid theyre friends (she quynh and nicky grow up together)#n friends to lovers stuff. but they dont get together til after andy's Middle Earth World Tour #not mentioned: all the experimental weapons andy made for nicky #have you seen that video with all the different axes. yeah that was andy during her year or so with the dwarves #(joe not present during this time. off barding)#elf aging speed has been messed with bc honestly idk where to start with that #so all ages are given in human terms #i think andy also ages slower bc shes a dunedain #but i dont actually know. this fic is for the vibes tolkien fans dont look too close #the old guard #andromaquynh #person who forgot main tags exist

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finalgirlfall · 1 year

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reposting the text of an ask answered by elucipher in 2014 for archival purposes

archive link to the original post, which included a read-more break

maynads asked: Your posts on Helen are absolutely amazing and so informative!! On that note - could you share your views on Cassandra of Troy?

elucipher answered:

Apollo, Apollo! Leader of journeys, my destroyer!

All this way you have led me, to destroy me again?

— Cassandra, Agamemnon.

i. This story is not kind.

ix. The queen Clytemnestra stands before the doors of Argos' tall royal slaughterhouse. Her hands stink red.

Cassandra stumbles forward, to that woman who is false honey and full-nerved hate, and an image of her death rears up before her: smile of axe-edge, crack and blood-bloom. There is no swerving from it—the sight unstoppers her throat and she retches gouts of prophecy, and knows she is not heard.

The killing queen calls her in. To the east the sky is on fire, and fate is the silver tremor of her heart.

ii. In her seventh year, the king and queen take their godstruck daughter to the sanctuary of Thymbraean Apollo. At dawn she is found sleeping in the coils of snakes, her ears licked clean to hear the voice of the god.

iii. No woman was ever so young a priestess. She kneels at prayer in his temple, O Apollo Apollo, and the god climbs down from the sky. He is glory; he draws her face up with hot hands.

He says, I will give you fate's far-seeing eyes.

Yes, she says, rising. Yes.

She is sun-struck, brimming with radical light that pours down her backbone and through all the deep of her. But when the bright god presses his body to her and his fingers scorch at the hollow of her throat, she drives him back. Then darkly he draws himself up, prideful and savage, and he spits in her mouth.

Treacherous woman. A hissing like wildfire. Yours will be a lunatic tongue.

Cassandra runs, across the plain that will swell with nameless graves. For a moment she sees flames as tall as sails, feeding on the walls of Troy.

iv. She dreams of white ships on the horizon’s knife. A girl gowned for a wedding is hoisted up for slaughter. Soldiers clash in octaves of havoc. Sun-sucked streets run black with gore.

She tells of this ruin but no one heeds her. She rages--why are you not afraid—and begs her family to listen, but they hear only shriller delirium. She shouts in the streets and the people whisper fool, fanatic; they call her mad and devil-stolen.

When she will not be consoled she is shut in a house like a tomb. Apollo has made her a monster, an exile of the grey place that is called to apeiron--the unbounded, the place of wolves.

v. Her brother Paris comes to her bedchamber where she weaves. Bound for Achaea, he is fair and strong in light-licked armour, and calamity lies like a shadow on his shoulders. He stoops to kiss her brow. There is a knife hidden in her sleeve, but she cannot bear to cut that fateful horizon into his throat.

His ship sets sail. Cassandra dreams of a horse with a bellyful of iron maggots, and her brother’s eyes when he is dead.

From her window she hears the covenants of duskbirds, the golden city in soft repose. It all burns.

vi. She warned until her voice gave way. She took axe and torch and set upon the great horse, to kill what lurked there. The king’s men prisoned her in the dark with Apollo’s laughter and the city was slaughtered as it slept.

In the years of siege she saw augury's shadows come again as sound and flesh: Andromache, dull-staring, dragged away by her hair; Hector, faceless, his funeral shroud dust and clotted blood; Paris, so fair, with an arrow through his throat; her father, slumped over a shattered altar; her mother, a slave for Odysseus; her youngest sister, bled like an animal on the grave of Achilles.

Now she goes foot by foot through the streets of ash and fume and sword-shriek, treading over carcasses.

The conquerors find her, and she will not be silent. A foreign soldier, death-drunk, sprawls her on the floor of Athena's temple and lurches over her, and she roars out his fate—for this, the goddess will swell a storm and crack his ship and his bones on the rocks of Euboea.

Her body is hefted away by soldiers. At the brink of her hearing—thunder.

vii.

Agamemnon, king, keeps her chained in his tent as he gloats over the spoils of felled and gutted Troy. He calls for prophecy and laughs at her raving.

She sees pyres of bodies unseamed by swords, Dardanian captives crying in and out of speech. The sky is deaf to prayers—it sends only carrion birds, who bear no missives and squabble among the butchered. She is a witness, hollowed but for her rage.

The king lies beside her in glutted beast-sleep and she whispers his death: the queen with red hands, the lioness crouched in long shadows.

vii. The king's longships set sail. She leans over the edge, with her loosed hair and her mouth salt-limned, and watches the billowing and glister of waves, the shadows beneath mosaic light.

Her belly is swollen. She knows them, her sons: crooked laugh; steady and devoted hands. She gives birth to them on the deck, the sun sweltering on her body. With every agony she curses Apollo.

Later, under mute stars, her children lie stirring in the vigil of her arms and she sings to them of a city no longer alive. They do not hear madness, only the soft and breaking swell of her voice.

When the ship lands on Argos, the children are torn from her. She thought herself iron-proofed against pain, but the sounds from her throat are not human.

Agamemnon hails his queen, and in her smile there is the shadow of her smile, the bladed gleam Cassandra dreamt. In her hands there is death.

x. Cassandra wakes in the dim place at the rim of the earth. Around her thronging dead glimmer up, their mouths ajar. They are gentle.

Apollo trespasses there, too bright to bear. He kneels before her. He is violent glory and his eyes shine, void.

I loved you ever, he says.

She is yet his prophet: in an awful voice she tells him of the mortals he will love till they are burned inside-out, and his deathless grief. Shaken, he leads her out of that dark.

The sun, slanted in hazy carnival, laps at the hem of her dress. Her god offers her the sky but she does not heed him—she has already turned away.

He lets her go, a wolf beyond light’s coveting hands.

Cassandra walks in the ungolden ruins of Troy, and sings of the world to come.

#words #Κασσάνδρα #the screen separating the soul from you

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hinerdsitscat · 2 years

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Eurovision 2022 as Chris Fleming/Gayle Quotes

Last year I did various Eurovision acts as John Mulaney quotes so this year I thought I’d try a different Comedian Who Deals In Weird Metaphors.

Austria (Lumix feat. Pia Maria, “Halo”)

Bulgaria (Intelligent Music Project, “Intention”)

Croatia (Mia Dimšić, “Guilty Pleasure”)

Cyprus (Andromache, “Ela”)

Czech Republic (We Are Domi, “Lights Off”)

Estonia (Stefan, “Hope”)

Finland (The Rasmus, “Jezebel”)

France (Alvan & Ahez, “Fulenn”)

Georgia (Circus Mircus, “Lock Me In”)

Iceland (Systur, “Með hækkandi sól”)

Ireland (Brooke, “That’s Rich”)

Israel (Michael Ben David, “I.M.”)

Latvia (Citi Zēni, “Eat Your Salad”)

Lithuania (Monika Liu, “Sentimentai”)

Malta (Emma Muscat, “I Am What I Am”)

Moldova (Zdob și Zdub & Advahov Brothers, “Trenulețul”)

Norway (Subwoolfer, “Give That Wolf a Banana”)

Poland (Ochman, “River”)

Romania (WRS, “Llámame”)

San Marino (Achille Lauro, “Stripper”)

Serbia (Konstrakta, “In Corpore Sano”)

Slovenia (LPS, “Disko”)

Spain (Chanel, “SloMo”)

Switzerland (Marius Bear, “Boys Do Cry”)

Ukraine (Kalush Orchestra, “Stefania”)

There were more acts this year, but due to time I couldn’t get to them all.

Image Text/Sources:

First Image: “Where do you think we are, Italy?” (source: “Davis II”)

Austria: “And everyone’s looking at me like I’m at an Eyes Wide Shut party uninvited.” (source: “Baby Got Back Brings Out The Worst in People”)

Bulgaria: “They should invent something for guys with this kind of affliction, like a VR system where he can believe he’s in a perpetual state of giving you a tour of his house.” (source: “W.U.G”)

Croatia: “Too bad he was married.” (source: “Showpig”)

Cyprus: “NYU is just girls in fedoras trying to get addicted to cigarettes.” (source: “NYU”)

Czech Republic: “Terry if you haven’t made your bed, throw it away, it’s too late to make it now!” (source: “COMPANY IS COMING”)

Estonia: “Hi, I’d like to report a stolen horse? Actually, don’t worry about it.” (source: “Valentine’s Day”)

Finland: “It’s very apparent that they haven’t seen the light of day since ‘94.” (source: “Gayle - Episode 38: Lizard People”)

France: (description: person standing in the woods screaming) (source: “Meeting Boyfriends”)

Georgia: “Why do I feel like that guy washes his hands with strawberry milk?” (source: “Gigi the Christmas Snake”)

Iceland: “Enough turquoise to get into Stevie Nicks’ house (no questions asked).” (source: “Sick Jan”)

Ireland: “I’m like ‘preteen at her Bat Mitzvah disassociating doing “Greased Lightning” choreography.” (source: “Showpig”)

Israel: “I should have known how you kept going on about ‘how welcoming the burlesque community’s been.” (source: “Polyamorous”)

Latvia: “But I was off my face on Terra Juice, so I didn’t know right from wrong.” (source: “Gayle - Episode 3: The Movies”)

Lithuania: “And on ‘sexy chanteuse,’ she punched me so hard in the jaw that I flew against a piano.” (source: “Showpig”)

Malta: “Those aren’t freaks, those are attractive people with heavily-vetted idiosyncrasies.” (source: “St Vincent, Crazy Pete and Kevin Magee”)

Moldova: “He thinks his vibe is all ‘Don Draper’ when it’s really more ‘Hertz Rent-a-Car’.” (source: “W.U.G.”)

Norway: “It may look like a 2010 Corolla, but it’s not: that is in fact his spaceship.” (source: “My Day with the Alien”)

Poland: “Zero qualms about going full Streetcar Named Desire at 2PM at a Bertucci’s.” (source: “Am I a Man?”)

Romania: “I have never just had a twosome.” (source: “Gary Johnson Ad”)

San Marino: “And the boyfriend’s jazzing around, all proud of himself, like a seagull who just pulled off a Dorito heist at the beach.” (source: “What To Do If Your Boyfriend Proposes on Christmas Eve”)

Serbia: “For 51 years of my life, I walked around looking like the leader of a jazz band, until one day, by a freak accident, I messed up in the shower and I used dog shampoo. Sure, I was humiliated, but Terry: the results.” (source: “Gayle - Episode 22: Beef Hutchins”)

Slovenia: “How nice would it be to have the confidence of a teenage coffee drinker?” (source: “Teens Who Drink Coffee”)

Spain: “And he had this big ass, this big proud ass, this Christmas goose, this terrific bassoon player’s ass!” (source: “St Vincent, Crazy Pete and Kevin Magee”)

Switzerland: “You know a guy got into Radiohead too young if even his pocket rejects him.” (source: “Polyamorous”)

Ukraine: “I’m like the kid at the school dance wearing the bucket hat, grinding with the fire extinguisher.” (source: “Gary Johnson Ad”)

Closing Image: “You think that shit happens to John Mulaney?” (source: “Davis II”)

#eurovision #eurovision song contest #eurovision 2022 #esc 2022 #text post meme #chris fleming #chris fleming quotes #gayle #gayle series #image described

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nausikaaa · 1 year

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WIP Wednesday

thanks @forabeatofadrum for tagging me, and for all the tags on sunday! those tags motivated me to keep writing blow on the tinder, but then i actually finished the chapter so instead of sharing six lines i just posted the whole thing on ao3!

here’s a bit from my novel, a vision Helenus sees:

Two little boys run across the beach, while an older girl sits on the sand and watches. The boy in front is smaller, with black hair, while the other boy is a redhead, like her. But where her skin is white as milk, both their complexions are closer to mine.

The bigger boy catches up to the other and pushes him over.

“Pyrrhus!” The girl shouts, shooting to her feet. The little boy rights himself.

“I’m okay, mama!”

“Pyrrhus!” She shouts again. The redhead runs on ahead, laughing. “Come back here and apologise to your brother!” The younger boy runs to her, tugging on her dress. She picks him up and smooths his curly hair back from his face. “You’re really alright?”

“Yes. It’s not Pyrrhus’s fault.”

“Yes, it is. He pushed you!”

“I don’t mind. Don’t be mad, mama.”

The girl- woman? She’s far too young to be mother to these two boys, really. She shakes her head and bites her lip. “You’re just like your fathers.” She sighs, looking out across the sea. “Too similar, I worry. Don’t be too quick to forgive, Oneiros. Don’t fold to others so easily.”

I see another flash, a vision within a vision, a split second of Oneiros, a few years older. A rock collides with his temple and he crumples to the ground, eyes rolling back. Then I return to the beach, and the woman kisses the same vulnerable spot on his head.

“Let’s go, dinner should be ready.”

The vision fades.

i tag @martsonmars @ileadacharmedlife @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ionlydrinkhotwater @confused-bi-queer @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @bazzybelle @castawaypitch @gekkoinapeartree @ivelovedhimthroughworse @erzbethluna @facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @moodandmist @tea-brigade @stillgeekingout @whatevertheweather @wetheformidables @onepintobean @basiltonbutliketheherb and @theearlgreymage

a long explanation of who the characters in the snippet are below the cut!

so Deidamia and Pyrrhus are a bit more well-known because of The Song Of Achilles, but Madeline Miller absolutely butchers them because she needed as many hate sinks as she could get (and quite frankly i think she has issues with women characters in general) so ignore all that.

Deidamia was Achilles’s wife, the oldest of seven daughters of King Lycomedes of Skyros. She liked to dance. She and Achilles were married young at the behest of Achilles’s mother Thetis to try and protect him from the war, and Achilles lived among the sisters disguised as a girl until Odysseus found him and tricked him into revealing himself. By some accounts Patroclus was with them on Skyros too, and how long they stayed varies from a couple of months to EIGHT YEARS. i went with the middle ground, four years.

Pyrrhus was Deidamia’s son with Achilles. He joined the war in it’s tenth and final year, after Achilles’s death, and was a part of the Trojan Horse scheme. He killed some princes of Troy then came face to face with Priam, the king. Priam told him he was nothing like his father, who had respect for him, and Pyrrhus responded with essentially “you tell him what a disappointment his son is when you meet him in hell”, then dragged him over to an altar and killed him. he took Andromache, Hector’s wife, as a slave, and in some versions killed her son, my novel’s main character, Astyanax. in most versions Odysseus did that though. he also sacrificed Polyxena, the youngest princess of Troy, to Achilles, because she had lured him into the trap that killed him. fucked up? yes. does this justify Madeline Miller making him a homophobic jackass with zero complexity? no. he was a goddamn child soldier! anyway, he married Hermione, daughter of Menelaus and Helen of Troy, but they didn’t have any children. He did have 3 sons with Andromache though. Orestes eventually killed him because Apollo had it out for his whole family and Orestes wanted to marry Hermione.

and then there’s Oneiros. nobody ever remembers that Pyrrhus had a brother and I’m gonna change that. Oneiros, whose name means dream in Greek (Sandman fans, that’s why Calliope calls Dream that) was the son Deidamia and either Achilles or Patroclus. in my story it’s the latter, i think the three were polyamorous. however he was ALSO killed by Orestes, over a misunderstanding when they went camping together as children. it’s interesting to me that Oneiros died in a similar way to how Patroclus killed another boy as a child, an accidentally fatal head blow, and that he was killed by Orestes, who later killed his brother too. Orestes really is the worst. killing your mother wasn’t enough? you have to destroy another family too?

i have so many feelings about Deidamia!! having children so young (13 when she had Pyrrhus, 17 when she had Oneiros), then Achilles and Patroclus going off to a war they’re doomed to die in, leaving her to raise them alone. all those years. her husbands never coming home. Oneiros being killed when he’s still a child. Pyrrhus, at only 14, going off to fight in the same war that killed his fathers, and coming back wrong. she gets a somewhat happy ending, finds love and has a family again in my story, but it’s still pretty sad.

#wip wednesday #my writing

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