paris-of-troy-defender

[paris-of-troy-defender]

Paris has a very strong sugar baby vibe.

Lmao perfect.

He really rather does, doesn't he? xD

[paris-of-troy-defender]

[paris-of-troy-defender]

Death of Achilles.

[paris-of-troy-defender]

It's even more difficult when ur comfort character is the most hated dude in the fandom 😔

[paris-of-troy-defender]

He's just a baby please don't make him go out and duel the demigod dipped in special water that makes him impossible to kill :(

[paris-of-troy-defender]

Listen y'all. Troy (2004) got a lot of shit wrong but Orlando Bloom as Paris wasn't one of them.

LOOK AT HIM.

Also:

R.I.P

[paris-of-troy-defender]

Alexander is a curse. On Troy, on their house, on their family.

Alexander is their heart.

Alexander is Hektor's own heart; too soft, too wanting.

A heart that was left to the wilderness, yet did not rot. A heart taken back and indulged, and look where that got them.

He should have convinced their father to refuse to marry Alexander and Helen, gods behind it or no. He should have simply taken Alexander by the arm and pushed him in among their brothers - many hands available to hold that quick body, keep it from entreating him or their father; to cover those wide, bright eyes and keep them from begging - and taken Helen by hers and pushed her into the envoys when they'd come.

He could still do that; it'd be easy, even. Paris can't stop him.

But he doesn't and he hasn't.

Because the smile on that face, the look in his eyes---

Hektor never listens to his heart, for it's an insidious thing, soft and wanton. It wants to linger in bed behind the sun, it wants to cut necessary meetings short, avoid hours on the walls. He loves Andromache as his own life, but his heart can't rule that love, nor any of his other actions.

So Paris - Alexander - cursed, pretty Paris, soft Paris, the curse on their house, the curse he names him as in his anger, will be Hektor's heart. A heart he should kill, for it has done terrible things. But instead he lets it do what it wants, and assuages his guilt, his weakness, by cursing his brother, saying he ought to be dead. Saying all the Trojans (he) are cowards, are weak, for not killing him for the things he has done.

Things they - he - have let him do.

For how can you kill your heart and keep on walking? So you don't, and live with the consequences.

[paris-of-troy-defender]

⚠️It does not justify their actions in a culture and period full of war and suffering⚠️

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being on the ao3 tag for greek myth characters and half the fics have tags like "FUCK PARIS" "paris is a piece of shit nothing new" "lets beat paris to death" like okay controversial opinion i guess but i actually like paris. i enjoy him. can you not find pity in your heart for a poor pathetic sopping wet cat? paris i will defend you!

[paris-of-troy-defender]

You stand above your brother in his bed, occupied now by more than just pillows and blankets, for the woman at his back is fair and terrifying, even in sleep. You look between them, and you stand above your brother and think -

Is it too late to kill him now?

There are no ships on the horizon - yet - and if you present a body along with the stolen wife when the husband turns up, will that break the omen your mother dreamed?

Is it too late to kill him now?

You drop your hand down - perhaps to close around his throat, another already clutching one of those many, many pillows, and in the dark it'd be easy, wouldn't it? All you do is caress his cheek, your fingers digging stiffly into the pillow. He exhales, a tender shallow ease of breath, and there is this little smile on his lips.

You stand above your brother in his bed, there are ships on the shore, and you have cursed him for a plague, a bane, a cruelty raised by the Olympian to bring your house down, and -

it's too late to kill him now.

It'd be easy to do it, however. You carry a dagger at your belt even now, having left your own bed. Or you could perhaps stir up one of your other brothers, the city, some of your father's council. The baby was almost killed once, after all; what would it matter if it was realized now? Kin-blood believed to have been spilled is surely no less polluting than it being done in reality. The attempt might only have been in the handing over of a fragile infant into another's hands, handed over into the bosom of a mountain, wild and no place for such a tender little being.

But the mountain had been merciful, and nurtured instead of torn asunder, and now you're standing above your brother in his bed.

It's too late to kill him now, but would anyone blame you, blame anyone at all they might suspect, as much as they hate him, a hatred unsaid? Simmering. You don't know how he walks through the palace, the city, his life and not cower from the knowledge; he can't not know.

Your brother - pretty, soft, laughing, shining - doomed and dooming all of you from the start. What does an infant know of causing death? Your father tried to kill an innocent. Some of your brothers attempted it next, an innocent only wishing to reclaim what he thought belonged to him and them not knowing who the slave they felt so insulted by was.

Perhaps it's only fair he will kill you all, merely by existing, by batting those ridiculous lashes to lure the woman still sleeping at his back out of her home, her marriage, her life, and into yours.

You stand above your brother in his bed, and brush your knuckles down his cheek.

It's too late to kill him now, and no matter that you've cursed him and wished him dead - to his face, to your parents' faces, but never to anyone else's - with every angry word to spit at him there's always this echo of the wide, wide eyes, the trembling hand in yours as you help him up from kneeling next to the altar in your head.

Your little brother, that you failed to protect when he was born. And what are you if you don't protect? It's too late to kill him now, anyway. Was always too late.

You meet the gleaming whites of Helen's gaze in the darkness, watching her smooth her grip on your brother's arm into a stroke. Both of you can feel the relief staining the air as you turn away, pretending like she wasn't ready to help you.

You leave your brother in his bed.

[paris-of-troy-defender]

"if i was paris i'd have picked athena" "i would have picked hera"

you fool. you utter buffoon. it doesn't matter. it never mattered. you sound like the dumbasses who say they wouldn't have turned around if they were orpheus. you, like them, are completely missing the point. the war was always going to happen as a result of who he picked, just perhaps the catalyst would have been different. and does picking a different catalyst really make you any better? lets say you picked hera and her offer of kingdoms. so you doom your nation to ruin for wealth? power? and that, in your mind, is the morally superior choice to dooming it for love? shall we clap and cheer for you? oh wise one so above the fickleness and follies of love! you, unlike paris, would doom your nation for Practical reasons. well, forgive me, but thats incredibly dull and you sound incredibly boring