#you know who else is a dick??? Agamemnon

[andromedaexists]

first Greek book report of the year is done...

I can now say that I read the Bατραχομυομαχία, a not-quite-fable that I didn't know exist. Prof also didn't provide us any guidance on what he wanted in the book report or what the format of the book report should be so he got a 1.5 page essay of my comparing the King of the Frogs to Agamemnon and the mouse that dies to Achilles...

ANYWAYS i'm def in the right mind and should be trusted to work on school work rn...

#andi talks #no hear me out HEAR ME OUT #the king is like an ass and lies about his involvement in the death of the mouse right? #seems like a dick move #you know who else is a dick??? Agamemnon #that's it #that's the argument #i hope i get an A for creativity

[uncpanda]

Strange Bedfellows :Part 6

AN: This is the final part of this series and I really love how it’s ending. I hope you do too! 

You hide the pregnancy for as long as you can. You don’t start showing until your fourth month, and even then you’re able to hide the bump under large shirts. The boys are strangely oblivious, and Alfred. . . well he knows something is going on but he doesn’t know what. It’s when your fifth month hits that you can no longer hide it. 

“We have to tell them.” 

You stare at Bruce, “It’s going to be weird. Jason is going to make comments, Tim is going to research stuff, Damian is going to be upset about not being the only blood child, and Dick is going to try and touch my belly, I just know it.” 

Bruce nods, “And then there’s Alfred.” 

You pause, “And then there’s Alfred.” 

You both shiver when you think of the lecture you’re going to get from him. After a minute of silence you say, “Ten bucks says he brings up the ‘talk’ he gave us at least once.” 

“Oh he definitely will.”

You whine a bit, “I really wish I could drink right now.” 

“I hear ya sweetheart.” 

You toss a pillow at his head, “We’re friends, who made a mistake, and now we’re having a baby. No pet names.” 

He rolls his eyes, before he pulls out your jacket, “We have to go do this now.” 

You pout the entire way to the mansion. When you pull up you stay buckled in your seat, and Bruce has to literally pull you out of the car, and guide you to the mansion. “Bruce just think about this. We could disappear. You have the resources to do it.” 

He pushes you into the manor, and you glare at him. You find the boys in the media room. You slide behind him, “Guys we need to talk.” 

None of them respond, and a second later Bruce steals the remote and turns the TV off. There’s a lot of groans, before the boys all turn to look at you. Through the cries Dick asks, “What’s up guys?” 

You and Bruce look at each other, each trying to find the words to tell them, and in the end, Bruce simply moves you in front of him, and pulls back your jacket. Their jaws drop. Jason is the first to recover, he cackles, “No way. Seriously? Does Alfred know? Can I tell him.” 

You and Bruce answer in unison, “No.” 

“Right now, the plan is to have the baby tell him later on.” 

Jason’s cackling continues for several minutes before the other boys recover. That’s when the questions start. 

“How are you two allowed to have a baby? Have you seen Damian?” 

“Does this mean Y/N is moving in with us?” 

“How the hell did you forget the condom. You’ve given us so many talks on safe sex. It’s really hypocritical if you think about it.” 

“This child is not going in the room next to mine?” 

“Do you want a boy or a girl?” 

“What do you think about the name Agamemnon?”  

You give up after that and storm out of the room, and into the kitchen. Where Alfred is 

waiting. You know he’s seen the bump, but he doesn’t look at all surprised. “You lasted longer than I thought you would. How about some tea.” 

You smile for the first time that day, “Of course you know.” 

He smiles, “The moment you stopped cooking with onions I knew.” 

You slide onto a bar stool, “Please don’t say the word onions.” 

He pours you a cup of tea, “How are you handling all this?”

“Terrified out of my mind.” 

“And Master Bruce?” 

Your fingers curl around the mug, “Is genuinely excited.” 

“And that doesn’t make you happy?” 

You take a sip of your tea, “It isn’t that. He seems so sure of himself. So steady, and I . . . I’m horrible because I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop Alfred. Everything is changing, and I’m terrified, that by the end of this . . . I’m going to lose him.” 

“Master Bruce has never even held a baby. I assure you that he is freaking out on the inside. But I suspect that he wants to be strong for you. Furthermore, many people have come and gone in his life Ms. Y/N, but you have remained constant. You understand him far better than anyone else . . . myself included. I suspect that if you allow it for him, that this child may be the thing that will bring him back from being the Batman and turn him into Bruce Wayne once again.” 

You smile, “You’re rather optimistic today.” 

He returns the smile, “I’m getting a grandchild. I’m allowed to be optimistic. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go have a talk with the boys. I feel the need to correct where I went wrong with master Bruce.” 

You sit in the kitchen by yourself, occasionally you hear groans and exclamations of grossness from the media room. That’s how Bruce finds you caught up in your thoughts with a cold cup of tea. “So Alfred’s come up with new threats since we were teenagers, but I think we’re in the clear because he said it was about bloody time . . .” 

You set the mug off to the side, and Bruce goes quiet. After another few seconds, his arm stretches out, and his hand cups your arm. “Y/N you feeling okay?” 

You look up and meat his eyes for one, two, three heart beats, and then you surge forward. Your arms wrap around his neck, and your lips slant against his, and not even a second later his arms are wrapped around you. And in that moment you let go of the fear, and the doubt, and allow yourself to believe that you can do this: you can be more than just strange bedfellows. You can be soulmates. After all 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife'

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #batman imagine #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #Tim Drake #nightwing #red hood #red robin #robin #DC comics #DC Universe #dc reader insert #dc imagine

[lackadaisicalnereid]

The Game: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag some authors! I was tagged by @elasticella​​ & am tagging @bohemicns​​ @kwritten​​ and @ravenbells​​ if they are up for it. It was fun to think about and fit in nicely with me trying to figure out stylistics recently, so good for me.

1.deal with the devil

Malady is tired and Lohse is young.

(oh, do I love words which are not quite opposites but become opposites through being put in a sentence together. also, short sentences, yes.)

2. money dick power

(money)

Rachel almost wishes she could be embarrassed about this,

(dick)

with Quinn's fingers stroking her clit at a steady pace, and Rachel's fingers in response twisting in Quinn's hair,

(power)

but Rachel had misplaced most of her sanity decades ago, and there wasn't much of it to begin with anyway.

(yeah, this is one of those things that happen to me sometimes, idek, here I'm interspersing the entire fic with the repetitions of money, dick, power which is what the characters got on their matching tattoos, rhythmically mimicking one of the characters getting the other off with her hand, what ever are my choices)

3. a fire burning

Nyota's not sure even as it's happening, why she's in the landing party.

(ah, the thing in clauses when the referent for the pronoun comes after the pronoun itself, i cherish you so)

4. king of something

When Jane first sees Valkyrie, let's just say that it's a lot.

(one of my probably most used openings - both key characters present, making first contact)

5. falling, except

They keep falling - except

(in contrast to #4, a more in medias res approach, which i also do like sometimes, and then there's the the not-really-finishing-the-sentence thing which i also sometimes employ)

6. we’re all strays on a sidewalk

Magic can be many things.

(generic present tense statement, how i both worship and fear you)

7. but you took your toll on me It will never happen.

(ah narratorial OR character prediction for the future that starts the fic and its repetition creates the structure)

8. to avoid death, marry the hangman

6. They are in Clytemnestra's bed, always in Clytemnestra's bed, in lieu of crimes ot yet committed, Clytemnestra at least claims Cassandra away from Agamemnon's bed and for herself.

(this is the type of rambly opening line i honestly thought i'd find more of in my fic, but alas there hasn’t been much of it lately, but i do do the thing here where i number events and then scramble their order, which i have fun with both reading & writing)

9. come nightfall you’ll be waltzing through my door

Paris in summer is wonderful – at times.

(ah generic present tense statement, we meet again, ending on a hedge, and i do love hedges, also i’m itching to finish the next chapter of this blair/dan whatever it is)

10. Upper East Side, a queendom

Blair is a queen.

(maybe the shortest sentence on this list. i really do like a short opening line)

11. little beast

A story needs to start somewhere, so let us say this story needs three protagonists now.

(oh, hello narrator, nice to see you again, this is probably the most present distinct narratorial voice i’ve ever tried, even i occasionally think it’s obnoxious)

12. above all else, a god needs compassion

Tally is strong.

(oh i was wrong about #10 being the shortest. who knows if i'll find a 2-word opening line somewhere)

13. girls are cruellest to themselves

For the first time in recent memory, Abigail Bellweather does not know what to fucking do.

(i do like to employ swearing occasionally, and also i do consider characters not knowing sth a good starting point - see also #3 and #4)

14. the only apple on the only tree (that we’re not supposed to eat)

It's always the only apple on the only tree that we're not supposed to eat, and it's the same fucking shit all over again, except this time it's Laura looking at Baph, all metal and goth, and dark and grief, and not hers, not even remotely, and thinking, yes, I pick you.

(rambly again, and swearing (must have been a phase) and hello religious motif, we meet at last, i was wondering when you were going to show up, also i do the listing thing which i like in the second half of the sentence, and i do the free indirect discourse thing, i think?)

15. as goddesses do

1. Hera hears about Persephone long before she meets her.

(oh, see: #4 except this is even before the characters' first contact, which makes it kinda like #3)

16. everything i want here "I love her - Father, Mother, please," Paris begs, as well as Paris was ever capable of doing just that.

(you know for some reason i just love the as well as Paris was ever capable of doing just that second half of the sentence, but that's probably because i have a lot of thoughts re: Paris & begging & family and i like the staccato of what Paris is saying, this might just be my favorite of the openings here )

17. so many things i’m not allowed to tell you

1. It's this: Katherine comes to Mystic Falls.

(oh, short event description with some narratorial intervention and framing, hello)

18. am i your demon yet

The nature of it is that she never comes to Baph.

(the nature of what, that is the question, and i do love a good opening question, also - if she never comes to Baph - what does happen? so many questions and so little time)

19. girls in the mirror are closer than they appear

It would be silly to pretend Laura does not know that Sakhmet has eaten someone.

(i wish i'd made this sentence shorter, or changed something in the rhythm maybe, but i liked the epistemological focus on the pretending and/or knowing, so *shrug* what’s a girl to do)

20. forever just means forever

There is a corpse, or more than one corpse, maybe one or two or three.

(again, epistemological uncertainty, my best friend, see: #19, also aren't corpses just a great starting point, who's with me)

#meme #elasticella <3 #fic fic fic

[thisiswhymomworries]

If I may contribute to your statement about how much Agamemnon deserved death, it wasn’t just his daughters wedding day. He arranged for her to be married to Achilles so that she would be within convenient murder range. If I remember correctly, at least in Euripides’ telling of the events, even Achilles thought the whole thing was awful when he realized what was going on. So yeah, there is no telling of the story in which I feel bad for him.

oh yeah, you’re absolutely correct that Agamemnon totally set that up and arranged for her to be married solely to get her out of the house to be killed

and Achilles WAS like “hey what the fuck this is my wedding too--well. not anymore I guess >:/”

ALSO Agamemnon is the bitch who started the Biggest Dick Slap Fight with Achilles about the distribution of loot, which led to Achilles having his Big Sulk and refusing to fight, so Patroculus put on his armor and fought in his place--shout to him by the way!! he has the highest kill count in The Iliad, NOT Big Baby Achilles--and was therefore eventually killed by Hector

so the order of fuck ups is:

Agamemnon makes a stupid ass promise (to Artemis I believe) at the beginning of the war to sacrifice whatever he sees first when he arrives home

immediately sees his daughter, who ran out to welcome him first bc she loves him

realizes now he has to kill her otherwise the gods will be mad and he won’t be able to join / or will doom The War expedition

doesn’t just stay home!! like yeah, he made a regular human promise ala WWI alliances where if something happens to this other guy over here, then fucking everybody in their dog has to go to war over it, including him, but this is YOUR DAUGHTER my dude, just stay home

Decides to go ahead and kill his daughter, I guess!!

lies to his wife (Clytemnestra) and to Achilles (ally) that he’ll marry Daughter to Achilles before they go off to war

when Clytemnestra brings Daughter down to get married, he instead ties her to the alter / pyre and kills her while Achilles is like “whoaaa what the fuck”

all so he can go to this stupid war that again, Does Not Involve Him. he only promised that if Other Guy’s shit got fucked up (ie, his wife Helen getting abducted), then he’d help out but like,, Helen maybe wanted to go to Troy anyway and also still ultimately not his problem

yes breaking promises his a huge No-No but also so is literally all of these other fuck ups he does, so why not just do One (1) fuck up and also NOT kill your daughter\

Goes to war and tries his hardest to fuck THAT up too!!

so the whole point of killing his daughter is that he HAS to go help fight in this war and then when he gets there, he’s useless

coulda just stayed home, moron

he starts a Biggest Dick Slap Fight with Achilles--ACHILLES--over who gets the best loot by pulling that he technically has rank as a king or something but he didn’t do shit

Achilles Big Mad

so basically this guy made direct eye contact with the Greeks’ BESTEST most special warrior, lied to him, killed his would-be wife, snidely pulled rank, took away another woman he wanted (that’s the “loot”), and pretty much fucked her while loudly reminding The Best Warrior he ain’t shit

like,,, ?? the Greeks DID NOT need him there!!

Achilles--their best warrior--refuses to fight, Patroculus fights instead, gets killed, Achilles mourns for three days, they basically come This Fucking Close to losing the war--which has already stalled for ten years btw bc they can’t actually get inside Troy, so the “war” thus far is basically just glorified yelling “meet me in the fucking parking lot you bitch” and sometimes someone from Troy would in fact come out to fist fight someone in the parking lot, aka Hector vs Patroculus (RIP)

if Achilles hadn’t been sulking, maybe he would’ve won the fist fight vs Hector, and Troy would’ve surrendered after losing their leader

but that doesn’t happen so Odysseus does the horse thing to get the soldiers inside Troy and they sack it, but the point is that Agamemnon DIDN’T DO SHIT except make things worse

Comes back home and immediately insults the gods

Clytemnestra does kind of set him up for this by asking leading questions, but they’re so Babey Basic. like,, if a woman asks “hey do you think you’re better than the gods” just say no!!

there’s a red carpet, which is a huge honor for the gods alone, and it’s Super Super Obvious Clytemnestra is goading him into hubris but Agamemnon “Can’t Think Critically” the Daughter Killer is like “oh fuck yeah I’ll accept honors only reserved for the gods because I’m just as good as them DO YOU HEAR THAT GODS I, A MORTAL, AM LOUDLY PROCLAIMING HUBRIS WHILE SYMBOLICALLY STEPPING ON YOU GEE HOW COULD THIS GO WRONG”

didn’t seem to put any thought into how Clytemnestra, a woman, was supposed to hold onto the throne for him FOR TEN FUCKING YEARS but then when he comes back, he rolls up like “hey, honey what’s up with you? me?? oh yeah, I had fun killing our daughter, going to war, fucking other women. LOTS of other women, I even fucked Achilles’s woman. yeah, yeah, that’s just the kind of leader I am Babey!! but anyway, you’re going to give the throne back to me and let me start making decisions as king for the whole country after I killed your daughter, nearly cost us the war, and loudly insulted the gods, right? Right??”

Guess who just got MURDERED

yeah it’s the asshole who deserved it. like, the Agamemnon specifically makes sure to recount how he killed his daughter as she begged for her life and then flashes forward back to the present where he insults the gods, just to make sure we know he Really Really deserves it

not even by modern standards! the audience was at least supposed to understand the promise he made to Artemis was dumb and shitty, that regardless of whether he was “”forced to do it”” he did still kill his own child, AND he committed hubris

Clytemnestra even has a monologue about what the fuck else she’s supposed to do: there are no laws she can turn to, and as a woman, she’s not allowed to get revenge, so her only other option is to just hand the kingdom back over to this Moron and keep sucking his cock or whatever while pretending he didn’t murder her child

basically, if someone kills one of your family members, you are morally obligated to kill them

Agamemnon MUST get his shit wrecked due to hubris

Orestes (their son) has been off dicking around and sulking, and he doesn’t want to kill Agamemnon, and anyway, all he did was kill his sister! does that really count?? seriously though, does it? spoiler: the ultimate answer is No, killing women does not count as killing a person bc women are not people

this message brought to you by Athena (ironically)

also some shit about how women aren’t actually involved in motherhood or creating a child, so a mother isn’t really a parent, and that’s why Orestes gets to kill Clytemnestra via The Greek Obligation For Revenge

Clytemnestra decides Fuck That

she holds Agamemnon accountable and kills him as he must be killed in order to avenge the killing of their daughter

she tosses a net on him while he’s in the bathtub and stabs him a million times with a spear, while laughing maniacally and bathing in the rain of blood that spurts out

as is her parental RIGHT for avenging her daughter

except the problem is that she’s Not A Man, so she ““isn’t allowed”“ to kill a man

and also that the reason Agamemnon deserved to die is ultimately decided to be his hubris, because Women Are Not People so it was OK or whatever for him to kill his daughter bc that didn’t count

therefore Clytemnestra double wasn’t allowed to kill him / avenge her and should have sat around waiting for the gods to kill Agamemnon I guess, but there’s no indication any of them actually planned to do that

they just used her to do their dirty work, so if anyone in this story was fucked into a corner by the gods, it’s Clytemnestra, not Agamemnon

Orestes then has a big long story about killing Clytemnestra

like fuck his sister I guess?? he wasn’t doing shit about revenge and his moral duty to kill the killer of his family when she was sacrificed but now that his shit idiot dad got himself killed, nooow he’s all about His Moral Duty

so he kills his mom

and he’s kind of sad about it and worried that now he deserves to die too because he killed his mom, and it’s a super fucked up sin in Greek World to kill your parent

hence the deus ex machina--literally, how this trope got invented

they lowered an actor playing Athena from the rafters and had her proclaim that Women Aren’t People, so it was probably OK or whatever for Agamemnon to kill his daughter and since women have nothing to do with the creation of a child, and just hold that little sperm-baby inside them like a cup until it magically comes out with zero effort or risk to them, then Women Aren’t Parents so Orestes didn’t reeeally kill his parent

#greek mythology #ancient greek #ancient greek mythology #the agamemnon #clytemnestra #ask #anon #answered #mine

[malvoliowithin]

Shakespearean Dads Ranked From Best to Worst

Banquo: Let himself get stabbed so that his son could escape when will your fave ever.

Lord Talbot: I’m not crying you’re crying. 

Prospero: Say what you will about Prospero but he raised his daughter alone on a magic island and that’s pretty awesome honestly.

Aaron: Terrible evil-minded sociopath? Yes. Loving father? Also yes!

Richard of York: Okay maybe teaching your second-youngest son to straight-up murder people isn’t a good plan but he’s still a supportive and loving parent, give him a break. 

King Hamlet: Presumably a good enough father to make his son mourn his loss so hard that he went insane. Also possibly played a hand in making his son go insane? Hard to say. 

Falstaff: Okay he’s not a dad I admit it but like... still raised Hal more than Henry IV did. Unfortunately raised him to do crime and skirt the law. But even so. 

Hotspur: Shouldn’t be on the list cause he wasn’t a father in the plays but I’m putting him on here because shut up 

Belarius: Other than the whole kidnapping thing, a pretty swell dad. 

Edmund of York: Probably letting the guy your son loves die in prison so as not to make waves isn’t great but he still knew where his loyalties lay and was devoted to his son if nothing else.

Duke Solinus: Lost his kids in a shipwreck leave him alone he’s doing his best

Duke Senior: Abandons his daughter when he’s banished, but also allows her to stay in her home rather than taking her into the woods with him so?

Simonides: Pretty chill. Likes games. 

Gloucester: Talks about his bastard son like he’s not even there but actually isn’t a bad father all things considered. 

Henry IV: Tried. Tried so hard. (Failed.)

Pericles: Managed to completely lose his entire family although I guess it technically wasn’t his fault. Still.

Polixines: Well meaning but kind of dumb. 

Henry V: Made everything really nice for his son but then died of dysentery. (No, seriously.)

Warwick: His intentions for his daughters - honest, or self-serving? Well...

Shylock: Cuts his daughter out of his will which isn’t good, but he does recant later (although he has to). Granted also she ran off and got married without his permission. 

Leonato: I barely remember this guy tbh

Alonzo: Took his son on a perilous sea voyage, didn’t do anything else. Got punked and nearly murdered. Didn’t do much in the way of fathering but heck.

George of Clarence: Kinda just... died? While being drunk?

Baptista Minola: Uhh kinda plays weird games with his daughters’ suitings but... could be worse I guess?

Lord Montague: Perpetuates a feud that kills everyone.

Henry VI: Sold his son’s birthright for a peace treaty and then fucked off, got himself imprisoned, and died. Awesome. 

Edward IV: *dying* “I’ll just leave my young sons in the care of my brother nothing could possibly go wrong with this plan at all :)”

Polonius: Should really stop being a dick to his daughter thanks

Priam: Can’t listen to his daughter for like three seconds so everyone dies, what a winner. (Yeah I know, it was part of her curse but Even So.)

Cymbeline: Useless and also lets his evil wife poison his daughter and does jack shit so yeah.

Macduff: Runs away to do Important Business Elsewhere and meanwhile his entire family gets murdered because he neglected to post a guard.

Duke Frederick: Probably a decent father overall but banishes his daughter’s best friend to go live in the woods so that’s not exactly Cool.

Lear: Banishes his ACTUAL daughter because she doesn’t love him enough jfc

Brabantio: Dies from being too racist. That’s full-stop the reason given. His daughter marries a black man and he has a heart attack because he’s so racist he can’t handle it. Honestly. 

Egeus: a jerk who tries to have his daughter killed because she won’t marry the guy who he wants her to marry ffs. Not nice. 

Lord Capulet: Perpetuates a feud that kills everyone AND is emotionally abusive!

Northumberland: Pretends to be sick when his son is in the middle of a war and then realizes He Fucked Up after his son is already dead gj you stupid idiot. 

Antiochus: Actively having an incestuous relationship with his daughter what even. 

Leontes: an actual shitty asshole who leaves his infant daughter in the woods TO DIE and somehow kills his son (indirectly but still). Bad and terrible. 

Agamemnon: Kills his daughter because of bad weather or something and also because he somehow managed to piss off an entire goddess, regardless, KILLS HIS ENTIRE DAUGHTER 

Titus Andronicus: kills like four of his children for reasons ranging from ‘they made me angry’ to ‘they got raped and now I am ashamed of them.’ Just overall terrible and belongs in the trash. 

#I'm undoubtedly forgetting some but yeah #that's the List #misc

[aion-rsa]

Sean Connery and Michael Caine are Godlike in The Man Who Would Be King

https://ift.tt/3elTTC8

“I’ll stand one day before the Queen, not kneel, mind you, but stand like an equal, and she’ll say ‘I’d like you to accept the Order of the Garter as a mark of my esteem, cousin,’” Sean Connery’s ex-British soldier Daniel Dravot proclaims in the 1975 period adventure film, The Man Who Would Be King. And with those words, and the epic death scene which followed, Connery completed the saga of a long-germinating work from one of Hollywood’s most celebrated directors. John Huston was Hollywood royalty. His father, Walter, was an acting icon, and his offspring have all gone on to distinguish themselves as part of the Huston Dynasty.

Connery was of course no stranger to acting royalty himself. Eventually knighted in 2000, he also got to play King Agamemnon in Terry Gilliam’s Time Bandits in 1981, King Richard the Lionheart in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), and King Arthur in First Knight (1995). James Bond was only a small part of Connery’s cinematic output. The Oscar-winning screen legend wasn’t always a suave, debonair, tuxedoed aficionado of the shaken martini.

He was already distancing himself from the immensely popular 007 role by the time he made Diamonds Are Forever in 1971. He wasn’t afraid to get down and dirty for parts, and he reveled in playing the occasional antihero and other less sympathetic roles.

Thus Connery got the chance to play a not-so-bright, morally flawed but timeless character in the 1975 film The Man Who Would Be King. He also fulfilled a lifelong dream for a Hollywood legend, and turned a myth into reality.

Huston had loved Rudyard Kipling’s “The Man Who Would Be King” since he was a child, according to the book The Hustons, by Lawrence Grobel. Kipling was 22 in 1888, when he wrote the short story, and had been shot at while exploring the setting. Huston’s adaptation was a dream project which had morphed into the purgatory of lost film masterpieces, like Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon, Alejandro Jodorowski’s Dune, or Orson Welles’ Heart of Darkness. Francis Ford Coppola wound up adapting the Joseph Conrad novel with a post-Vietnam War mentality. His Apocalypse Now is about a good man corrupted by absolute power. Huston took the lessons of the unpopular war in the opposite direction. The Man Who Would Be King is about bad men who are held accountable to the indigenous people they conquer.

The Man Who Would Be King is about power, greed and the manifest destiny of entitled Europeans. It lampoons the superiority of British colonialism. In a “Making of” documentary about the film, Huston says he found the “ideal” actors to capture his subversive intent. This movie was the only time Connery played with his lifelong friend Michael Caine, besides A Bridge Too Far, which had too many bridges and a platoon of stars between them. The pair met at a cast party for the first show Connery acted in, a touring company’s production of South Pacific in 1954. On July 9 of that year, Huston told Allied Artists’ Harold Mirish he wanted his next film to be the first and only on-screen pairing of Humphrey Bogart and Clark Gable.

Huston originally had The Man Who Would Be King slated as his next production after he finished Moby Dick (1956). He planned to begin principal photography in India between November 1955 and January 1956 and was negotiating to film in the Todd-AO process. Huston had worked with Bogart on the very first film he directed, The Maltese Falcon in 1941, and the pair continued a string of successful and innovative films together. Though working fairly steadily, Bogart was battling esophageal cancer and ultimately succumbed to it on Jan. 14, 1957. Huston discussed the film with Gable while filming The Misfits, but the actor known as ���The King of Hollywood” then also died in 1960. 

Richard Burton was set to play the role against Peter O’Toole, and Huston kept start dates ready from January 1966 to January 1967, waiting for the opportunity, but the year passed and it never came. The film almost reunited Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting’s Robert Redford and Paul Newman, who told Huston the film deserved English actors, and suggested Connery and Caine specifically.

Caine immediately jumped at the role just because his part had been written for Bogart. He’d chosen his stage name after seeing Bogart fidget with his ball-bearings as Commander Queeg in The Caine Mutiny. As for Connery, the Scottish actor captures the essence of Gable’s screen persona in the film. They both bring an amused cynicism toward their roles. Both actors furrow their brows and project a sensual gravitas.

You can imagine hearing Connery say, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” with a different accent but the same delivery as Gable’s in Gone with the Wind. Granted, it would probably be coming out of the mouth of Saturday Night Live’s Darrel Hammond as a bemused answer to Alex Trebek, but it rings true. Whether he liked it or not, Connery’s turn as Bond made him as recognizable in the public’s mind as Gable.

On screen, Caine and Connery interact easily and naturally, nailing the parts with their distinct charisma. Danny and Peachy laugh at their disasters, because there’s really nothing else to do, and they make it infectious. They really are the Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid of imperialist Great Britain. Caine’s Peachy Carnahan could have been a great-great-grandparent to his Jack Carter in Get Garter; Connery’s Daniel Dravot could imaginably give sage advice to his third-generation thief grandson Matthew Broderick in Family Business (1989), or even lead a son like Indiana Jones across unexplored ancient treasures.

Together, Connery and Caine are a powerhouse. One of the great cinema pairings. They bring authentic accents, real-life camaraderie, and regional humor to the roles. Caine also bought his wife, Shakira, who plays Roxanne, the Kafiristan wife of Connery’s Daniel Dravot in the film. Christopher Plummer played Rudyard Kipling, a correspondent for “The Northern Star” newspaper, and a Freemason, a central point in the film and its symbolism.

Huston wrote the new screenplay with his long-time secretary Gladys Hill. Shooting on the final version took place in Morocco, which traded rough terrain for rampant corruption as the producers had to bribe their way through much of the filming. The locations and local extras were important to Huston to evoke the British Raj period of the movie.

The director wanted Connery and Caine to brave the “mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers” Kipling described in his story. Huston exposed Bogart to the cruel elements of location filming in The Treasure of Sierra Madre and The African Queen, and had discussed parachuting the two Hollywood icons into the Himalayas during the initial production, according to The Hustons. The two British stars faced equal peril. For the climax of the completed version, Huston let Connery plummet hundreds of feet from a rope bridge suspended over a vast valley. 

In the film, two former British Army sergeants, now clumsy gunrunners and incompetent conmen, traverse the Khyber Pass to find the isolated area of Kafiristan, located in the Hindu Kush mountains northeast of Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan. This is where the descendants of Alexander the Great live. The Greek emperor had conquered Afghanistan and married a Kafir princess named Roxanne, according to Kipling’s story.

Peachy and Danny plan to become the first Europeans since the ancient Greeks to penetrate the region and “loot it six ways from Sunday.” They admit this to Kipling shortly after robbing him and returning his stolen item back to him.

“In any place where they fight, a man who knows how to drill men can always be a king,” Connery’s Danny explains to Plummer’s Kipling. “We shall go to those parts and say to any king we find: ‘Do you want to vanquish your foes?’ And we will show him how to drill men, for that we know better than anything else. Then we will subvert that king and seize his throne and establish a dynasty.”

With this, Connery’s character captures the eternal dilemma of that region. No external power has ever permanently dominated Afghanistan. Britain lost control in 1919, which the country celebrates as the year of its independence. The Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan in 1979. The U.S. invaded Afghanistan on Oct. 7, 2001, and continues its costly occupation with no end in sight. Kafiristan, which is now called Nuristan, is home to 15 ethnic groups speaking five different languages. No one man can be king. No single government can rule. Even O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia had to admit that. Connery’s authority, however, has a much deeper voice, and the conviction of a faithful pilgrim.

Peachy and Danny believe they can find a kingdom not yet touched by civilization which they can take over easily with their weapons, knowledge and contemporary expertise. “When we’re done with you, you’ll be able to stand up and slaughter your enemies like civilized men,” they tell their trainees. Huston allows the audience to enjoy the two soldiers of misfortune, in spite of their self-ascribed superiority and blatantly racist attitudes. When their translator asks whether to woo local high priests with claims of their divinity, Peachy says to tell them they are “not gods, [but] Englishmen. The next best thing.”

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Danny is nonplussed by how easy the locals are exploited. Connery lets him indulge his moral superiority, tossing harsh judgements on native customs like offering daughters and sons up to guests for sex. When he takes an arrow in the chest and keeps on fighting, he readily assumes his mantle as the son of Alexander the Great. Connery sells that assumption realistically and believably. Peachy assumes the huge rubies in the temple are good to go. 

Caine’s Peachy Carnahan remains a Cockney through and through. Connery’s Dravot gives in to temptation almost athletically. When he finds himself worshiped as a deity, he is happy to believe it. The scene where he convinces himself is hysterical, and performed completely organically. Connery is completely surprised by himself, and Caine literally falls over laughing as he does an internal pratfall. It is as much an acting free-for-all as it is a ballet of physical comedy. The gag is the same as C3P0 telling the Ewoks he’s a deity in Return of the Jedi, which happened to be shot on the same Panaflex camera as The Man Who Would Be King.

In a highly competitive Oscar race–which included One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Barry Lyndon, and Jaws—The Man Who Would Be King was nominated for four Academy Awards: Best Art Direction, Best Writing, Best Costume Design, and Best Editing. Connery was also the lead performance in the Oscar-nominated film The Wind and The Lion that same year.

The Man Who Would Be King is an adventure film, and Connery and Caine make it a wild ride with perilous curves and a harrowing but hollow finish. Like so many of Huston’s movies, their scheme doesn’t turn out the way it’s planned, but the plot finds strength in the weakness of powerful characters. By the end of the movie, all these two characters have is each other, and even that promises to be fleeting. The performances endure though. It’s acting royalty. It’s like they were destined to do it, preordained. 

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from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/385W63u

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[foxes-evermore]

Hey,,,, if you wanna you know,,,, whip me some of that angst you got,,,, that could,,,,,, that could work,,,,, that could be cool,,.

listen,, im in physical pain and also am not able to sleep at the moment so im sitting up in the kitchen getting ready to eat a whole cheesecake and preparing to cry,,,, the angst hour is upon us,,, lets do it

if this is about the thing i said yesterday, the specific angst i was talking about was a Kevaaron Song of Achilles AU, which, im not sure if that’s what you were hoping for, but im emotional,,,, just @ me again if you meant something different sjksldjlksdf

anyway here we go its long im so sorry alksjlskdfj

I’ve said this a lot before but like

Sporty-Boy-With-A-Destiny Kevin Day

Boy-Whom-Was-Treated-Like-Shit-By-The-Only-Parent-He-Knew-But-Succeeded-Out-Of-Spite-And-Became-A-Healer Aaron Minyard

t his writes itself

originally….. listen… originally i was like “of course Riko is Paris and Ichirou is H*ctor,,,, and Jean is Helen”

bUT then i got to thinking

and i’ll be damned if the mcfucking USC Trojans aren’t the for real trojans

and like this adds a whole knew level of angst because like

hear me out, i want Jeremy to be Paris just because of the Jerejean™,, but in reality,, the boy is H*ctor. Honorable and Loyal to a Fault, and best of the best right after Kevin.

which also means that Riko is actually Menelaus, and Ichirou is Agamemnon. and that makes a lot of sense because honestly the tension between them and Kevin with everyone going “no, IM the Most Important, fuck you” is 100% there.

Back to the boys though,,

like here’s Kayleigh Day, a simple sea nymph whose only desire is to protect her son and also make sure he is remembered and worshiped forever,,, and young Kevin is so on board,,,,

meanwhile

Aaron gets in some Trouble for killing a man who dared to lay a hand on his twin brother, and Tilda is overly happy about getting rid of him for the crime, so she sells him to a king who is known for adopting outcast orphan boys for his army. Aaron never hears from/sees his mother or brother again, but ,,, he meets the stupidest boy he has ever encountered in his LIFE. the kid is an absolute IDIOT, but he is half a god and destined for greatness and everyone dotes on him. 

Aaron doesnt care.

Kevin does.

Why is Aaron ignoring him?? Why doesn’t Aaron fawn over him like the other boys do? why won’t Aaron pay attention? it’s frustrating but intriguing.

The second time Aaron gets in trouble with royalty, the king wants to know why Aaron isn’t training and sparring with the other boys. He doesnt care about anything anymore, that’s why.

But he still knows pain and fear, so he does the only thing he knows how to do when a superior is angry: he finds a small/dark place and he hides.

Of Course someone finds him, and OF COURSE it’s that talented brat.

Kevin drags him to the king because its the right thing to do, but instead of leaving him for the wolves, Kev is like “I choose him. as my brother-in-arms. i want him by my side at all times” and obviously the king is like “why” because look at this fucking tiny pale stick-boy,,, he’s not even 5 feet tall yet,,, will he ever even get over 5 feet?? (spoiler, the answer is no)

and Aaron is also like “????” and Kevin just smiles for the king and then gives Aaron this look that says “try to ignore me now, you piece of shit” :))

So these 2 spend some quality time together and for a long time it’s basically just like that one part in SoA where Achilles is training and Pat goes I stepped forward. ‘’fight me.’’

There’s so much bickering and whatnot and, just like in SoA, they don’t even truly realize they’re falling for each other until the Big Bad Ocean Mom comes and tells Aaron to fuck off and then sends Kevin away to train with the horse dad, Wymack, to keep him safe.

Aaron follows him and Kevin is like “I knew you would come :)” and Aaron is like “shut the hell your mouth” and they finish their journey together.

and they fall in L

they fall in Love on that mountain.

just two bois dicking around and experiencing foolishly strong emotions where no one can stop them.

But Then Aaron’s past that he conveniently forgot to mention catches up with him when men come to tell them that it is time to die to fight Troy. Kevin is an amazing warrior and it’s expected that he go to fight in the war, but Aaron can hear his own blood pounding, because he Remembers something that he hopes everyone else might’ve forgotten.

He’d made a promise to Jean of Sparta. not a promise. A blood oath, to go to war for the most beautiful boy in the world if something like this ever happened. and now it was happening.

Kayleigh warns him that if Kevin goes to fight the trojans, he’ll die, but she cant elaborate anymore, aside from telling them that Jeremy will die first.

Who can kill Jeremy, though? N o   o n e. Kevin is the only swordsman good enough to best him, and why would he kill the devout trojan prince? he’s an honorable man. an admirable man,,, in fact, Kevin has heard so much about him, and he adores the prince,,

and What has Jeremy ever done to him?

Kayleigh tries one more time to save her son, spirits him away to an island at night,, weds him to a beautiful princess named Thea, they promise her a child and in return she disguises him as one of her lady dancers whom she calls her “ravens”

Aaron finds him though, recognizes him, because he would know those green eyes a n y w h e r e.

Thea invites Aaron to stay, too, says that the three of them could work something out. The two agree cautiously and they start to get comfortable, incorporating Thea into this thing that used to be just them 

But eventually men come and find them,,, find Aaron,, and they’re dragged off to Troy to fight with Riko and Ichirou,, one man determined to bring back his caged lover and one determined to seize the city.

It’s exciting at first, in that “we could die any second” sort of way. everything happening all at once, arrows and spears flying, swords clanging, and fire on the beach.

but Aaron watches from day one as Kevin loses himself. the way comes back to camp the very first day of battle covered in blood and sweat and grinning like he just won the world.

Something about it twists Aaron’s stomach, but he pushes it down because there’s only room right now to be glad that his love is alive and that they’ve successfully arrived and that maybe there is hope and the war will end with both of them on the other side of it, going home.

The night after that first battle, Aaron sees a trojan girl being handed off as a spoil of war, probably to Ichirou or Riko, and demands that Kevin take her as his prize. Kevin is high off the fighting still and doesn’t really question this.

The girl’s name is Katelyn and she’s eternally grateful to Aaron, but even warier than he is of Kevin’s lust for battle and glory.

Anyway.

time passes. years. Aaron and Katelyn save as many of the captured girls as they can, and they make a family and they get close, and one day Katelyn admits that she loves Aaron.

he’s shook.

But he’s not as shook over her feelings for him as he is over her justifications for why they should be together and forget Kevin.

“He’s a monster,” she tells him. “He’s not a person anymore. He doesn’t love you, he can’t, because he doesn’t know how to love.”

and that can’t be true, but it is, isn’t it?

he only knows how to fight and kill. he only feels the need for glory, and nothing else, doesn’t he?

When did it become like this? When did Aaron lose Kevin? a few months back? years? the day they arrived at Troy? earlier?

had he ever even really had Kevin? he’d never had him to himself, at least, had he? It was always Aaron and Glory. Kevin was born to be remembered, and they both knew it. and Kevin wanted it more than anything, didn’t he?

did he want glory more than he wanted Aaron?

but it’s like Kevin is reading his mind,, every time Aaron has these thoughts, Kevin is there, on top of him, kissing him, holding him, touching him with these burning hands that leave Aaron wanting more, more, more.

he’s driving Aaron crazy and Aaron is fine with it because they have each other and they’ll be back home together one day and that’s all that matters.

and then Riko pisses Kevin off,

and the gods see this story and how it ends, and some laugh at the tragedy of it, and some hurt for the poor souls involved.

Kevin won’t let his men fight anymore, and the Trojans are taking ground back and hope is lost, but Riko and Ichirou won’t swallow their pride, and neither will Kevin.

Aaron begs. “These are our friends,” he says, “if the trojans just see you, they’ll retreat”

“You’re letting them die,” he tells Kevin from down on his knees, “you could save them. please.”

his lover’s tears are enough to snap Kevin out of his rage, but not enough to make him fight. 

“You dont have to,” Aaron bargains, “let me ride out in your armor.”

#i m sad im gonna stop #im halfway through the cheesecake and i hit a wall #is this how you write an au #is it supposed to be more unique #i dont know hwat im doing #im tired #i have to pee #i wonder what will happen if i just dont go to sleep tonight slkjfsljflk #anywhooooo #kevin/aaron #aftg

[ec-sanderssides]

Pride

Hey guys, So this one was inspired by my current location, and boy was it fun to write. For those of you that aren’t familiar with the story, it’s taken from the Iliad. Although I did alter a few things to better fit the characters (and make it angstier, shhh). This one goes out to @shadow-desu. I told you I would get revenge. TW: Character Death

“Roman,” Anxiety called out, as he entered the tent. "Are you there?”

Hands came from behind to grasp his waist, pulling him back. Recognizing the feel of them, Anxiety relaxed into the hold.

“Have you come to entertain me in my boredom?” Roman purred, his arms now fully wrapped around his lover.

Anxiety huffed. “You mean staring at yourself in a mirror isn’t entertaining enough?”

Roman chuckled. He sounded better than he had in days. Maybe this conversation wouldn’t end terribly. Still that didn’t mean he was looking forward to it.

Anxiety pushed Roman’s arms out of the way, and turned to face him. 

“Seriously though,” he said, all traces of teasing gone from his voice. “Agamemnon sent me.”

A scowl instantly appeared on Roman’s face. “So that bastard is making even you do his dirty work now. I didn’t think he would stoop so low.”

He whirled away from Anxiety and began to pace furiously. Feeling the conversation rapidly beginning to spin out of control, Anxiety moved to catch his shoulders.

“Roman. Roman!” he said, “Calm down. He’s not making me do anything. He just came to me because he knows you’ll actually listen to me. But if he’d tried to make me do anything, I would have told him to fuck off. You know that.”

Roman had stopped pacing, but his muscles were still tense and coiled under Anxiety’s hands. Wanting to get to the point before Roman could blow up again, Anxiety continued.

“Look, Agamemnon is a dick sometimes, okay, most of the time. But for once he’s got a point. You can’t spend the rest of the war in your tent, Roman. You have to fight.”

Roman jerked out of Anxiety’s grip. “You would dare ask that of me? After knowing the insult he paid me!” He laughed, but it lacked any of his normal warmth. “And here I thought I could trust you.”

Anxiety felt his face grow hot. “This isn’t about your stupid pride!” he shouted angrily. “People are dying, Roman. Our friends are dying. And you just sit here, knowing you could change that, and do nothing. Do you even care!”

“I am not the one in the wrong here,” Roman snapped back. “Agamemnon is the one who stole my prize. He is the one refusing to apologize. He is the one refusing to make amends. I only want what’s due to me.”

“So you don’t care,” Anxiety said flatly. “You and your ego. You are such a self-obsessed bastard sometimes. You don’t care about any of us out there. Not even me.”

“If you find me so unbearable, why not go seek out Agamemnon,” Roman said, his expression full of rage, “Clearly you prefer his company nowadays!”

“Maybe I will!” Anxiety told him, all thoughts of trying to stay calm now having fled. “At least he’s out there fighting, instead of hiding away like a coward.”

With that he stalked out of the tent, hands clenched into fists, storming through camp. He made his way to an empty fire pit, his palpable aura of rage keeping anyone else from approaching.

He stabbed angrily at the fire. Stupid arrogant prince. Why couldn’t Roman just get over himself. They needed him.

He sighed, his shoulders sagging as the anger was replaced by weariness. They really did need him. The Greeks were losing. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Roman’s pride wasn’t entirely unfounded. He was truly the greatest warrior in their army, maybe even of all times.

Not that it mattered with him not leaving his tent anytime soon. What were they going to do?

Just then, someone else sat down beside him.

“Well, hello there,” Patton smiled at him, “What has you all worked up?”

“Roman,” Anxiety answered shortly.

Patton’s smile faded a bit. “Ah,” he said, tipping his head back. “I take it he’s still being stubborn then.”

Anxiety didn’t bother to respond, only moodily poking at the fire some more.

“He’s young,” Patton said softly, “and prideful. But he’ll learn, in time.”

“And how many more of us will die before then?” Anxiety asked bitterly. “We can’t go on like this. And the worst part is that there’s nothing else we can do. It’s not like we can magically make another Roman appear out of nowhere.”

Patton was looking thoughtful. “Actually,” he said slowly, “Maybe we can.”

Anxiety stared at him. Right, clearly the stress of the war had made the old man finally crack.

“Are-are you feeling okay?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” Patton replied, his eyes now gleaming. “In fact I’m better than ever. I have a plan.”

“Uh-huh” Anxiety said, now wondering if he should maybe go and fetch someone. Maybe Logan? He was probably the smartest person Anxiety knew, so if anyone knew how to deal with whatever was wrong with Patton, it was probably him.

“Hear me out,” Morality begged. “Look, half the reason we’re doing so badly right now is because half the army’s convinced we’re doomed without Roman.”

“I mean they’re not wrong,” Anxiety muttered, but shut his mouth when Patton huffed at him.

“What I’m saying is that we need something to lift everyone’s spirits, to get them ready to fight again. If we can just get them feeling confident, I know we can win.”

“And how would we do that?” Anxiety asked. He could see Patton’s point, but he wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Well, if Roman refusing to fight is what has them depressed, then to cheer them up, we just have to make them believe that he’s agreed to fight again.” Patton said, his voice filled with excitement

“I think they’ll figure out we lied to them, when they notice he’s not there,” Anxiety drawled.

Patton gave him a small, secret smile. 

“That’s where you come in,” he said. “Anxiety, you and Roman do look somewhat alike. You have relatively similar heights and build. With a helmets over your heads, no one could tell the difference unless they got up close. And if you’re wearing his armor….”

Anxiety thought about it. It… wasn’t a bad suggestion. Roman’s armor was distinctive. He’d insisted on getting it custom-made. So as long as nobody got too close to him, and they only saw the armor, maybe.

“That-that could actually work,” Anxiety said slowly, “As long as I can get his armor, then yeah, maybe.”

“I believe in you,” Patton said. “I’m sure you can do it.”

Anxiety watched and waited. He had been lurking near Roman’s tent since sundown, waiting until he felt sure the other would be asleep. Carefully, he crept up to the tent. Hopefully he hadn’t made a mistake.

He hadn’t. As he peered into the tent, he could see Roman sprawled across his furs, his face only just illuminated by the moonlight. Anxiety couldn’t help the soft smile that crept across his face. In moments like this, he remembered why he loved the idiot.

Making sure to keep his steps light and soft, he moved carefully towards the chest where Roman kept his armor. Keeping on eye on Roman to see if he was waking up, he bent and picked up the chest.

It was heavy, but Anxiety didn’t let that deter him. Arms straining, he quickly made his way out of the tent, with Roman still lost in dreamland. Once he was out, he let out a sigh of relief. He’d done it.

But then looking back at Roman’s tent, he felt a pang of sadness. If only none of this were necessary. If only Roman had listened to him. Looking back down at the chest containing the armor he was supposed to don when tomorrow came, doubt began to creep into his brain.

How was he supposed to imitate Roman? How could he measure up to his stupid, prideful, perfect lover? But he had to. There was no other way.

Sighing he glanced back at the tenet. Hopefully Roman wouldn’t be too furious when he found out what Anxiety had done. Hopefully he would understand.

“Sleep well, Princey,” he murmured. “I wish you could be with me tomorrow.”

With that, he picked up the chest again, and began to trudge back to his tent. He needed all the rest he could get.

Inside his tent, Roman’s brow furrowed, and he shifted restlessly in his sleep. His dreams had taken a dark turn.

When Roman awoke the next morning, he felt restless. This was not an unusual state for him recently, as staying in one’s tent was hardly stimulating, but this felt… different.

After hours of pacing, muttering, and attempting to read, he decided to give his hands something to do, and turned to polish his armor. But when he went to look for his chest, it wasn’t there.

Roman stared at the empty space, puzzled. He wasn’t sure where it would have gone. Unless, maybe it was Agamemnon. A dark scowl crossed his face, if Agamemnon had had the gall to steal his armor as well as his war prize, he was going to kill the man, consequences be damned!

His murderous thoughts were then interrupted by Logan racing into his tent in more disarray than Roman had ever seen before.

“Roman,” he gasped. “You have to come. Quickly. He’s calling for you. We don’t have much time.”

He was frantically tugging on Roman’s arm, but Roman shrugged him off, not in the mood to be manhandled.

“Who’s calling,” he asked cooly, ready to dismiss the other if it was something trivial.

“Anxiety!” Logan said, “He’s with the healers. They don’t know if he’ll make it. Roman, please, he’s begging for you!”

Roman’s heart turned to ice.

He shoved Logan out of the way, knocking the slighter man over, racing out of the tent. No, no, it wasn’t possible. This could not be happening.

As the healer’s tent came into sight, echoes of their last conversation drifted through his head.

This isn’t about your stupid pride! 

You don’t care about any of us out there. Not even me.

How could he have been so stupid? As he pushed open the tent flap, Roman begged to every god he knew for the chance to make amends. To not punish Anxiety for his pride.

Inside the tent, Patton looked up tearfully, Anxiety’s head cradled in his lap. His lover lay still, his only movement the faint rise and fall of his chest. Where his skin wasn’t crusted over with drying blood, it was pale and waxy. His eyes weren’t open.

Roman slid to his knees beside him, his arms reaching out to cradle the other.

“Anxiety,” he whispered. “Anxiety, please open your eyes.”

But the other didn’t stir.

“Anxiety!’ he begged. "Please, please, just open your eyes. I’m so sorry. I love you please. Let me make this up, let me make this better. Just open your eyes.”

Pulling the other man closer, he could feel tears beginning to drip down his cheeks.

“There’s so much more I have to say to you,” he murmured. “So many things we haven’t done. I didn’t mean any of what I said earlier, can you forgive me? You were right, and I was foolish. I should I have listened to you. I will always listen you in the future, just please wake up!”

Rocking back and forth, Roman begged and begged, all thoughts of pride forgotten.

“Wake up! Wake up, I need you. I can’t do this alone. Please, Anxiety, stop doing this, I love you, please!”

His voice broke on the last please, choked by sobs. Logan came up hesitantly beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Roman, I’m sorry,” he said shakily. “We were too late. He’s gone.”

“No,” Roman whispered hoarsely, “No, he can’t be.”

“His last words were of you,” Patton said, sounding choked. “It- it was your name. That was the last thing he said, your name.”

Roman keened, a high-pitched sound more akin to a wounded animal than a human. He screamed, his grief echoing throughout the tent. Anxiety was gone. Gone, gone, GONE!

So lost in his sorrow, he barely noticed the hands shaking him, only reacting when they tried to pull Anxiety from him. He snarled up at Logan, his hands clutching around the body possessively.

“Roman, please” Logan said. “You have to let him go. We have to bury him.”

Let him go, how could he ask such a thing.

Seeing his refusal on his face, Logan tried again. “Roman,” he said, “I know you’re upset, I am too, but he must be buried.”

Roman snapped.

“You think you understand my grief, Logan of Ithaca!” he roared. “You know nothing! You still have a life waiting for you. All that I am has been destroyed. You would dare take him from me? I would kill you where you stood.”

Logan paled, but did not move.

“Roman,” he said softly, “If he’s not buried, his spirit will never find rest. You can’t hold onto him forever.”

Roman flinched as the words bit into him. Turning away from Logan, he pressed his face into Anxiety’s cold chest.

“Go,” he said bitterly. “Leave me. I will prepare his body. You can go and build his pyre.”

As Logan and Patton moved to leave the tent, Roman lifted his head up, and called after them.

“And Logan,” he said, making sure his tone conveyed the full weight of his words. “Make sure it’s fit for a king.”

Logan met his eyes and nodded solemnly, before exiting the tent with Patton. Roman turned back to face Anxiety, one hand reaching out to softly caress his face.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, my love. I failed you.”

Later that night, as the pyre burned and the women of the camp wailed, Roman turned to Logan.

“What happened,” he said, his voice flat and cold.

Logan looked uncomfortable, but he answered.

“He took your armor,” he said dully. “Pretended to be you, so he could lead the troops. So they’d stop being convinced things were hopeless. He was doing well actually. You-you would have proud of him. But then Hector came.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. So it was Hector.

Logan continued, his voice sounding more broken by the minute. “Anxiety tried to hold out against him, but he’d gotten trapped behind enemy lines. We couldn’t help him, and Hector just wouldn’t, he wouldn’t stop. By the time we broke through and reached him, we were too late. He was already, well you saw.”

Roman stared at the pyre, his eyes burning, his jaw clenched. Yes, he had seen.

“I’m going to burn Troy to the ground,” he said, feeling the bloodlust rise within him. “I will take Hector and throw his body to the dogs. I will grind their city to dust, bring their people to ruin, and when that is done, I will fly Anxiety’s standard above it, so that they might know, that even in death, he surpasses them.”

Logan was staring at him, pale and uneasy. “Roman, please don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly.

“I will only do what is necessary,” Roman replied harshly, turning from the other. He had to visit the blacksmith.

Two days later, Roman stood ready. His new armor gleamed. He had not needed the blacksmith after all. No, this armor was forged by the gods themselves. He was pleased with it, it would suit his purpose well.

As he marched through the camp, his hand went to the space above his heart. That had been his one request to Hephaestus, that Anxiety’s name might be inscribed above his heart. The god had looked at him with sympathy, and then agreed.

Once he had reached the front lines, he donned his helm. It was time.

“I will avenge you, Anxiety,” he murmured. “I’ll avenge you if it’s the last thing I do.”

It would be.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #prinxiety #sanders sides #tw character death #fanfic #I wrote more #but it was getting really long #and I wasn't sure how good it was #I like this ending though #my fic

[lizamezzo]

For the Shakespeare ask meme 10, 13, 14, 15 and a bonus 18 if you want to answer that? :D

Hello friend!  Sorry to be late with these:

10. Your favorite film versionBranagh’s Henry V is great in many ways (Brian Blessed kicking ass with a mace, for one).  And the tavern crowd are serious luxury casting: Judi Dench as Quickly!  The only thing that hasn’t aged well is Branagh himself and his 1990s hair.  Everyone else is covered in medieval grunge, and yet the 1990s hair never wavers.  It’s uncanny.I also retain a soft spot for this old thing:

Yeah, the style is outdated these days, but in their time these people were the best at what they did.  Gielgud’s “what pain it was to drown” speech as Clarence is one of the best examples of that older style of verse-speaking.  I do kind of love Olivier’s Richard, cliché though he has become.  The lurid Technicolor sets and costumes just add to the period cheese-appeal, really.

13. An underrepresented/underrated character The Bastard of Falconbridge, King John.  As far as I know, he’s the only instance in Shakespeare of a comic character who becomes a hero. 

14. An underperformed/underrated playTroilus and Cressida.  It’s an extraordinary play.  We’re in the middle of the Trojan War, so we’re introduced to Achilles, Nestor, Ajax, Agamemnon, Paris, etc– and they’re dicks.  (This is late Shakespeare, so Everyone’s A Dick is a running theme.)  The only ones who aren’t complete dicks are Hector, Aeneas and Patroclus.  And maybe Ulysses.  Maybe.

Yet amongst the dickishness, some of Shakespeare’s best and clearest philosophy rings out.  Ulysses’s speech in I.iii, the “universal wolf” speech, is absolutely key to understanding Shakespeare in general, and late Shakespeare in particular.  (I can do a separate post on this if you like).  Then every thing includes itself in power,Power into will, will into appetite;And appetite, an universal wolf,So doubly seconded with will and power,Must make perforce an universal prey,And last eat up himself.There is no happy, or easy, ending.  We start the play in the middle of a war; we end it with the war still going on, and the “bad” guys gaining the upper hand.  At the end of the play both young lovers survive, but not together.  So there’s no satisfying resolution…

But here’s the thing: the lack of a comfortable resolution means the audience isn’t let off the hook.  The bad guys win because that’s how the world is; anyone who adheres to noble ideals ends up dead or severely disappointed because that is absolutely what people are like.  The ailing Pandarus infects us all with his epilogue:“Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade,Some two months hence my will shall here be made:It should be now, but that my fear is this,Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss.Till then I’ll sweat and seek about for eases,And at that time bequeath you my diseases.”

15. A minor character whose story you want to know more aboutCelia, As You Like It. 

18. The question you’d ask William Shakespeare if you were drinking in a pub “What is your substance, whereof are you made, that millions of strange shadows on you tend?”…Really, I’d try to get him talking about love.  Because then I might possibly discover the identity of the Fair Youth and the Dark Lady, and also get some sound relationship advice.

#askbox games #shakespeare #troilus and cressida

[kashuan]

In which I finally write a long ass post about all my grievances with the never ending shenanigans I see in the Iliad tag because I can’t take it anymore and needed to get it out tbh

Things y’all really need to stop doing, in no particular order: • Treating Clytemnestra like a Bad Bitch Feminist Icon #goals because she killed a character you don’t like. Know what she also was? Pretty hypocritical. Half her motive for killing Agamemnon is the mistreatment of their daughter, but guess what, Clytemnestra then goes on to treat 2/3 of her remaining children pretty much like shit. I suppose you could consider Electra to be an unreliable narrator in terms of her relating how coldly she was treated at home, but the facts don’t lie in that Cly let her new hubby Aegisthus pass Electra off to be married to some peasant so that she and her children would die without any power and wouldn’t be able to take revenge. It’s pretty indisputable though that her treatment of her son Orestes was flat out terrible. As a child, Orestes has to go into exile, as it’s implied Aegisthus would have had him killed otherwise. Cly just Lets This Happen. When Orestes returns to murder both her and Aegisthus as instructed by Apollo, Clytemnestra entreats him with a set of pretty flimsy excuses. Here’s a part from The Libation Bearers:

CLYTAEMESTRA Have you no regard for a parent's curse, my son?

ORESTES You brought me to birth and yet you cast me out to misery.

CLYTAEMESTRA No, surely I did not cast you out in sending you to the house of an ally.

ORESTES I was sold in disgrace, though I was born of a free father. CLYTAEMESTRA Then where is the price I got for you? ORESTES I am ashamed to reproach you with that outright.

Furthermore, she attempts to manipulate Orestes by entreating him to spare her because she is his mother, the one who nursed him, yet we know that this wasn’t actually done by her, and since a young age she has been completely absent in his life otherwise. When Orestes finally does kill her, this girl cannot even let it go at that but essentially makes sure he’s haunted by demons for the rest of his life. Talk about #petty, not even Agamemnon took it that far. So this character who's set up as like Badass Mama Bear is actually….not. Post Iphigenia at Aulis Clytemnestra is actually pretty self-serving, but not in the sort of way that should be admired. I think Clytemnestra is a great flawed character. Please no more ‘my perfect queen deserved better’ posts. I’m beggin’ ya. Read more than a summary of like 1/4th of her history and then let’s talk. • So I’m gonna follow this up with my long stewing Agamemnon Apologist rant (you: yikes me: Buckle Up). I’d like to begin this by saying we can all definitely agree that this man is a garbageboy stinkman. No arguing that. I love a good ‘Agamemnon is an asshole’ joke as much as the next guy. HOWEVER, when, when will I be free from posts that act like this character is honestly so completely one dimensional, that jokes about it comprise literally 98% of the tag. Where are the actually interesting meta posts that consider things about him beyond JUST being a dumpster of a man. For example, we know he was at least a half-decent bro. In book 4 of the Iliad, Menelaus basically scrapes his knee and Agamemnon essentially calls a T.O. on the entire war because HIS BROTHER, OK!!! Like yeah, he also includes a hilariously selfish line in that part that Menelaus can’t bite it because then he will be disgraced when he goes home, but the point stands. Further evidence of these having a tight relationship can be found in the Iphigenia at Aulis play. After the two of them have had a savage as hell argument about whether or not to sacrifice Iphigenia, taking some serious pot shots at each other, they have this exchange

MENELAUS I’ve changed, and I’ve changed because I love you, brother. I’ve changed because of my love for my mother’s son.  It’s a natural thing for men with decent hearts to do the decent thing. AGAMEMNON I praise you, Menelaus for these unexpected words, proper words, words truly worthy of you.  Brothers fight because of lust and because of greed in their inheritance. I hate such relationships; they bring bitter pain to all.

 I think Agamemnon’s relationship with Menelaus is actually one of the more interesting ones among the cast because he is both in a way protective yet also very controlling of his brother. Here and Here are a couple of fantastic essays on their dynamic and the way it differs from source to source. While on the subject of the play Iphigenia at Aulis and my favorite problematic fav getting the short end of the stick from fandom, can I just say that the majority of retellings, posts, and so on about this particular event ARE TERRIBLE? I’m so tired of seeing it depicted as though Agamemnon just killed his daughter like some afterthought, possibly while twirling his mustache like a cartoon villain. There is so, SO much more nuance to that scene and it kills the man when I see how no one ever discusses it in favor of just saying lol Agamemnon’s a dick, so anyway. Iphigenia herself is actually one of the best sources we have for the fact Agamemnon probably had more than a grand total of zero good traits. The relationship between the two is obviously a very close one and on the whole we get the sense that, aside from the whole killing his daughter thing (ya) he was actually a good dad. Like an inverse Clytemnestra :,). The scene where Iphigenia first speaks with Agamemnon is particularly telling of what was probably their normal relationship. IPHIGENIA What’s wrong, daddy?  You say you’re happy to see me but your face looks worried! AGAMEMNON A king, darling, a General is always worried. IPHIGENIA Make your worries go away, daddy. From now on, think only of me. AGAMEMNON Yes, my darling. I shall think of nothing else but you from now on IPHIGENIA Well then, get rid of this ugly frown from the face that I love so much! AGAMEMNON There! Oh, what a joy it is to see you, Iphigeneia! IPHIGENIA But… but look at you, father! Full of joy and yet tears flow from your eyes…AGAMEMNON Yes, dear… because our separation will be a long one.

Is he still a completly awful man for having sacrificed her? Yes. Completely. But here’s a few factors that play into this decision that I never see anyone, ever, mention: -It is Agamemnon’s intention to send Iphigenia away, to save herself, at the last minute, but Menelaus intercepts the letter meant to warn her of her fate. -Charismatic Odysseus has a good deal of control over the soldiers at this point and was probably looking to further increase his popularity among them (a consistent theme-- see: when he’s ready to shank his bff Diomedes just to be the only one to bring home a trophy from Troy instead of both of them). One can imply that if Agamemnon didn’t go through it, he would have done it himself -- and Agamemnon knew that (he mentions as much). -Gods are terrifying, my dudes. Treating it as though he could have just said ‘naw’ to Artemis’ order for Iphigenia’s death and gone home expresses a pretty fundamental lack of understanding how the Greeks feared the gods and just what the stakes likely already were by that point. Artemis was already pissed that he killed one of her sacred deer so it wasn’t as though she was just like ‘you can either sacrifice your daughter or go home unscathed’. I’ve only seen one other retelling accurately capture what very likely would have happened if Agamemnon didn’t go through with it: Artemis likely would have retaliated at the disrespect against the men and probably his family. Furthermore, the soldiers had already been stranded at Aulis for months on end-- a mutiny was exceedingly likely if they found out what was going on, one in which where they probably would have harmed not only him but also Clytemnestra and baby Orestes who came with Iphigenia. These two facts are more conjecture, but it’s a pretty plausible estimate and I’ve seen several scholarly essays arrive at the same conclusion.  If you’d actually like to see a depiction of Agamemnon that is both incredibly sympathetic yet does not shy away either from showing how terrible what he did was, please watch the 1977 Iphigenia movie. One of my favorite movies in general. Honestly I feel I could make a giant essay out of My Feelings on this particular subject alone so I’ll wrap it now because I have a lot of other stuff I want to get to, though I’ll include one final pet peeve: the amount of people who call Agamemnon trash because he was Sexist. You know who else was a Meninist? Every single goddamn man in ancient Greece. Okay, I’ll give a pass to characters like Patroclus and Hector when it comes to the women front because all we see is them being pretty decent. But like. Otherwise??? Sure, just because everyone is that way doesn’t make it any less shitty-- I’m not arguing that. But it’s also like reading a novel focused on an entire group of mobsters, but calling out only one of them as Problematic for being a criminal. Like, my dudes...  TL;DR: Agamemnon is a dick jokes are funny and completely deserved but throw in a few posts here and there that actually suggest you might have read more than just Book 1 of the Iliad and nothing else. Character depth is your friend. • That said, for the love of god, stop writing Menelaus like he’s just Agamemnon 2.0. A lot of adaptions do this because they don’t seem to know what to do with his character (I’m lookin’ @ u most of all Troy though he suffers some form of this in almost all film adaptions...) Which is a shame because Menelaus as a character is a lot more (and better) than that. From what we do know, Menelaus was actually (relatively speaking) a pretty chill guy and one of the least problematic out of these assholes (y’know, minus that scene I mentioned above with Iphigenia, but hey...at least he admits he fucked up?). We know that Helen voluntarily chose him to be her husband. We know that Helen wanted to return home to him by the time the Iliad takes place. We know they got back together after the war and more or less lived happily ever after. So why do I keep seein’ all these posts about Helen hating him or about him being another warmonger like Agamemnon. Menelaus was a Decent Dude. Leave him alone :,| • Speaking of Helen, how many times am I going to read “feminist” retellings where she either is totally indifferent to or even wanted the war to happen, where she enjoys watching men die, where she ~reclaims~ her demigoddess power and is A Figure To Be Feared. What Helen is this??? Because in the Iliad, Helen is remorseful af about all the people she’s indirectly responsible for the deaths of. There are more ways to build up and strengthen female characters than to make them just like the men they despise. Just. Saying. I get that people want to free her from the damsel in distress role she’s essentially relegated to, me too, but that is NOT the way to do it. Girl can be strong willed but still have a great amount of empathy. As with essentially every other bullet point above, please just give these characters more than one dimension. • Also, how many times am I gonna have to read about The One Fellow Female (Helen or Clytemnestra usually) who believes Cassandra’s prophecies in order to emphasize like, girl power, or that the author feels sorry for Cass and want to project that onto some other character or something. Dude, she was cursed not to be believed. PERIOD. BY ANYONE. There was no clause in the curse for like “except someone who really thinks you’re swell”. It’s tragic because there are no exceptions. No one believes her. NO ONE. THE END. • Achilles was bi. Bi af (by modern standards, of course). See: Iphigenia, Deidamia, Briseis, Polyxena, Penthesilea… I totally get this movement of wanting to call Achilles gay because for so long he and Patroclus have gotten the ‘just guys bein’ dudes’ treatment from scholars. I think it’s absolutely fantastic that potential element of his character is more widely recognized and accepted now. However, I can’t help but get these really uncomfy biphobia feels when I read all the posts about how gay he is, as if liking women makes his relationship with Patroclus less legitimate. That was one thing about TSOA which also really disappointed me-- it had to pull that yaoi fanfic trope of ‘girls are so icky and gross’ in order to further sell how convinced you should be of the same sex relationship. It’s just, Bad And Not Good. Finally, I feel like y’all are so busy hating Agamemnon and shoving off every single bad character trait into existence onto him, that Achilles is always ultimately depicted as this #relatable teen who did nothing wrong except get a little too upset when his bf died. May I remind you of just a few things Achilles also did: -Indirectly got a lot of men killed by refusing to fight during his quarrel with Agamemnon -Had 12 innocent children killed when Patroclus died -Basically everything involving Troilus. From wikipedia: [Achilles] is struck by the beauty of both [Polyxena and Troilus] and is filled with lust. It is the fleeing Troilus whom swift-footed Achilles catches, dragging him by the hair from his horse. The young prince refuses to yield to Achilles' sexual attentions and somehow escapes, taking refuge in the nearby temple. But the warrior follows him in, and beheads him at the altar before help can arrive. The murderer then mutilates the boy's body. Some pottery shows Achilles, already having killed Troilus, using his victim's severed head as a weapon as Hector and his companions arrive too late to save him. The mourning of the Trojans at Troilus' death is great. -Just straight up fucking murders a guy for making fun of him after he just murdered someone else. "Achilles, who fell in love with the Amazon [Penthesilea] after her death, slew Thersites for jeering at him" I’m sure there’s more receipts like this. So like. Can we throw in a couple posts now and then among the Agamemnon ones about Achilles, who was Problematic for far more reasons than just sulking in his tent :,) ...Okay. I think that’s it. FOR NOW. I guess I’ll end this by saying half of this is just my own opinion and I recognize that people can interpret and retell these stories and characters however they want to. It’s when it becomes so consistent however that people treat it like it is The One True Canon when it’s actually not that my jimmies get a bit rustled. [/END RANT]

#the iliad

[ecotone99]

[SF] Grandmother Eris. A Disco Fable.

Eris doesn't need worshippers like that limp rag of a Christ. His handwringing supplicants are a plague upon the World already. She asks for no bent knees, no pious penitents, offers no absolution, nor bids her faithful to be washed in the sacrificial gore of some scapegoat's stolen life.

​

She don't roll like Jeehobah, she doesn't need validation from a flock of frightened, sinful sheep, mumbling empty prayers under the judging eyes and false shepherding of a Priesthood of bastards, mountebanks and charlatans. If she bestows upon you, your hearts desire, it is not as some reward for unswerving faith, or dutiful worship.

Nay, it is with the casual indifference of a good natured feaster, casually tossing the remains of the meal to her Hounds. Her gifts are not something that one should strive towards, for she is nothing if not fickle and capricious towards mortals. Would Paris have been so blind in his pursuit of Helen, had he known the terrible price that would be demanded of him?

To incur the displeasure of Hera, and the abandonment of Athena, just so he could play "Hide the sausage" with a Spartan Queen, stolen from under the nose of her Atreides Husband? Had he known every King of Greece was to wage war upon his beautiful Troy, would he have run back to Ilium, abandoning his heart's desire forever, and risk the displeasure of Hermes? (Who would have to find some other chump to judge between Olympus's three biggest narcissists) Maybe, but if not Paris, the task would fall to someone else, for some stories are too powerful not to be told.

It wasn't even the first time sluttish Helen had been "stolen away" for her beauty. Oh no. But the first time, by a Hero so 'pure' he would not bespoil her virgin loins with his mighty seed. *Winks*

No, it was a good, stiff cock that girl yearned for, not the weak, dribbled seed of old man Meneleaus. Her womb demanded she till it's fecundity with the hard stiff, fucking of a young, strong Prince like pretty Paris. And Lady Eris? They fucking SNUBBED Her! Fuck those preening Olympians and their pet Kings and Heroes!

Peleus and Thetis should have as their wedding gift, to see their Olympian Gods and Goddesses for the self obsessed, spoiled bitches and thundering spineless bastards they really were. The vanity of Woman, exemplified beyond mortal comprehension, by the greedy squabbling of deific entitlement.

"For The most Beautiful" She tossed her Hesperidic Apple into the sight of the three most vain, self obsessed, spoiled bratty bitches ever cut from the flesh of a demented child devouring Titan. So greedy, they couldn't even let Thetis, though sired by Zeus himself (but don't mention that in earshot of Hera) their own half Sister, be "The most beautiful", even at her own fucking wedding feast!

Even in her glorious wrath, Eris (who loved a good game above all else) left an option for redemption. All they had to do was allow Thetis to claim the Apple as her wedding gift. Behave in a way fitting, not for Olympian Gods, but as Guests in the House of their hosts on the day of their Wedding.

Daddy Zeus, cock of the fucking block, patron of Hospitality and the bestower of a guest's right to be treated with respect, he could have put his mighty foot down, and slapped his squabbling family of bitches into line with a single word. But no. So spineless was he, so reluctant to have to go back to the Mountain with Hera's haughty disdain and icy cold psycopathic plotting of revenge, he abetted their appalling behaviour.

He said he would mediate the issue, then immediately delegated responsibility to Hermes. Who bottled it too, and picked poor Paris, watching his goats on a hillside. Then each pretty Goddess, in order to be bitchiest bitch in the bitch pile, Apple owning Queen of the spoiled sulk, tried bribing the fucking judge. Unbelievable. Monstrous arrogance. Self obsession taken to it's ugly and catastrophic extreme, with not a thought of consequence, or twinge of conscience. Just as Eris had foreseen.

"Consequence, my pretty ,posing, shamefully behaved progeny? Oh, Grandmother Eris is going to teach you ALL about fucking consequences, you primped up over-privileged priapic bunch of superpowered toddlers! Game on, motherfuckers! (Technically, sibling fuckers, but hey, who's going to point THAT out to Zeus and Hera?)

Eris in one fell move, became Dungeon Master of the Olympian D&D Cabal. The mortal play people, that Olympus had for so long been at a loss what to do with, were going to make some fucking demands of their Gods now. They were going to have to work for their Ambrosia. Learn some diplomacy. How to make concessions, how to back the fuck up a bit, and let these Mortals have their head. Learn some fucking boundaries. Rules. Gamesmanship.

Either that, or it was War in Heaven. With canny Hades, down below, with the souls of all the dead at his command. and jealous plotting, bitter, tricked brother, Poisiedon under the waves, played for the chump again. Waiting for his chance to topple Zeus, and take his rightful turn as crowing cock, King of that dunghill Olympus. No thought for the fact the Earth would be once again under his Ocean, nope, not with him up the Mountain, guzzling barrels of Ambrosia all day long. Thus went the dreams of Posiedon.

And poor Paris, his hard on for Helen was pre-destined to shame the mighty Greeks, and grant them eventual victory over Troy, but to pauper themselves in the process. Agamemnon, proudest and most ambitious King of Mycenae, and Meneleaus, his Brother, King of Sparta, but only by dint of his marriage to (soon to be stolen away) Helen of Sparta. Most puissant Queen that mortal man had ever spawned. Original Trophy Bride, the face that launched a thousand (yet to be built) Ships. Wife of an Atreides, King of the Spartans, mightiest Warriors ever to pick up a Spear. And not really a man who would take being cuckolded by a mere Boy Prince of some far off City with good grace.

This Queen, Helen, was the glue holding the loose confederation of Greek City States together with her dowry, her beauty, and her placement at the tip of the triumverate of powers, Sparta, Athens, and Mycenae.

Casually promised to pretty boy Paris, as his reward for Judging in favour of Aphrodite. Her of the bottomless cunt. So the greedy eyed, cock hungry Daddy's girl, gets what she wants. A fucking Apple. With 'Kallisti' wrote upon it's golden skin.

"Cock-a-doodle me, prettiest of the three you two ugly bitches, bow down to me"

Wisdom was not this jiggly titted honey dripping slut's forte. Olympus's in house rutting whore, Hungry cunted Goddess of sluts, skanks, and cum guzzling slags everywhere with a libido that surpassed even Zeus himself. Her proudest party trick was a cock in each hole, one between her pouty lips, and one in each hand, then bringing them all to bone juddering climax simultaneously, to the enthusiastic applause of those living up the Topside. Proto-Bimbo-Barby slut guts. (Still would though, if you know what I mean) "Attagirl" Zeus would say, under his breath.

Because Zeus openly admiring any female that wasn't Hera, just sent Hera off into one of her squawking rages.

Slowly, the events set into motion by these blustering bragging irresponsible Olympians were coming together, mortal man's day was here, these unconsidered playthings, whose whole existence was so carefully guarded by Foresight and his brother, Hindsight , (Prometheus and Epimethius) and bought at such a price by noble Prometheus, now had the teeth that Zeus always feared.

Now do you start to see the depth of Eris's gamesmanship? See how her carefully planned vengeance would teach them ALL to behave a little bit better? Now Zeus would really have to put the family to work! Each Olympian designated a sphere of mortal influence, having now to barter their good graces to this scurrying thing, Man, for goats and prayers and promises of fealty, and should they waver in their diligence, the balance between the triumverate Sons of Cronos, Posieden, Zeus and Hades, would crumble, the Kraken would awake, and the World would be lost.

The Demigods Zeus had so carelessly spawned with any woman shaped thing his dick fancied poking, had founded the dynasties of Man's Kings, and they all looked to Olympus. They could withhold their worship, or turn away, towards other new Gods. They would even be forced to flee to Egypt and disguise themselves with Animal heads while Heracles sorted the Titan "threat" out for them. He freed Prometheus from his chains on the mountainside too, which Zeus can't have been too happy about.

And in this way, with acts of service, Man's Heroes, Heracles, Theseus, Perseus, Bellerophon, Achilles, Atreus, Orpheus, all had Zeus's blood in them, and all founded Dynastic Houses, dedicated to their patron Gods. . . Deific inter-personal politics had to be learned by Olympus. The ages of Man grew, from Archaic, Classical, Hellenistic, as Greece became more and more apart from it's Gods. The mystery cults of the Orphic Mysteries, the Oracular Pythonesses, and their attendant Priesthoods now held sway, and 'spoke' for the Gods these days. Anyway . . .

​

Eris sits back in her rocking chair, playing Donkey Kong on her old Nintendo Gameboy, while Zeus bemoans the eventual fall of Greece to Rome, and having to adopt Romanised forms in order to survive. Eris, although Grandmother of Zeus, and older than the first thought, still as quietly powerful as ever (since her Game had never depended upon people's belief) rocks slowly, her hand rolled cigarette hanging from her smiling lips, says to Zeus, most mighty of the Olympians,

"Sack up, Boy, you had your day in the fucking sun didn't you? You did deeds, great and small, noble, and base, and your name is still written in the dusty books of Epimetheus's little side project, Man, right?"

Zeus nods glumly.

"They still sacrifice to you, The Thunderer, don't they? Your bolts of lightning still get to feed you, Zeus, now and again?"

"But they strap the sacrifices into a chair of wood, Grandmother. HUMAN sacrifices! (Zeus always preferred Goats.) They begin to show the disease of Cronos, in the way they feed upon one another, their young, their Wars, all so senseless" He sighed.

"And where did they get that trait from then, eh? You! You sticking your priapic pecker into their women! You passed Cronos down to them,.. . They are just doing with the gene what they have to, NEED to!"

​

"And Zeus" said Eris . . . Zeus looked up, his mighty brow, furrowed and anxious. "Since when did you, an Olympian and a God, the Mighty Thunderer, Zeus, first of the mighty age of Gods, since when did YOU start to even give a fuck?" she said, her eyes a twinkle . . .

"Since you fucking MADE us all give a fuck, Grandmother. . . you scheming old Bitch . . .I CARE now, I feel things like . . like I suppose mortals do" Eris nodded, sagely. Waiting for her notoriously slow witted thuggish Grandson to follow his thoughts . . .

"Are we to die like mortals too? Is that what we have come to? An Ignomious death, falling in the dirt, leaving our bones to bleach under the Sun of the next fucking Sun Hero the monkeys nail up?"

"What am I, some kind of fucking agony Aunt for your morose self pity party? Get up off your flabby arse, you moody emo twat, I didn't raise me no whiny lil bastards! Well . . . I did, but you're all grown up now . . . Grown. You're a badass thunderbolt wielding son of fucking Chaos, get up and act like it. . .

You don't like your sacrifices all Human and fried? TELL them! MAKE them fucking listen. You're a GOD, for God's sake! You're still Boss of that piss poor Crew, sat up the Mountain, glugging ambrosia like it was cheap gin, shake them up some, get a rocket under their arses too, go and do some fucking Godding! I mean it, now get up, and fuck off! I'm sick of the sight of your droopy mawkish face!"

Zeus, stung by the rebukes, and as always, more than a little afraid of this flapping old crone (funny, she was beautiful, young, and vibrant not five minutes ago) gets up, and slouches towards the door. "Forgetting something?" She says. "I don't think so" says Zeus,still sulky.

"COME HERE . . . and give your old Nan a fucking KISS, you disrespectful little bastard!" She screeches at him, all crackly fire and sour piss now, incandescent with sudden rage.

Afraid, but (Quite rightly) more afraid of the consequences of disobeying her, Zeus the Mighty turns, and chastely kisses her on her wrinkly cheek . . . " That's better" she says, mollified. "You soppy cunt" she says, affectionately" . . ."I love you too Nan" he says, as hopeless as any seven year old boy around his cranky old Grandmother.

"You know what, I'm proud of you Zeus, and I love you best. Out of all my ill-considered brats, and their own, over-entitled whelps, you are the one I was always so hard on (I said "hard on" she giggled) You know why?"

"No" he said . . .

"Because YOU were always the slowest, most dim- witted of your siblings, the stupid , dumb one, the one everyone else took the piss out of. Even though you could take either of those nasty little brothers of yours on, and pull their fucking arms and legs off, if you wanted to. "Zeus the Goose, thick as a Moose" they'd say, behind your back."

"But you never did. You showed restraint, and ignored them. . . . Well, until it all came to a head at least. Hades was a nasty, cruel little swine, with no sense of fun in him, but when he teamed up with that sneaky, duplicitous cunt Posiedon, and tried to topple you once and for all, well, I wasn't having that"

"You think you outwitted Posiedon with that 'three way power sharing' bollocks all by yourself?" She said.

"I had to get in there first and dose him up with Cough syrup and Ativan so that YOU'D not be the one swimming around with the fucking fishes! Or stuck down there in Hades forever, looking after the dead. Pffft"

"Now get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you've done whatever the fuck it is you're going to do . . . Oh, and when you do come back" . . . . She paused, all sweet old Lady now, . . . "Bring us back a bottle of Bristol Cream from Tescos' love, can you?" "Yes Nan" says Zeus, "And thanks Nan, you da best. . . ." and walks out the door.

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New Post has been published on Literary Techniques

New Post has been published on https://literarytechniques.org/hyperbole-in-literature/

Hyperbole in Literature

Hyperbole was one of the literary devices most favored by the Elizabethan and Romantic authors; most of them dealt with exaggerated feelings and larger-than-life characters, so it’s only natural that both their similes and their metaphors were hyperbolic. Modern writers, however, would probably sound melodramatic if they used the same bloated language; so, unless they are satirical or Gothic horror writers – they usually do not. In an exciting development, however, modern magical realists tend to use even more exaggerated hyperboles than Renaissance playwrights or 19th-century novelists; but they give them an interesting spin. See of which type below.

10 Examples of Hyperbole in Literature

#1: Homer, Iliad IX.379-392 (~ 700 BC)

I loathe his presents, and for himself care not one straw. He may offer me ten or even twenty times what he has now done, nay—not though it be all that he has in the world, both now or ever shall have; he may promise me the wealth of Orchomenus or of Egyptian Thebes, which is the richest city in the whole world, for it has a hundred gates through each of which two hundred men may drive at once with their chariots and horses; he may offer me gifts as the sands of the sea or the dust of the plain in multitude, but even so he shall not move me till I have been revenged in full for the bitter wrong he has done me. I will not marry his daughter; she may be fair as Venus, and skillful as Minerva, but I will have none of her: let another take her, who may be a good match for her and who rules a larger kingdom. (tr. Samuel Butler)

In the first book of the Iliad, Agamemnon, the commander of the Greek forces at Troy, offends Achilles, his greatest warrior, by unrightfully seizing the latter’s war prize, Briseis. As a result, Achilles withdraws from the battle altogether, and the Greeks start suffering loss after loss. Desperate, Agamemnon admits his error nine books later and sends Odysseus, Ajax and Phoenix to Achilles with an apology and a bunch of presents. Achilles’ anger, however, is so overwhelming that he rejects the offer in a remarkably hyperbolic language which gradually intensifies to culminate with the claim that even if Agamemnon could offer him “gifts as the sands of the sea or the dust of the plain in multitude,” he would still be unmoved. Aristotle uses this quote in his Rhetoric (reference) not only as an example for hyperbole but also as proof in favor of his opinion that “those who are in a passion most frequently make use” of this literary device.

#2: Gospel of John 25:21 (~ 100 BC)

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

The Bible – especially The Old Testament – is rich with hyperbolical expressions. For example, the land of Canaan is described in Exodus 3:8 as “a land flowing with milk and honey” and Solomon is said to have made “silver as common in Jerusalem as stones, and cedar as plentiful as sycamore-fig trees in the foothills” (1 Kings 10:27). The verse above, however, comes from the New Testament:  it is the last of the last canonical gospel, that of John. The idea behind it is pretty straightforward: only a small part of Jesus’ actions has been documented: no book could ever describe all of them, because, simply put, there have been so many. In the opinion of noted Bible commentator, Joseph Benson, the strangely personal “I suppose,” softens the hyperbole; “if this be one,” he adds, reminding us that even a glaring hyperbole can seem truthful to emotionally invested people.

#3: William Shakespeare, Hamlet V.1.254-256 (1603)

I loved Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not with all their quantity of love Make up my sum.

After the priest declares that Ophelia’s death “was doubtful” and that she may not be granted a proper Christian burial, Ophelia’s brother Laertes jumps into her grave. A second later, Hamlet, whom Laertes suspects to be the reason for Ophelia’s suicide, does the same. To justify his decision, he utters these three verses, whose meaning goes along the lines of “if Laertes has the right to do it, then I have twice the right.” Or, to use his numerical hyperbole: forty thousand times the right, since that’s precisely how many times Hamlet claims his love for Ophelia is greater than the one of her—or, for that matter, any other—brother.

#4: Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels (1726)

Golbasto Momarem Evlame Gurdilo Shefin Mully Ully Gue, most mighty Emperor of Lilliput, delight and terror of the universe, whose dominions extend five thousand blustrugs (about twelve miles in circumference) to the extremities of the globe; monarch of all monarchs, taller than the sons of men; whose feet press down to the centre, and whose head strikes against the sun; at whose nod the princes of the earth shake their knees; pleasant as the spring, comfortable as the summer, fruitful as autumn, dreadful as winter: his most sublime majesty proposes to the man-mountain, lately arrived at our celestial dominions, the following articles, which, by a solemn oath, he shall be obliged to perform.

Monarchs have adorned themselves with hyperbolical titles ever since Ancient Mesopotamia. This is what—among other things—Jonathan Swift tries to mock in this exceptionally long introduction to the law which should allow Gulliver some freedom in Lilliput. Even though Lilliputians are merely one-twelfth the height of Gulliver, they don’t seem that unwilling to exaggerate how their “most mighty Emperor” is “taller than the sons of men” and how the dominions of his country span to “the extremities of the globe” even though barely “twelve miles in circumference.” Of course, neither they nor Swift stops there; by the end of the sentence, one gets the feeling that what the great Irish satirist is ridiculing here is the very nature of hyperbole, the notorious hallmark of deceptive flattery.

#5: Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (1818)

The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.

The sentence above is uttered—there’s no way of knowing whether in shock or relief—by Victor Frankenstein, after his brother Ernest informs him that the murderer of their youngest sibling, William, has been discovered. However, Victor knows that the murderer is none other than his gruesome creature, which is why he has a hard time believing it. It would be easier—he says in the conventionally excessive language of Gothic novels—for one to run faster than the winds or keep a mountain stream in check with a straw than to catch the murderer of William. It turns out that the murderer Ernest has in mind is someone else—William’s nanny, Justine—which leads to another emphatic exclamation by Victor, speckled with two common hyperboles: “Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully; everyone knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”

#6: Herman Melville, Moby-Dick (1851)

Nantucket! Take out your map and look at it. See what a real corner of the world it occupies; how it stands there, away off shore, more lonely than the Eddystone lighthouse. Look at it—a mere hillock, and elbow of sand; all beach, without a background. There is more sand there than you would use in twenty years as a substitute for blotting paper. Some gamesome wights will tell you that they have to plant weeds there, they don’t grow naturally; that they import Canada thistles; that they have to send beyond seas for a spile to stop a leak in an oil cask; that pieces of wood in Nantucket are carried about like bits of the true cross in Rome; that people there plant toadstools before their houses, to get under the shade in summer time; that one blade of grass makes an oasis, three blades in a day’s walk a prairie; that they wear quicksand shoes, something like Laplander snow-shoes; that they are so shut up, belted about, every way inclosed, surrounded, and made an utter island of by the ocean, that to the very chairs and tables small clams will sometimes be found adhering as to the backs of sea turtles. But these extravaganzas only show that Nantucket is no Illinois.

The tall tale is a fundamental element of American folk literature. In its essence, it is a tale related as if factual, even though obviously exaggerated. In his first description of Nantucket in the fourteenth chapter of Moby-Dick, Herman Melville borrows and reworks some of these tall tales told by the natives (and their “gamesome wights”) to describe how extraordinarily barren is the island of Nantucket (in fact, Encyclopedia Britannica informs us, even its name can be translated as “sandy, sterile soil tempting no one”). Hyperboles abound: since they are living on a sun-scorched “elbow of sand,” Nantucketers have to import even thistles and consider every blade of grass the equivalent of an oasis!

#7: Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court (1889)

There did not seem to be brains enough in the entire nursery, so to speak, to bait a fish-hook with; but you didn’t seem to mind that, after a little, because you soon saw that brains were not needed in a society like that, and, indeed, would have marred it, hindered it, spoiled its symmetry—perhaps rendered its existence impossible.

Want to see a literary device used to its best comedic effect? Then, leave it to the master of masters: Mr. Mark Twain. In his AH/SF-satire of the notion of romantic chivalry, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, an American engineer named Hank Morgan suffers a blow to the head and is somehow transported back to Medieval England. Naturally, he knows much more than everyone else there—yes, including Merlin—which is why he is able to ridicule the not-so-very-smart inhabitants of Camelot in the manner presented in the sentence above. Apparently, as far as Twain I concerned, a Medieval society such as the one idealized by the Romantics is possible only in the absence of any shred of common sense intelligence.

#8: Flannery O’Connor, “Parker’s Back” (1965)

The skin on her face was as thin and drawn as tight as the skin of an onion and her eyes were gray and sharp like the points of two icepicks.

“Parker’s Back” is one of the eleven stories which make up Everything That Rises Must Converge, Flannery O’Connor’s posthumously published short story collection. The sentence above is part of the description O’Connor gives of the wife of the title character, a skinny woman named Sarah Ruth. So as to direct the attention of the reader to this feature of Sarah, she exaggerates it, just like a caricaturist would do in a visual representation. No wonder that caricatures are sometimes called visual hyperboles.

#9: Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967)

It rained for four years, eleven months, and two days.

This is the powerful opening sentence of the sixteenth chapter of Gabriel García Márquez’s celebrated masterpiece, One Hundred Years of Solitude. It is written in the style of magical realism which makes prominent use of hyperboles such as the one quoted here. The sentence sounds almost biblical in its exaggeration (Genesis 7:12: “And rain fell on the earth forty days and forty nights”), but Márquez goes a step forward—not merely in terms of the length, but also through the use of precise numbers. We tend to accept as true precise numbers more than we believe rounded ones, and this makes Márquez’s hyperbole even more powerful and fantastical.

#10: Salman Rushdie, Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990)

There was once, in the country of Alifbay, a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had forgotten its name. It stood by a mournful sea full of glumfish, which were so miserable to eat that they made people belch with melancholy even though the skies were blue. In the north of the sad city stood mighty factories in which (so I’m told) sadness was actually manufactured, packaged and sent all over the world, which seemed never to get enough of it.

Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories is a children’s book—but, just like Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, it is also a work of magical realism, both authors’ trademark technique. In fact, Rushdie’s opening description of this saddest of all cities may be a hat tip to a hyperbolic account by none other than Márquez, specifically this sentence from One Hundred Years of Solitude: “the world was so recent that many things lacked names, and in order to indicate them it was necessary to point.” Be that as it may, it’s important to note that works of magical realism make use of absurd exaggerations and hyperboles quite often; the trick is that they don’t treat these hyperboles as hyperboles, but as factual claims, thus making them even more powerful and conspicuous.

[wormerherzog]

I AM GOING TO ANSWER ALL OF THEM BECAUSE I AM IN BED RIGHT NOW PRETENDING TO BE ASLEEP AT 9:30 SO I DON’T HAVE TO SAY HI TO MY BROTHER

yup-im-a-werewolf (Deactivated) posted the questions, and I’m answering:

if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

Read: The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and Bart Simpson’s Guide to Life

Watch: Aliens, Faust, True Lies, and Bob’s Burgers

Listen: Someone burping the alphabet. Oh, and the Magnetic Fields.

have you ever found a writer who thinks just like you? if so, who?

Dorothy Parker

list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

Xfiles - Sculder

Bob’s Burgers - Louise

Closet World commercial - the closets

do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better?

Agamemnon

do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?

I judge myself by what I do and contribute, and by how many bagels I can eat in one sitting.

are you religious/spiritual?

Only for more bagels

do you care about your ethnicity?

I appreciate it and love (a lot of) the culture, but I’m not bound to it.

what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

Prince and the Revolution

David Bowie

BASICALLY THE ONES WHO DIE

are you an artist?

I sew and draw, so I think so.

do you have a creed?

Rules are there ain’t no rules

describe your ideal day.

Oh man, so FIRST, well let’s back up. The night before my ideal day, I make my overnight oats: thick rolled oats, cashew milk, cultured cottage cheese (sounds gross but it works), peanut butter (like twice as much than one would normally put in this), and jam. OKAY, so I wake up, have a giant thing ove my PB&J oats with a pile of scrambled eggs, two Belgian waffles with peanut butter cup ice cream on top, and a giant pile of test-tube made bacon. Then, I got to the cove for a hike and a nice sit, then I have a giant bean and cheese burrito with a large Orange Bang. Then I go see Brazil at my favourite movie theatre, then I watch the Iron Giant with my friends, then we have really delicious white/oil sauce wild mushroom pizza with 3 different kinds of pie and chocolate milk. Then I dream about the day I wont have student loan debt.

dog person or cat person?

I love them both!

inside or outdoors?

I love them both! BUT if I had to choose, outdoors (but in shade)

are you a musician?

Now that I am not

five most influential books over your lifetime.

Moby Dick

The Bluest Eye

Trainspotting

Animal Farm

Dandelion Wine

if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?

Obviously not

would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?

Yes; I am peanut butter cookies and LOTR memes

what’s your patronus?

Chaka Kahn

which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle?

Ravenclaw according to my pals (I know nothing really of the Harry Potters

would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

Middle Earth among the Rohirrim!

do you love easily?

I don’t even know who that is.

list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.

Driving

Working

Running

Sleeping

Sewing

I actually don’t know at all

how often would you want to see your family every year?

Mum: like 250 times. Everyone else: whatever

have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?

WHAT

could you live as a hermit?

Until I died, yeah

how would you describe your gender/sexuality?

woman/female

do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?

Yes, except hotter

on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?

I am going to take this literally, so hopefully 0

three songs that you connect with right now.

“Sooo tired, tired of waiting, tire of waiting for youuuuooouuu”

“and iiii have fiiiinally realiiiized what you need mmammamma”

“It’s not easy being green”

pick one of your favorite quotes.

Razors pain you, Rivers are damp, Acids stain you, And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful, Nooses give, Gas smells awful. You might as well live.

#questions #i'm sorry #read at your own risk