#persian men clothing

[nowoolallowed]

Statue of Petimuthes wearing the “Persian garment” - Museo Egizio Collection

Inventory Number: Cat. 3062 Hellenistic Period, Reign of Ptolemy X, 107–88 BCE Location Information: Thebes, Karnak / temple of Amun (?)

Description:

This statue of general Petimuthes comes from Thebes. On the back-pillar is an inscription referring to a war fought in the East at the end of the second century BC; more specifically, it mentions Cleopatra III and her son Ptolemy X’s capture of the city of Ptolemais, present-day Acre in Galilee. Petimuthes wears the so-called “Persian” fringed garment, reserved to high dignitaries ever since the Late Period. The text on the back-pillar of the statue was completed with a fragment found in Karnak, where Petimuthes promoted the construction of a storehouse in the temple of Amon.

[dgiterart]

Persian Miku!?

In traditional Mazani clothing from persia!  

More info⬇️⬇️

Mazandaran province  is one of the 31 provinces of Iran. Its capital is the city of Sari . Located along the southern coast of the Caspian Sea and in the adjacent Central Alborz mountain range.Mazandaran is a major producer of farmed fish, and aquaculture provides an important economic addition to traditional dominance of agriculture. Another important contributor to the economy is the tourism industry, as people from all of Iran enjoy visiting the area.

Language: The population is overwhelmingly Mazandarani, with a minority of Gilaks, Azerbaijanis, Kurds, Georgians, Armenians, Circassians, Turkmen  and others, Mazandarani people have a background in Tabari ethnicity and speak Mazandarni.

Culture( literature) : In the Persian epic, Shahnameh, Mazandaran is mentioned in two different sections. The first mention is implicit, when Fereydun sets its capital in a city called Tamishe near Amol:

بیاراست گیتی بسان بهشت.................... به جای گیا سرو گلبن بکشت

از آمل گذر سوی تمیشه کرد .............. نشست اندر آن نامور بیشه کرد

And when Manuchehr is returning to Fereydun's capital, Tamisheh in Mazandaran (known as Tabarestan), after his victory over Salm and Tur.

Arash the Archer  is a heroic archer-figure of Iranian mythology. According to Iranian folklore, the boundary between Iran and Turan was set by an arrow launched by Arash, after he put his own life in the arrow's launch. The arrow was traveling for days before finally landing on the other side of the Oxus on the bark of a walnut tree hundreds of miles away from the original launch site atop a mountain

Music and dance:

Music in this region relates to the lifestyle of the inhabitants, and the melodies revolve around issues such as the forests, cultivation or farming activities and herding. The most famous dance of this area is the Shomali dance, not forgetting the stick dance that the men perform. Popular music in the province, known as the Taleb and Zohre, Amiri Khani and Katuli.

Cuisine :

The cuisine of the province is very rich in seafood due to its location by the Caspian Sea, and rice is present in virtually every meal. Mazandarani cuisine is diverse between regions; the cuisine of coastal regions is different from mountainous regions, as people in the Alborz usually use the indigenous herbs and coastal people use the dishes of fish and Caspian Mazandaran rice with vegetables.

[nostalgebraist]

I feel like I've had the same experience several times now: someone does a new translation of a non-English literary classic, and all the critics praise it to the moon, so I go and try to read it, and it's turns out it's just . . . bad? Like, really bad? And weirdly bad?

A while back, I wrote about the case of Pevear and Volokhonsky. Here's another example, which I encountered while doing background research for my novel Almost Nowhere.

----

One of my novel's major characters is a literary translator, famous for his rendition of the Persian epic poem Shahnameh ("Book of Kings").

To help me write this character, I tried to read the Shahnameh myself. I started out – where else? – with the translation that seemed to be the gold standard, and which was certainly the most critically lauded.

Namely, the 2006 translation by Dick Davis, in prose with occasional shifts into verse.

Here's how the Shahnameh begins, in Davis' translation:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty? No one has any knowledge of those first days, unless he has heard tales passed down from father to son. This is what those tales tell: The first man to be king, and to establish the ceremonies associated with the crown and throne, was Kayumars. When he became lord of the world, he lived first in the mountains, where he established his throne, and he and his people dressed in leopard skins. It was he who first taught men about the preparation of food and clothing, which were new in the world at that time. Seated on his throne, as splendid as the sun, he reigned for thirty years. He was like a tall cypress tree topped by the full moon, and the royal farr shone from him. All the animals of the world, wild and tame alike, reverently paid homage to him, bowing down before his throne, and their obedience increased his glory and good fortune.

And here is the same opening, in the 1905 translation by Arthur and Edmond Warner (which I only discovered much later in the process of writing Almost Nowhere):

What saith the rustic bard? Who first designed To gain the crown of power among mankind? Who placed the diadem upon his brow? The record of those days hath perished now Unless one, having borne in memory Tales told by sire to son, declare to thee Who was the first to use the royal style And stood the head of all the mighty file. He who compiled the ancient legendary, And tales of paladins, saith Gaiúmart Invented crown and throne, and was a Sháh. This order, Grace, and lustre came to earth When Sol was dominant in Aries And shone so brightly that the world grew young. Its lord was Gaiúmart, who dwelt at first Upon a mountain; thence his throne and fortune Rose. He and all his troop wore leopard-skins, And under him the arts of life began, For food and dress were in their infancy. He reigned o'er all the earth for thirty years, In goodness like a sun upon the throne, And as a full moon o'er a lofty cypress So shone he from the seat of king of kings. The cattle and the divers beasts of prey Grew tame before him; men stood not erect Before his throne but bent, as though in prayer, Awed by the splendour of his high estate, And thence received their Faith.

Now, I can't speak at all about the source text. I have no idea how faithful or unfaithful these two translations are, and in what ways, in which places.

Still, though. I mean like, come on.

This is an epic poem about ancient kings and larger-than-life heroes.

This is a national epic, half myth and half history, narrating the proud folkloric lineage claimed by a real-world empire.

There is a way that such things are supposed to sound, in English. And it sure as hell isn't this:

What does the Persian poet say about the first man to seek the crown of world sovereignty?

Excuse me? That's your opening line? I thought I was reading a poem, here, not taking a fucking AP World Literature exam!

----

Postscript

Some of the critical praise for the Davis translation, quoted on the back cover of my copy (emphasis mine):

"A poet himself, Davis brings to his translation a nuanced awareness of Ferdowsi's subtle rhythms and cadences. His "Shahnameh" is rendered in an exquisite blend of poetry and prose, with none of the antiquated flourishes that so often mar translations of epic poetry." (Reza Aslan, The New York Times Book Review) "Thanks to Davis's magnificent translation, Ferdowsi and the Shahnameh live again in English.” (Michael Dirda, Washington Post) "A magnificent accomplishment . . . [Davis’s translation] is not only the fullest representation of Ferdowsi’s masterpiece in English but the best." (The New York Sun)

[luminalunii97]

saying F U to the regime again and again: a quick update on women vs IR regime

Famous Iranian actresses have been appearing in public without a mandatory hijab. This has been happening since the beginning of the protests. Last month, Kiumars Pourahmad, a well known Iranian screenwriter and director, committed suicide. He had a history of criticizing the regime's political decisions. At his funeral, some of the famous actresses attended without mandatory hijab.

You can see Fateme Motamedarya, Katayoun Riyahi, and Golab Adineh in these pictures from the funeral. Ms. Riyahi was one of the first celebrities who took her hijab off at the start of the Jina (Mahsa) Amini protest and for that she's been the target of IRGC harassment and has been to court.

Last week, in the ceremony of screening of the final episode of Lion's Skin (a persian crime show), actress Pantea Bahram participated without hijab. The manager of Tehran’s Lotus Cinema, where the ceremony was held, was fired for letting her attend without hijab.

Other than prosecution, the regime has blocked these celebrities' bank accounts. Basij and IRGC members have also attacked and harassed these women online and in real life.

Students on university campuses take off their hijabs. There's an installed version of morality police in universities that monitor students' styles. Female students must wear "appropriate" hijab and male students must wear "manly" clothes (one of my guy friends once was asked to go back home and change his shoes because they were red casual loafers. Apparently that's gay!). When you enroll in Iranian universities, the first thing you do is to go to the security office and sign an agreement that says you promise to follow the Islamic dress code. There are posters all over the campus that says things like "hijab is security" "respect the islamic hijab" and "not wearing appropriate hijab (tight short clothes, too much hair, makeup, etc) would result in legal action". So not wearing hijab on campus, where a lot of security cameras are installed and it's easy to identify you, is a big deal.

The regime's response to students taking off their hijabs is sending threatening messages to students' phones and increasing the security people. At the entrance of Universities, these security forces check people's clothes and if it's not proper they won't let you in. Some of the students wear the hijab at the entrance and take it off after they're in. They have warned our professors to not let non hijabi students sit in classes too.

One of my favorite trends in Iran now is when guys wear our hijab. These pictures are from universities. Guys wearing hijab make the security mad. This is a great act of solidarity with women against the obligatory hijab.

Some men have been doing either this or wearing shorts in public. The former is to ridicule the obligatory dress code and the latter is because wearing shorts in public is forbidden for guys too.

And women not wearing hijab in general. Though hijab is not our only issue, we want a whole new political system, one that is not theocratic or terroristic, hijab is something the regime won't back down from because it's one of their strongest oppressing tools. If they let us win the fight against obligatory hijab, I quote from a regime head, "people keep demanding more changes"!

So to put people against people to enforce the hijab law again, the regime has closed down many businesses (hotels, cafes, malls, bookstores, etc) for welcoming non hijabi female costumers. They have also warned taxi and bus drivers to not let non hijabi women in their vehicles.

Although not everyone is disobeying the hijab law (some believe in hijab, some don't want to pay the price), the number of women who take the risk and don't wear hijab in Tehran and many other cities is high enough that you feel encouraged to keep doing it.

[funkopersonal]

THE SUDRA

The sudra is a traditional Jewish headdress with a history dating back thousands of years to the Biblical period and ancient Mesopotamia. It was worn like a turban or a headscarf and was of great spiritual importance at various points throughout history; for example, it’s mentioned directly in the Babylonian Talmud (written between the years 500-700). There are also some likely references to it in the Tanakh, such as in Exodus and the Book of Ruth.

CUSTOMS

Beyond spiritual significance, the Babylonian Talmud describes how it is customary to let another man hold one’s sudra as a gesture of trust during a monetary transaction.

In the Shulchan Aruch, there is an exemption for the sudra regarding the use of tzitzit. Even though the sudra is a four-cornered garment, tzitzit aren’t required.

Among Sepharadim, the sudra was worn over the shoulders like a scarf, while Ashkenazim wore it “coiled round the body like an Egyptian snake” or like the “kaftanis of the Tatars” when worn on the head. In fact, the sudra is likely the predecessor of the shtreimel (the fur hat worn by some Ashkenazi Jewish men), as Ashkenazi Jews in Europe eventually replaced the scarf with more weather-appropriate fur.

SUDRA IS OUTLAWED

With the expansion of the Arab and Islamic empires starting in 632 CE, Jews became “dhimmis,” relegated to second class citizenship and a whole host of prohibitions. Among those prohibitions was the use of the sudra. For example, in Yemen in 1667, the Jewish sudra was banned, likely to humiliate the Jewish community by forcing them to place regular clothes on their heads. The Jewish community bribed some government officials to reverse the decision. Ultimately a deal was struck where Jews were permitted to wear the sudra so long as it was made of bad quality cloth.

As the Arab keffiyeh became associated with Arab Muslims of high status, Arab rulers once again instituted prohibitions on the Jewish sudra because it was too similar to the keffiyeh.

DECLINE AMONG ASHKENAZIM

Jews in Europe still used the traditional sudra well into the 16th century, some 1500 years after their exile from Judea (Israel-Palestine today). In the Shulchan Aruch, Rabbi Moses Isserles specifically mentioned the significance of the sudra among Ashkenazim.

In the Middle Ages, the use of turbans such as sudras were outlawed in Europe, resulting in the gradual decline of the sudra among Ashkenazi Jewry. Eventually the sudra evolved into other forms of “legal” and weather-appropriate dress, such as the shtreimel, as discussed previously.

DECOLONIZATION OR APPROPRIATION?

Among other things decolonization is the process of removing the layers of oppressive foreign imperial and colonial influence imposed upon one’s culture. As discussed, Jews have worn the sudra since ancient times, dating back thousands of years. The garment came into disuse due to the oppressive laws of powerful empires, both in Southwest Asia/North Africa and among Jews in Europe. Reclaiming the sudra, which also happens to be of great spiritual significance, is an act of decolonization.

The keffiyeh, which uses a similar pattern, became a symbol of Palestinian nationalism and resistance in the 1930s (after longtime use among Palestinian farmers and others in Arab nations). Kurds, Persians, Yazidis, and other Indigenous Southwest Asian groups also traditionally use keffiyehs. In fact, the keffiyeh and the sudra likely have the same origin; that said, the sudra predates the keffiyeh by hundreds of years.

The Jewish reclamation of the sudra should not be weaponized to harm Palestinians. That said, claiming that Jews are “appropriating” keffiyehs while using the sudra is absurd, seeing as the sudra not only came before the keffiyeh, but is also a garment of spiritual significance for Jews that was still used relatively recently in the scope of Jewish history. Ultimately, we have to remember that Jews and Palestinians are historic, cultural, and ethnic cousins, and, as such, some parts of our cultures will overlap.

[hussyknee]

Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani’s Kitab al-Aghani records the lives of a number of individuals including one named Tuways who lived during the last years of Muhammad and the reigns of the early Muslim dynasties. Tuways was mukhannathun: those who were born as men, but who presented as female. They are described by al-Isfahani as wearing bangles, decorating their hands with henna, and wearing feminine clothing. One mukhannathun, Hit, was even in the household of the Prophet Muhammad. Tuways earned a reputation as a musician, performing for clients and even for Muslim rulers. When Yahya ibn al-Hakam was appointed as governor, Tuways joined in the celebration wearing ostentatious garb and cosmetics. When asked by the governor if he were Muslim Tuways affirmed his belief, proclaiming the declaration of faith and saying that he observes the fast of Ramadan and the five daily prayers. In other words, al-Isfahani, who recorded the life of a number of mukhannathun like Tuways, saw no contradiction between his gender expression and his Muslimness. From al-Isfahani we read of al-Dalal, ibn Surayj, and al-Gharid—all mukhannathun—who lived rich lives in early Muslim societies. Notably absent from al-Isfahani’s records is any state-sanctioned persecution. Instead, the mukhannathun are an accepted part of society.

...

Far from isolated cases, across Islamic history—from North Africa to South Asia—we see widespread acceptance of gender nonconforming and queer individuals. - Later in the Ottoman Empire, there were the köçek who were men who wore women’s clothing and performed at festivals. Formally trained in dance and percussion instruments, the köçek were an important part of social functions. A similar practice was found in Egypt. The khawal were male dancers who presented as female, wearing dresses, make up, and henna. Like their Ottoman counterparts, they performed at social events.

- In South Asia, the hijra were and are third-sex individuals. The term is used for intersex people as well as transgender women. Hijra are attested to among the earliest Muslim societies of South Asia where, according to Nalini Iyer, they were often guardians of the household and even held office as advisors.

- In Iraq, the mustarjil are born female, but present as men. In Wilfred Thesiger’s The Marsh Arabs the guide, Amara explains, “A mustarjil is born a woman. She cannot help that; but she has the heart of a man, so she lives like a man.” When asked if the mustarjil are accepted, Amara replies “Certainly. We eat with her and she may sit in the mudhif.” Amara goes on to describe how mustarjil have sex with women.

...

Historian Indira Gesink analyzed 41 medical and juristic sources between the 8th and 18th centuries and discovered that the discourse of a “binary sex” was an anachronistic projection backwards. Gesink points out in one of the earliest lexicography by the 8th century al-Khalil ibn Ahmad that he suggests addressing a male-presenting intersex person as ya khunathu and a female-presenting intersex person as ya khanathi while addressing an effeminate man as ya khunathatu. This suggests a clear recognition of a spectrum of sex and gender expression and a desire to address someone respectfully based on how they presented.

Tolerance of gender ambiguity and non-conformity in Islamic cultures went hand-in-hand with broader acceptance of homoeroticism. Texts like Ali ibn Nasir al-Katib’s Jawami al-Ladhdha, Abu al-Faraj al-Isfahani’s Kitab al-Aghani, and the Tunisian, Ahmad al-Tifashi’s Nuz’ha al-‘Albab attest to the widespread acceptance of same-sex desire as natural. Homoeroticism is a common element in much of Persian and Arabic poetry where youthful males are often the object of desire. From Abu Nuwas to Rumi, from ibn Ammar to Amir Khusraw, some of the Islamic world’s greatest poets were composing verses for their male lovers. Queer love was openly vaunted by poets. One, Ibn Nasr, immortalizes the love between two Arab lesbians Hind al Nu’man and al-Zarqa by writing:

“Oh Hind, you are truer to your word than men. Oh, the differences between your loyalty and theirs.”

...

Acceptance of same-sex desire and gender non-conformity was the hallmark of Islamic societies to such a degree that European travelers consistently remarked derisively on it. In the 19th century, Edward Lane wrote of the khawal: “They are Muslims and natives of Egypt. As they personate women, their dances are exactly of the same description as those of the ghawazee; and are, in like manner, accompanied by the sound of castanets.”

A similarly scandalized CS Sonnini writes of Muslim homoerotic culture:

“The inconceivable appetite which dishonored the Greeks and the Persians of antiquity, constitute the delight, or to use a juster term, the infamy of the Egyptians. It is not for women that their ditties are composed: it is not on them that tender caresses are lavished; far different objects inflame them.”

In his travels in the 19th century, James Silk Buckingham encounters an Afghan dervish shedding tears for parting with his male lover. The dervish, Ismael, is astonished to find how rare same-sex love was in Europe. Buckingham reports the deep love between Ismael and his lover quoting, “though they were still two bodies, they became one soul.”

...

Today, vocal Muslim critics of LGBTQ+ rights often accuse gay and queer people of imposing a “Western” concept or forcing Islam to adjust to “Western values” failing to grasp the irony of the claim: the shift in the 19th and 20th century was precisely an alignment with colonial values over older Islamic ones, all of which led to legal criminalization. In fact, the common feature among nations with anti-LGBTQ+ legislation isn’t Islam, but rather colonial law.

Don't talk to me I'm weeping. I'm not Muslim, but the grief of colonization runs in the blood of every Global South person. Dicovering these is like finding our lost treasures among plundered ruins.

Queer folk have always, always been here; we have always been inextricable, shining golden threads in the tapestry of human history. To erase and condemn us is to continue using the scalpel of colonizers in the mutilation and betrayal of our own heritage.

[aphroditelovesu]

⸻ The Lost Queen - II ⸻

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 1,820.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog, @silmawensgarden, @elvinapandra, @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife, @animetye-23.

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 2

You were afraid.

In fact, you felt mixed emotions. Fear, dread, horror, terror.

You didn't know why the hell you were in an old military camp, let alone why you were facing one of the greatest conquerors in history. Nothing that was happening made sense and your mind tried to look for logical answers, but it was in vain.

Because nothing that was in front of you was logical.

Maybe it was a really bizarre dream, maybe you were high or drunk, but you knew better. It was real and very real.

Nothing made sense and you felt like crying and going to your mother's lap for comfort but you couldn't do that. Not while you were being held by a scarred man and the others were staring at you with curiosity and... disdain? You couldn't tell.

How did you end up there? It was your first question. Your last memory was of you in your room, reading a book about the conqueror and falling asleep. Was that book cursed? No, that was not possible. But it will be? It seemed like the only acceptable option considering the fact that you were over 2,000 years in the past.

Fuck.

You took a deep breath, trying at all costs to avoid the urge to scream and cry. That wouldn't be acceptable to do now, you needed to stay calm and try to find a solution.

''Can you speak greek?'' You blinked in surprise when one of the men addressed you. It was the one who was next to Alexander. You glanced at him lightly, why he looked familiar?

''Hephaestion, I don't think she's fine or that she even understands what we're talking about.'' One of the slightly tall men spoke up. You shifted your gaze to him when you heard him say the name.

Hephaestion.

Oh, oh.

''It doesn't hurt to ask, Ptolemy.'' Another man said. You looked at him and blushed a little. He was handsome, maybe not by 21st century beauty standards, but he was attractive. Blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

And Ptolemy? Like in Ptolemy I Soter of the Ptolemaic Dynasty?

''She could be a spy sent by the persians. I mean, just look at the way she's dressed.'' The man with dark brown hair and green eyes said, looking you up and down with disdain.

You glared at him, daring him to say one more thing about your pajamas. Yes, it wasn't the kind of clothes they wore but it suited you it was comfortable and the print had kittens!

Adorable.

But the man held your gaze and you shuddered slightly as you noted their intensity.

''Look at the way she's dressed, friends. She clearly is a whore.'' One of the men said, looking at your breasts shamelessly.

If you weren't trapped in another man's arms, you would have kicked ass.

''Whore is my hand in your face if you say another word!'' The words came out before you could stop yourself and everyone looked at you in shock and you felt like slapping yourself.

You could have feigned madness, claimed amnesia or that you couldn't speak greek and, you really didn't, but apparently the ''magic'' that brought you to this place decided not to screw you around so much.

''She has spirit!'' The man holding you laughed and you glared at him.

Finally, Alexander decided to say something.

''Bring her to my tent. I want you all there.'' Were his only words and he turned his back on you without another word, with Hephaestion following, but not before giving you one last look.

You gasped as you began to be dragged towards what appeared to be the King's tent. Several people in the camp watched you curiously as you were led away and followed by the other generals.

You were so fucked up and not the way you liked it.

Alexander didn't know what to do with himself at that moment. He didn't understand what was going on and he hated it.

There were so many questions in the King's mind and none of them were answered. But the most puzzling of them was why he felt awkward around you.

Alexander felt an unknown feeling and what it attracted to you. How a stallion was attracted to a mare in heat. Not that he was thinking about sleeping with you, no, it wasn't that but he felt weird.

It was like he already knew you and that bothered him a lot. You had never seen each other, he was sure of that, but then why did he feel that way?

He needed answers and fast. He looked at his best friend who was looking at him with concern.

''Are you alright, Alexander?'' Hephaestion's soft and warm voice rang out and the friend touched his shoulder to try to calm him down.

''I'm fine, just tired.'' He lied quickly and something told him that Hephaestion didn't believe his words.

But there was no time for questions, not when the mystery woman was led into his tent, surrounded by the curious generals. Alexander frowned, but held the pose.

He looked right at her and his mind filled with disturbing thoughts.

She was the strangest woman he had ever met in his life. She was beautiful, albeit in a different way, but what really drew him to her was the fear in her eyes, the kind of genuine dread he had only ever seen in the eyes of his enemies. And the way she was dressed… He had never seen such clothes, even in Persia.

And that attracted him.

Alexander cleared his throat before asking the question that had been on her mind since he met her, ''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?'' The King's voice was serious and authoritative and he could have sworn he saw her shudder.

The young woman opened her mouth to speak, but stopped and closed it again, avoiding Alexander's piercing gaze. It made him uncomfortable, but he could not and would not show weakness in front of anyone, let alone in front of his generals and a complete stranger.

He watched her for a few seconds and realized what made her sulk, the fact that she was still being held by Cleitus the Black.

''Let her go.'' It was a simple command but the general obeyed instantly. Alexander smiled a little when he noticed that the woman's posture visibly relaxed when she was released.

''I'll ask you one more time.'' Alexander said and moved a little closer to the woman, ''And I suggest you answer.''

She just stared at him as if she was seeing a god in front of her. Well, maybe he was a god.

''Who are you and what are you doing in my camp?''

''I'm (Y/N) and I don't know how I came to be in your camp.'' She finally said it in a low voice but he could hear it loud and clear.

Alexander was stunned. (Y/N)... A name he had never heard in his life and yet it seemed to suit this woman. And when he was finally able to hear her voice again, the King found himself wishing he could hear her speak more often. She was so strange yet so endearing and Alexander found himself wanting to know everything about her and he would.

He was the King, after all, and he always got what he wanted.

"It's an unusual name. What it means?''

She shrugged, ''I don't know. I never tried to find out.''

She was so insolent and disrespectful. Did she not know who she was talking to?

A laugh was heard and Alexander glared at Nearchus, who stopped laughing at the same moment.

''Where are you from?'' Alexander asked, looking at her curiously. He had decided that she wasn't a threat, she seemed too stupid to be a threat anyway.

She thought for a moment and smiled. Alexander felt his heart skip a beat when she smiled at him.

''Uh…I come from a very, it's... a distant place.'' She said between pauses.

Alexander scoffed. She was a terrible liar, and he felt like laughing when she looked insulted when he scoffed.

''And where is this place so far away?'' He insisted.

(Y/N) glared at him.

''As far away as you could tell.''

''The name?''

If she looked angry before, she looked furious now.

''You would not understand. It's not your language.''

''Really?'' Alexander thought, ''And how come you speak my language so well?''

She paled, but recovered very quickly.

''I studied.''

Alexander hummed and decided to stop questioning her. For now. She looked tired and scared, from what he could read from her body language and something inside him told him not to disturb her anymore.

''Call the servants. Give her a tent, clothes and food.''

All of her generals looked perplexed, even Hephaestion.

Even the woman, (Y/N), looked confused.

In fact, he didn't even know why he was doing this, but he needed to make sure she was going to be alright.

It was a need that screamed inside him. The need to protect her and he didn't know why.

He needed to find out about her. Who was she, where did she come from, everything.

You were taken to a tent away from the camp and left alone.

You looked around curiously. It was a small tent but it had a small bed, which you recognized as a cot, and some candles. It was just that.

You wondered if you could freak out now, but it wasn't feasible. No, everyone could hear it and it would get you in more trouble than you already were.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You started to feel the tears in your eyes. You wanted to cry and scream and cry some more. But you couldn't. Not when you were in such a vulnerable position and you were scared.

So scared.

You were scared of everything. Fear of being tortured, dying and being abused. You noticed some soldiers looking at you with lust and it scared you so much. What would stop them from making you a booty? A toy?

Nothing.

And it was so desperate.

You sat down on the small cot and finally allowed yourself to cry, the hot tears running down your face, as you sobbed and contained your screams of frustration.

You didn't even notice the servant entering your tent and placing a plate of food beside you or the clothes that were brought for you. You didn't notice because you were so desperate and you were sinking in your fear and despair.

You needed to go. You needed to go back to the 21st century.

And you had no idea how to do it.

And just that thought made you cry even harder.

— lady l: I was going to post it tomorrow but I got some time and I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer so finally chapter 2 is here. I hope you enjoyed it, what did you think of Y/n's first interaction with Alexander and some generals? Feel free to give me your opinion. I love you all and until the next chapter!! ❤️

[ddollfface]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗦𝗶𝗰𝗸!𝗔𝘁𝗵𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

"Your clothes would look nice on my bedroom floor."

Trigger Warnings; not proofread, pretty sure reader is described as 'girlfriend' or 'girl' somewhere, yandere behavior, extremely toxic behavior, manipulation, rip if you know someone like this irl, abuse of systems, abuse of pretty privilege (can't relate lol), and, as usual, bad writing. If I missed anything, then please let me know ♡ Here 'ya go 💗!Nonny, the second part of your request!! I hope it's to your standards... I'm not proofreading anything I'm putting out rn. I'm way too tired. I hope everyone had a good President's weekend))

Our boy is literally the definition of pretty privilege. He's got everything a girl would ever want, and he's the envy of all the guys on campus. He's sculpted like a Greek god, thanks to his Persian genetics and daily visits to the gym.

Everyone and anyone will listen to what LoveSick!Athlete's gotta say, and they'll do whatever he's asked, if he's saying it in a certain tone with a certain face. This is his manipulative personality coming into play. He understands that people will listen to him, for whatever reason, and he uses it to his advantage, scaring away any guys you may or may not find attractive.

Usually, it's pretty easy to do as they're just one of your classmates that you just find handsome, but you've never thought of talking to them, much less pursuing them. You're introverted personality (in this type of darling) makes it easy for him to keep you all to himself.

The two of you have been together for years, ever since you were little kids, and you trust everything he says, but not for superficial reasons like everyone else. You see him for who he is. You understand that he'd never do anything to hurt you; I'm just looking out for you, yeah? Just take my word for it, he's not worth your time.

In this case, with this darling, the two of you aren't dating, in your eyes at least. And LoveSick!Athlete has been pursuing you for quite some time, but he's patient. The two of you are practically attached at the hip, and that alone scares off any of your suitors, so even if you find someone (guy or chick) attractive, then they're gone before you can even say 'hello'.

Now, I've gone over how LoveSick!Athlete deals with his 'competitors', though he doesn't see them as this, in this post. This post is more geared toward how he deals with jealousy, but I drabble on the idea of putting down other men and making you see them in a bad light.

LoveSick!Athlete don't see these men, no matter how you see them, as a threat to your relationship, nor his ego. The two of you are far too out of reach for them to touch; they can't get to you, but it's different when it's his teammate. Especially since he never shuts up about them, so they know that he's pursuing you or you're in a relationship (depending on the time).

Overall, I think LoveSick!Athlete would treat the situation similarly with his teammate as he would with some random guy, but he'll have a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he sees said teammate now. It's possible that he'll be rougher with them on the ice, pushing them harder, elbowing them, and tripping them. Of course, no one will notice. After all, he's their star player, he'd never do anything to hurt his teammates, never.

He'll bad mouth them, behind their back of course, to his other teammates and you, can't forget about you. He'll go on and on about all the things they've done over the summer while school was out. How they're so aggressive toward girls, especially the ones that say 'no' to him. You wouldn't believe what Sonia told me, sweets. She said...

Once you get him talking, he won't stop. LoveSick!Athlete would never, ever, miss the opportunity to trash on of his rivals. If the guy seems persistent and tries to talk to you, god, let alone he touches you, he'll rain hellfire on the campus. He'll get some college girls to go report him to the campus office, saying that they were assaulted by him. LoveSick!Athlete might even plant some drugs into the guy's bag, causing him to lose his athletic scholarship.

And if the guy tries to tell on him, like a rat, then he'll just be brushed off as "desperate" and "attention-seeking." That he's trying to push the blame on someone else, 'cause there's no way LoveSick!Athlete would ever do something like that.

He's the team's sweetheart, after all.

[billiennn]

Heather Chandler Headcanons

(most of these are pretty dark, so TW)

♡ Heather herself is Catholic, however, her parents are Christians and she attends church with them (when she isn’t too hungover in the mornings)

♡ Heather first met David when she was 13, and he was 19, and thats when their relationship began. She lost her virginity to him two weeks after meeting, before she’d even had her first kiss. She was still sheltered at 13, but he and his college friends were her introduction to drinking, partying, drugs, sex, and what her understanding of her value to people (more specifically how to use her ‘sex appeal’ to her own gain)

♡ Heather is a deep closet lesbian, with extreme heterosexual tendencies as she only feels valuable when men want her

♡ she wants to become a lawyer, just like her father, however, neither of her parents support her as they have very traditional Christian values.

♡ Heather was the volleyball team captain, however, she quit the team after her Sophomore year when she began to struggle and fall behind her teammates after devoting all of her time to drinking away her woes and partying whenever she could

♡ Heather loves to paint, and is classically trained in oil painting, as well as classically trained in piano and was thought to be a prodigy when she was younger, but David’s friends made fun of her for enjoying the piano so she quit

♡ Heather has struggled with Anorexia since she was 12, largely fueled by her mother. She began to develop before all of her peers, and her mother could constantly make comments about her body and pressured her to diet. She joined the track team in 7th grade and once after fasting for two weeks before a race, she collapsed and fainted on the track. However instead of her parents trying to help her, they just scolded her for losing the race.

♡ Heather did some catalog modeling for famous clothing brands and wants to do runway modeling, however at 5’4, she’s too short to and that upsets her a lot

♡ Heather loaded herself with extracurriculars when she was younger, such as: Ballet, track, piano, oil painting, singing, sewing, volleyball, figure skating, modeling, photography, skiing, and horseback riding. However, she slowly quit all of them either due to no longer being the best out of her peers, being mocked for having interests, and realizing that no one would value her talents because they couldn’t see past her body.

♡ Heather and Veronica live a block from each other, and sometimes after Remington parties, Heather will go to Veronica’s house instead of her own, and will cuddle up and sleep with her.

♡ Heather doesn’t register most of the sexual abuse she’s faced as abuse, she thinks that just how it is for everyone. She tried to talk to her mother about it once, but got reprimanded and shamed by her instead, so she figured it wasn’t something she should talk to anyone about.

♡ When she was 14, she tried to drown herself in the bathtub, but stopped herself when her cat, Princess, walked in on her

♡ She has a male Persian cat named Princess that she got when she was 8, and she absolutely adores him

♡ in middle school, Heather made her, McNamara, and Duke practice kissing on Each other to practice for their future boyfriends

[jeannereames]

I know this can be too much of an outlier, but do we have any idea if Alexander was a particularly fashionable person? Either if he was into fashion itself or if he was considered fashionable in his clothing style for example

Clothes Make the King?

Alexander’s clothing choices weren’t about fashion, but about POLITICS. What he wore sent a message.

First, three quick points about clothes in ancient Greece:

They were relatively simple with few sewn seams, and by Alexander’s day, any patterning largely along the edges. Most was made of wool, linen being very pricy.

They were made at home by one’s female family members. Yes, even the wealthy. A woman’s worth wasn’t measured by her pie crust or biscuits, but her weaving quality.*

They were expensive if one had to purchase cloth (as opposed to having it made at home). Most people had only a handful of tunics, one cloak and/or one himation (wrap), and one pair of shoes.

And finally, pertinent to this discussion:

By the 4th century, especially austere clothing was associated with moral virtue, while highly patterned clothing + lots of jewelry with moral decadence (the East/Persia).

Ergo, descriptions of Alexander’s clothing in the sources send a moral message: as he descended into vices and Asian tyranny, authors show him wearing extravagant, Asian-style clothing.

BUT he also did make choices of what to wear (insofar as we can be sure they were his choices), that conveyed his own messaging. Detangling his messaging from later author’s messaging is a continual problem, but sometimes it’s possible.

We’re told Alexander dressed the same as his soldiers. Differences in wealth would have been indicated by the quality of the wool and COLOR, but not the style. Being able to wear, say, black (made from the wool of baby lambs born black but who turn white as they age), or saffron yellow (made from the tiny pistils of flowers), or dark blue or purple (made from murex snails and imported at a hefty price)—THOSE tell you the person has money. The cut and drape of the clothing mostly doesn’t. You can pick out the king by the bright dot of yellow or black in a sea of dun, browns, dull reds, darker greens, and ecru.

What message is he sending? “I’m one of you…except the king”: primo inter pares (first among equals). Similarly, his armor was the same type, just brighter and better-made. His (iron!) helmet must have looked like he raided a mop closet with a big red horsehair crest and two fluffy white feather prongs beside it. But otherwise, it was a Phyrgian-style helm like the rest. This makes him easy to spot during battle, by his own men—but also the enemy. That’s also the point: he has the bravery to make himself a target.

After the death of Darius, he began to adopt some Persian royal dress, at least when dealing with Persians—with a couple exceptions. He refused to don trousers, the kandys (a special sleeved coat), and (maybe) the upright tiara. There’s some debate on the latter. Basically, he adopted Persian clothing that was less likely to offend the Greeks. It offended them anyway (because it was Persian), but he stayed away from garments especially associated with Asia: hated Asian trousers, the kandys, and the Persian “crown,” or upright tiara, going with the less offensive diadema that was already in use in Greece, albeit not as a symbol of royalty. Men already regularly wore a fillet; it was as ubiquitous as a ballcap in the US (and equally associated with “sporty” types).

So, he was trying to walk a middle road with the symbols of kingship while avoiding the more notorious. Again, he seems to have let COLOR stand in, giving purple cloaks and hats (kausia) to his Companions (Hetairoi), and Persian-style red horse trappings.

So he wasn’t a fashion guru in the usual sense. As king, he set style, he didn’t mimic it. Below is a late Hellenistic-era statue of him (Demetrio Alexander) wearing what seems to be standard Macedonian soldier dress.

Here are two earlier posts (with pictures!) about Macedonian (top) and Greek (bottom) clothing.

* There’s a funny story of Alexander getting in trouble by sending the Persian royal women a gift of weaving material for their entertainment. In Persia, slaves and low-borns did the weaving, so they thought he was telling them they were to be slaves and/or insulting them. He’d meant it as a compliment! His own mother (and/or sisters) made his clothing, so he was offering them status as his family members.

[arabidoll]

The image the west painted about arabs and SWANA ppl centuries ago, how is it still used today, and why is that image harmful to SWANA group

First of all, what is Orientalism? based on the definition by Edward Said, orientalism is a "created body of theory and practice" which constructs images of the Orient or the East directed toward those in the West.

Representations of the East as exotic, feminine, weak and vulnerable reflect and define how the West views itself as rational, masculine and powerful. These can be seen in paintings as well as media.

The painting were obsessed w the idea of the Harem women, which affected all SWANA ppl, including Persian and Turkish women as well. Stereotypes and orientalist depictions of arabs and SWANA ppl are still used till this day.

Le Corsaire (1856), takes place in Turkey and focuses on a love story between a pirate and a beautiful slave girl. Scenes include a bazaar where women are sold to men as slaves, and the Pasha's Palace, which features his harem of wives.

Petipa's The Pharaoh's Daughter (1862), an Englishman imagines himself, in an opium-induced dream, as an Egyptian boy who wins the love of the Pharaoh's daughter, Aspicia. Her costume consisted of 'Egyptian' décor on a tutu.

Fatima (1897) and Fatima’s Dance (1907), which were the very first portrayals of Arab woman as a veiled belly dancer. These sexualized and objectified Arab women.

Sheherazade (1910), involves a shah's wife and her relations with a Golden Slave. It includes an orgy in an oriental harem. When the shah discovers the actions of his numerous wives and their lovers, he orders the deaths of those involved. Also based on One Thousand & One Nights.

The sheik (1921), takes place in Algeria, where Lady Diana disguise herself as a dancing girl to become one of the prospective brides, yet is unable to go through with the deception bc the sheik liked her. the sheik later abducts her, intending to make her fall in love with him.

The movie didnt even have the accurate Algerian traditional clothing and Algerians dancing clothes arent the “belly dancing inspired” clothes. The stereotype that a SWANA man would abduct a white women to make her fall inlove w him too…

Lalla Fatma N'Soumer, an Algerian anti-colonial leader during 1849–1857 of the French conquest of Algeria and subsequent Pacification of Algeria. She is an Algerian national hero. The pictures show the Algerian traditional wear, which isnt close to the ones in the movie.

Here is an Algerian woman wearing a Haik, again not dressed as the movie shows.

Mickey in Arabia (1932) by Disney, taking place in the Arabian Desert, where Mickey and Minnie are exploring the area I assume. Later, Minnie gets kidnapped by a Sultan. Again, portraying men from SWANA or arab men in this case as predatory and barbaric.

Abdullah the Great aka. Abdullah’s Harem (1955), about an Arab sheikh and a European model. He’s always with the Arab women he bought, along with belly dancers. He still tries to seduce Ronnie. He then attempts to drug her in order to sleep with her, but fails and gets dethroned.

So far all these movies continue to have the same narrative, continue to sexualize Arab and SWANA women, always portraying them as belly dancers and/or harem women. The Arab and SWANA men as barbaric and predatory. Themes that will continue to exist till this day.

Babes in Baghdad (1952) Arabian Nights princess goes on strike demanding equal rights for women, to the frustration of the caliph. Aided by the caliph's godson, she enables the caliph to see the error of his polygamous ways, and he eventually settles down with his wife.

The Queen of Babylon (1954), about a king's concubine that loves a Chaldean rebel in ninth-century B.C. Assyria. I Am Semiramis (1963), in ninth-century B.C. Assyrian Queen Semiramis loves an enslaved Dardanian king. mind u assyrians dont dress like egyptians

Fast forward to the 90s and early 2000s, the same stereotype surrounding SWANA ppl persisted Aladdin(1992), Aladdin meets Princess Jasmine, daughter of the sultan of Agrabah. They both have to deal with evil sorcerer Jafar from overthrowing Jasmine's kingdom.

Jasmine was sexualized (even tho shes a minor), she seduces Jaffar, and was put in a harem/belly dancer fit. the same portrayal of Arab women. The movie also features harem women. Jaffar w big nose, painting arab men as ugly, sinister and ruled by sexual desires, again.

Braceface (2002), the harem thing again. Totally spice (2002) with harem inspired fits Around the World in Eighty Days (2004) by Disney, Arab sheikh his wives that were objectified through the scenes.

After 9/11, “Arabs are terrorists” and xenophobic remakes towards arabs increased. Air Marshal (2003), The stone merchant (2006), The kingdom (2007), and many more all portrayed arabs as terrorists. Family guy(?) and shameless (2012, S2) with jokes about k!lling iraqis

Bratz: Desert Jewelz (2012) and Aladdin (2019) had the same orientalist themes as the 1001 Arabian nights (1959) and as well as the older movies.

Today, inaccurate and offensive Arab/SWANA representation is still the same. Arabs are either rich sheikhs, terrorists, or exotic belly dancers. not only that, u rarely see any arab or SWANA actor/actress get good roles, its always reduced to the terrorists role.

Whats mentioned in the thread isnt only harmful to how SWANA ppl are viewed, but how they’re treated as well. In 2002 to 2005, Philippe Servaty engaged in sex with over 80 Moroccan women, promising to take them to Belgium.

He asked them for sexual photos and photographed them in poses that could be seen as degrading. They included ejaculating on the face of a veiled woman and having another woman kneel, bound, and gagged while he urinated on her. After returning to Belgium, he published the photos.

with assyrians and persians ppl still use the same harem belly dancer clothing and its not even accurate. egyptians are always portrayed as belly dancers, also inaccurate.

SWANA ppl are still treated as fictional characters. Dune (2021) uses orientalist themes and is inspired by SWANA cultures. many offensive media made ab arabs, but wont i b able to fit all here. racism/xenophobia against ppl in SWANA didnt start with 9/11 and its not over either.

twt original thread here!

[written-with-blue-ink]

Could we get headcanons of different pets the Genshin men would have and how they would interact with them or their personalities? Especially Diluc and Alhaitham. I love men with animals, the biggest green flag

I got you, boo! I honestly couldn't stop once I started so added a few other characters

Alhaitham, Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Cyno TW: neglected animals in Cyno's

Pet Headcanons

Alhaitham

She showed up in a previous post but I think he would have a cat

An Egyptian Mau to be precise, her name would be Asal (Persian for honey) after her golden/bronze coat

She would 100% be a curious and very intelligent kitten who loves to run around and play

Type of cat who just climbs up fabric/clothes and will sit on your shoulder or around your neck

Will bite and pull on your ear if you oversleep and don’t feed her

Literally embodiment of “Ray of Sunshine”

Absolutely loves Kaveh for some reason (totally not because he spoils her rotten)

“Kaveh, stop feeding her so much, she’s getting fat. I don’t want two spoiled lazy cats”

“Excuse you, she’s perfect and skinny as is… Wait did you insult me too?!”

Does tricks! she knows how to sit, shake, tap (where she taps her nose to your finger/thumb) and is learning more

Diluc

A big dog man

I could see him with rottweilers, german shepherds or bernese mountain dogs with a name like “Bear” or “Beau”, short, bold, and simple.

Originally gotten as guard dogs for a paranoid Ragnvindr who has many enemies and just got back from a murder spree in Snezhnaya, they now work more as emotional support dogs for him and others

He also still has his childhood tortoise (because those things live forever) which he named ‘Clip’ as a child

He’s very mellow, the dogs treat him as one of their own

They also cuddle and sleep together, two dogs wrapped around a tortoise who rests his head on the dog’s neck

When he and Kaeya were in their older teens, Crepus got them both large Clydesdale horses when they both joined the Knight’s Cavalry. 

He named his horse Skinfaxi and Kaeya has Hrímfaxi (named after the sun and moon horses from Norse mythos)

Skinfaxi is one hell of a mare, it took Diluc a lot of time, energy, and patience to get her to behave (though she still has a playful streak)

Would buck him off during training but she was the fastest horse in the Cavalry

He would take her on long rides at night through the woods and around Dawn Winery just to get her to trust him

Kaeya

Obviously, Hrímfaxi, who, unlike his sister, was much more timid.

They both got along really well, with no issues, unlike their siblings.

The two riding are almost like one being, completely in synch

With the cavalry gone, Mondstadt City doesn’t have a lot of space for a horse so he stays with his sister at Dawn Winery

Kaeya comes by whenever he can to ride him

But besides her he would take care of the stray cats around Mondstadt City, refilling food and water bowls around the city while on patrol

One day, after a long night, Kaeya woke up to clawing and meowing at the door and saw his favorite cat, a Calico named Lucky, wandered inside and flopped on his rug in pain, crying as he noticed the giant lump coming from her stomach

By sunrise, he now had a mother of three kittens refusing to leave his house.

Two girls (One Calico like her mom and the other orange) and a boy (A black cat with faint stripes)

He lets Klee name them: Sunny (Orange), Cloudy (Calico) and Stormy (the black cat)

The girls are definitely headstrong while Stormy is shy and tends to hide behind his big sisters

(as a kaeya kinnie with three stray/outdoor cats, he gets them too)

Childe

From a family with lots of big dogs, like Great Pyrenees, Samoyed, and Tibetan Mastiffs

When he moved to Liyue for deployment and got super lonely, his subordinates weren’t super close to him and locals didn’t trust him as a Harbinger, he grew rather lonely

Till he went into the countryside to deal with some Treasure Hoarders and saw them using weasels and ferrets to carry contraband and money around without notice

What really sold him was watching a little kid in the camp playing with one and rubbing noses with it

The next day Ajax had two ferrets running around his apartment with the most expensive ferret setup money could buy

They are the most playful, feral things who love running around and play-fighting each other

Named Jayson and Lila, a pair of twins

(totally didn't name them after the stoats from Burrow’s End)

Loves them so much and plays with them throughout all of his free time

Leaves them to his assistant whenever he is away or is busy (who proceeds to give her hell)

They love it when he wears big coats/parkas so they can climb in and snuggle

Cyno

Didn’t have pets growing up

His first pet was on a mission as General Mahamatra, arrested some guy, went through his house for evidence, and found a severely malnourished and neglected Leopard Gecko

Some of his claws had fallen off to nubs due to layers of sheaded skin build up and he was cold to the touch from lack of heating. 

The lizard curls up into his warm hands and it immediately melts the General Mahamatra’s heart

Immediately putting him back and picking up the cage, he leaves the rest of the investigation to his coworkers before rushing to Gandharva Ville

Scared Tighnari and Collei with how quickly he rushed in through the door with a giant glass terrarium.

Looks calm and collected but is sitting in the corner with Collei just staring at Tighnari and the lizard, internal panic on the inside

Once Tighnari gives an analysis, Cyno asks Nari to watch the lizard for a few days and he will come back for it

Proceeds to spend two days straight researching Leopard geckos and how to take care of them

Also blows a good portion of his paycheck on supplies for the gecko, a larger tank, lights, and heating pads, etc. 

Picks him up and takes him home as soon as the terrarium is set up

Names him something dumb like “Geck” or a combo of his and Tighnari’s names like “Tighno” 

Most people don’t know besides Tighnari and Collei that the gecko exists, and why would they? Who’s gonna believe that the General Mahamatra has a tiny lizard as a pet

When Alhaitham and Kaveh find out Cyno has a pet, Cyno immediately pulls out pictures from his wallet like a proud dad

Whenever he is away for a while, he has Collei house sit and take care of the lizard, pays her generously

Will just sit on top of Cyno’s head or shoulder and chill

Loves to chirp and make little noises for fun/comfort

(also a leopard gecko parent and my gecko is a rescue with all these attributes from being mishandled)

[femmeleatherface]

poto 1925 shooting script: daroga highlights

the daroga apparently has been inside erik's house before, and is very familiar with where he keeps his things:

[416.] INT CORRIDOR BACK OF MIRROR... FAINT GREEN Raoul and the Persian are discovered back of mirror. The Persian motions Raoul to do exactly as he tells him. He pantomimes to Raoul to hold up his hand, Raoul is mystified as to the reason for this but obeys. The Persian tells Raoul hurriedly: "I HAVE BEEN TO THIS HOME ON THE LAKE BEFORE, BUT NOT BY THIS ROAD... AND THIS IS THE ONLY ROAD TONIGHT."

[448.] INT TORTURE CHAMBER... FAINT GREEN Raoul is crying out - wild inarticulate things to Christine - The Persian grasps him by the wrist and sternly indicates for him to keep quiet. The Persian addresses himself toward the overhead window: "WE ARE IN THE TORTURE CHAMBER. THE DOOR IS IN THE WALL FROM WHICH OUR VOICES COME."

[454.] INT. TORTURE CHAMBER FAINT GREEN The Persian is listening to Christine quietly. At the same time he is forcing Raoul to be quiet. The Persian tells Christine: "THE KEYS ARE IN A CHAMOIS BAG HANGING NEAR THE ENTRANCE DOOR."

the daroga is an aloof but kind person who cares about other human beings even if he's mysterious about it:

130-N ANOTHER SECTION OF CELLAR #6 (ROI DE LAHORE SET) As the Persian now wearing his astrachan cap comes toward camera. 130-O SEMI C.V. OF GROUP.. AS IN 30-M As the Persian comes up - a strong contrast in his dress clothes, he sees the tragedy - then shakes his head sadly and says: "POOR DEVIL - HE MUST HAVE OFFENDED THE OPERA GHOST!" BACK: Everyone recoils in horror and dismay - the Persian lets out a deep sigh and exits - they all look after him curiously.

[171.] C.V. IN UPPER BOX The man is mysterious. He is the Persian. He looks down on the scene of the tragedy. [172.] SHOOTING DOWN FROM BOX ON SCENE OF TRAGEDY This is a flash on the Persian as he sees it from box. [172A.] C.V. IN UPPER BOX The Persian shakes his head gravely at what he sees. Then he turns and exits from box.

262. INT. DRESSING ROOM. CORRIDOR TOWARD STAGE As Raoul enters in a blind, jealous anger. At that moment the Persian comes by ext of the cellar. The two almost collide, then stop and look at each other. [263.] MED CLOSE UP RAOUL & PERSIAN AMBER The two men stop and look at each other, just for an instant, one look, but in that look the Persian expresses a friendly compassion for Raoul. The Persian then passes on toward the stage; Raoul looks after him. It strikes Raoul with sudden force that perhaps this Persian is Christine's Angel of Music. Raoul shows his suspicions and again turns toward Christine's dressing room.

[413.] INT. CHRISTINE'S DRESSING ROOM AMBER Raoul enters and finds the room empty. Raoul is filled with oaths and insults. He pounds upon the mirror with his hand, as if he were challenging the phantom behind it. The Persian enters swiftly and closes the door but does not lock it. From this moment the Persian takes command. His movements are definite and direct. He indicates in an authoritative way for Raoul to calm himself and tells him: "I CAN HELP YOU SAVE CHRISTINE DAAE FROM ERICK... IF YOU'LL DO EXACTLY AS I SAY." BACK: The Persian faces Raoul in a manner deliberate and cold though not unfriendly -- Raoul is displeased by his interruption and he says angrily: "WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ERICK?" BACK: The Persian commands Raoul with his eyes and there is a pause. He tells him coldly and without excitement: "I AM THE PERSIAN... ONCE HIS FRIEND. YOU'LL REALIZE HER DANGER WHEN I TELL YOU SHE'S IN THE HANDS OF A DANGEROUS MANIAC WHO ESCAPED FROM A PARIS ASYLUM!"

the daroga is the smartest, most prepared, and most competent person around him at all times:

hands. They enter and Raoul follows the Persian to a little cupboard fastened to the wall. The cupboard contains an emergency outfit consisting of a dark lantern, a hatchet, an ax, a saw and a coil of rope. The cupboard door is removed by the Persian who takes the lantern and lights it.

[519.] A LONGER SHOT FAINT GREEN The Persian pulls the bung stopper of his barrel and the same black powder flows into his hand. He looks at the material in horror, empties it out of his hand and removes the lantern to a safe distance. He then tells Raoul with dread: "IT IS GUNPOWDER!" BACK: Raoul is bewildered but the Persian flies into action.

[532.] INT BOTTOM CELLAR FAINT GREEN CLOSE UP RAOUL AND THE PERSIAN UNDER TRAP A new thought suddenly forces itself upon the Persian and he cries upward with great force: "DON'T TOUCH THE SCORPION!"

he apparently has a mysterious source of income that is never explained, probably because it was cut from the earlier draft that explained his backstory (also, he originally had a proper full introduction):

91. MED. SHOT ON SECOND LANDING OF GRAND STAIRCASE The eyes of all the promenaders suddenly focus on the Persian who comes down a flight of stairs to the landing where he stops and looks about casually. NARRATION A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER WAS THE PERSIAN A REGULAR PATRON OF THE OPERA AND ALWAYS ALONE, WHOSE SOURCE OF INCOME WAS AS MUCH OF AN ENIGMA AS THE MAN HIMSELF. [92.] C.V. OF THE PERSIAN This is a character study of a strange type - he wears a dress suit and carries an astrachan cap. He has olive skin, appears greatly interested in his surroundings but never smiles.

this part:

[341.] MED C.V. IN CROWD As Florine lands on the floor- he picks himself up--- his dignity has suffered, he will have revenge--- he draws his sword and taking off his mask challenges him to come out and fight like a man. He fights the air with his sword... at that instant a man costumed as a jester steps up and taps Florine's shoulder. As Florine turns, the jester takes of his mask revealing the funeral face of the Persian, who in a hushed voice of horror indicates "Do you know what this is?" Florine is very sober. He answers "No Sir." The hushed voice tells him: "THAT WAS THE OPERA GHOST!"

[buzzdixonwriter]

Cyrus

Christian nationalists point to Cyrus the Great as a template for Trump, saying just as God sent Cyrus to free the Jews from Babylonian captivity, so did He send Trump to…uh…free?...no, lead Christian nationalists into dominion over the Earth.

This is flaming feculent bull sh!t.

Cyrus was operating on his own agenda when he attacked Babylon, neither God nor the Jews voted for him.  The famous Bible prophecy against Babylon’s King Belshazzar “mene mene tekel upharsin” is translated today in truncated form as “you’ve been weighed in the balance and found wanting” leaving off the crucial last part:  “by the Persians.”

The “prophecy” was not so much divine judgement against immortality but an objective appraisal of Babylon’s military and political decline.  The Jews Cyrus released from captivity were hardcore monotheists who didn’t assimilate into Babylonian culture.  He probably thought they’d prove more trouble than they were worth so he let them go.

Cyrus went on to become the chief architect of the Achaemenid Empire, kicking ass all over Central and Western Asia.  The historical record gets a little vague and contradictory, with one account saying her retired to his capital, another that he got killed by a rebel tribe, and a third that he ended up beheaded by Tomyris, queen of the Massagetae people who took umbrage at Cyrus proposal to marry her so he could acquire her kingdom.

Cyrus’ two sons ruled the empire briefly (Cambyses II for eight years, Bardiya for less than a year) then Darius the Great took over and ran it effectively for 36 years.

Christian nationalist now wish to conflate Trump with a combo of Cyrus and Darius in order to justify their belief that they should rule the world forever, but conveniently overlook there’s a 33% chance Cyrus got killed by a woman but in any case left two idiot sons behind who mucked things up royally and eventually got replaced by somebody else.

I leave it to the reader to ascertain the mental acuity of Trump’s sons.

It should be also noted that Darius reportedly became king by cheating at a contest.

Jes’ sayin’…

If there is a literal hellfire awaiting blasphemers, every Christian who subscribes to the perverted Cyrus doctrine has damned themselves for eternity.

“Wherefore I say unto you, All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men: but the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto men.  And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but whosoever speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come. “Either make the tree good, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit. “O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? for out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” -- Matthew 12: 31-34

“Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.  Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?  Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit.  A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.  Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.  Wherefore by their fruits ye shall know them. “Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven.  Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works?  And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity.” -- Matthew 7:15-23

  © Buzz Dixon

[charlenefrl]

Alekos of nowhere, prince of nothing

“How do I look?” Kleitos smiles, teeth white in the midst of his black beard. “Fantastic,” he answers. “And to my brother,” I ask, “how will I look?” “Not fantastic, I guess,” my almost-uncle jokes. “You look like war.”

This short fic was initially posted on AO3! I have a lot of thoughts about the relationship between Arrhidaios and other members of his family, which usually don't fit into my main novel.

Under the cut: Alexandros and Arrhidaios after the battle of the Granicus.

Note: The scene takes place soon after Alexander crossed to Asia, right after the battle of the Granicus. While we don't get to see the battle in this fic, I picture it like Steven Pressfield did in his book The Virtues of War, in which every Persian that matters tried to have a go at killing Alexander.

***

The field parts for my horse. Boukephalas, my black monster, wide chested, covered in blood, sweat and dust.

A field of soldiers. Men packed as close as barley before the reaping. My men, cheering, their hands reaching out to touch my blood-soaked clothes and my armor. One shoulder piece is hanging at an odd angle, half cut from the rest by a sword slash to the chest; the crest, on my helmet, has been shaved by another. Their fingers brush against my thigh, soiled red by my own blood.

Red, red, red everywhere, and their voices deafen me.

I let Boukephalas carry me. He doesn’t prance, my brave companion; he’s too spent for that after the battle we had, and cut from half a dozen light cuts.

Victory.

My first battle against the Persians. Mine, no one will deny it. I listened to my officers and they fought well, but it’s my body throbbing from the hit of a mace, my blood that has dried in dark rivulets along my spear arm. I am the king, I made no secret of it – to me they rode, the magnificent lords of Persia, dozens of them rushing at me. Kill the king and the battle is done. Duel after duel I fought, friends falling all around me, friends saving me at every heartbeat.

Kill the king.

Praise the king.

And I think: father, are you proud? I am one step further to avenge you, one step further toward the throne room, that throne room of the King of kings where one can fit the whole palace of Pella.

Dark clouds above. I raise my eyes to the skies. I dream of rain, to clean the blood sticking to my face. Father, I think again, though this time it is not my mortal father I think of. Are you pleased? Am I worthy at least of the divine blood rushing in my veins?

 I am lightheaded, riding through a sea of hands and faces alight with savage happiness.

***

I reach the center of my camp.

I am a sack, a heavy sack full of blood and bones and flesh. I am so tired it takes Hephaistion and Kleitos both to help me slide down Boukephalas. My legs don’t carry me; what mad energy spurred me forward, forward, forward has deserted me. Have I lost too much blood? Ares clothed me in bloody purple. How much of it is mine?

I walk into my tent, weighting on my most trusted companion and the man I love like an uncle. There I crash in a chair and then fumble with the strap of my helmet. Fingers (not mine) untie all one can untie to get me out of my armor. Servants flock, like gulls on the corpses of dead fishes.

“How do I look?”

Kleitos smiles, teeth white in the midst of his black beard.

“Fantastic,” he answers.

“And to my brother,” I ask, “how will I look?”

“Not fantastic, I guess,” my almost-uncle jokes. “You look like war.”

Yes.

That is because, I am war. I am born for it, am I not, Father Zeus? You could have chosen a philosopher or an artist, but no: you made me as the son of Philippos. Tell me, do you like your new sword, now that you have abandoned your last one, broken and dead and betrayed at the very door of Asia?

I smile, and I feel empty.

I let the servants clean my skin. I am war, but there are places I will not go bearing the face of Ares. It is enough that the cuts remain on my spear arm, on my thighs, enough that my skin is turning into thunderous shades of purple.

“Enough,” I order.

I won’t get more presentable than this. Someone presents me with a cup full of kykeon – thick wine mixed with barley, honey and spices. I swallow the mixture with a grimace. I need the energy; the black juice of the grapes is so strong, despite everything else, that warmth shoots straight to my head.

I push the cup away.

“Tell my brother he may see me now.”

***

I am half naked when Arrhidaios is led into my tent, my physician checking my wounds. I wish I could hide the battlefield of my body from my brother – but that would be denying his bravery, and I will not take it away from him.

Arrhidaios doesn’t hide. He doesn’t know how, and this is why my father protected him with secrecy – why he made me swear, long before his death, that I would always stand between my brother and the world.

Arrhidaios doesn’t hide. Horror and fear and sadness shape his plump face. The face of Philippos of Makedon, rounder because of the layer of fat, and with eyes like windows baring his soul. It is always strange to see my father’s face with such innocence and openness. To see this face shocked by violence, shocked by my wounds.

But then, I remember, a long time ago, Arrhidaios begging our father to stay home. I don’t like it when you go to war, Pappas, please, war is dangerous, why do you keep going to war?

“I am well,” I greet him, to keep the tears out of his eyes. “Arrhi, dear, I am well.”

His huge steps swallow the space between us. Arrhidaios is the biggest man in our family. Tall, wide, he can make me disappear in the circle of his arms. Everything about him is soft. His belly, his chest, his arms. He is no warrior, travelling with my baggage train like a woman; I don’t care. I won’t tell anyone, and I can’t let him hug me like that too often, but I like that feeling of warmth.

In my world, everything is always sharp and tough, even Hephaistion; everything except my half-brother.

“You are bleeding,” he whimpers against my hair, sticky with sweat after hours under the helmet.

I nod and fall back into my chair. “Yes, but the physician says it’s nothing dire. Would you mind…”

“Yes, yes of course, Alekos.”

I smile a tired smile. People say Arrhidaios is dumb. Half-witted fool, they snicker behind my back. They should see him now. My brother is not bright, this is true. His mind is not a burning flame jumping from one thing to the other, like mine was when I was a child. It is more like an ox.

Moving slowly, but moving somewhere.

I wait as Arrhidaios prepares his tools. He absently hums a wordless song, an Illyrian song no one in the family knows the lyrics of. My grandmother sang it, a long time ago, to children who didn’t speak her language.

My brother is a healer. Not a very good one, granted. He has a good memory but slow hands. When he doesn’t hum, he repeats under his breath all the instructions he learnt by heart, from the books I sent him from Mieza, and then from the teachers my father paid for him when Arrhidaios asked for them. Whatever he wanted, my father always paid for – painting and sculpting lessons, toys, singing birds and a loom, music instruments and pet rabbits.

Today, none of my wounds require much competence. I lay back in my chair as Arrhidaios takes his time sewing one cut shut, applies salves and wraps bandages around me. He is slow, yes, but one would be hard pressed to find a kinder hand.

You look like war, Kleitos said.

Yes. I am war, and to most people, that is all I will ever be.

But to Arrhidaios?

“I don’t like when you fight,” he says, quiet and sad, taking my scared hand in his, soft, so soft. “I don’t like it when so many people want to harm you.”

He doesn’t ask me not to go. He asked Philippos so many times, and our father never listened; but then, why should I? The men of our family rarely die on the battlefield. It’s assassination I must fear, not fellow warriors rushing at me with their eyes full of Ares.

“I know. But don’t worry, we have them running. No one is going to try for a while now. We’ll be going down the coast to our fellow Hellenes cities. We’ll go to the theater together, would you like that?”

“Only if it’s a comedy,” Arrhidaios answers. “I don’t like to see you cry.”

I chuckle. “The tears the tragedies get from us are good tears.”

“Still tears,” he mumbles. “I want you to laugh, Alekos.”

“You are kind, but I do laugh, dear.”

“No,” he rebukes me. “Your eyes are always sad. It’s not a real laugh if your eyes remain sad.” He squeezes my hand. “Comedies. I want them funny and I want you to be happy.”

“Fine. Comedies, then. Comedies in every city we’ll visit, just for my dearest brother, and songs and jugglers. Hymns to happiness and spring and love.”

“Thank you,” he says, and then he rewards me with a very inappropriate bear hug. “I love you Alekos.”

And I love you too, dear. Because of all the men that follow me now, he is the only one who wants nothing from me. No glory, no loot, no power, no women, no honors.

Just I, Alekos of nowhere, prince of nothing.

[thefamousbeatricebook]

My Dream, DREAM cast for ACOTAR. (Part 1.)

A little bit of clarification. I know in the book there are race equivalents to the real world (I think) , but this is just FACE and what I'd imagined each guy to look like becuzz.... well you'll see.

ALSO. I realise not all of these Men are the same person- but they're vibes are LEGIT who I imagined when reading.

FIRST UP, TAMLIN :

(Malcom lindberg)

(Tom Heukels)

(I actually don't know the name of this guy- but if you do~)

TARQUIN💗 (I stopped searching for names unless the pinterest pic had it. I got sick of surfing through images btw) :

(If they don't cast Mukasa kakonge I'm leaving.)

(BITCH. THIS IS TARQUIN. THIS. IS. TARQUIN. STOP LYING. SOMEONE CONTACT S.J.M. THIS WHOLE CAST IS GOING TO BE MODELS. I'M TALKING TEEN WOLF LEVEL OF MODEL CASTING. NO JOKE. MUKASA KAKONGE.)

( @w3tte, "A smile I could fall in love with!)

(This, but with white braids. Like someone contact the casting director, because bitch I FOUND HIM.)

(His hair is always tied up like this, and no one can convince me otherwise. The fan-arts did this to me.)

Helion (In my mind.. he's always looked like one of these two men. Def darker than the 2nd pic though. I always imagined him as Persian, or Arabian- maybe even Spanish or portuguese? I'm not sure if S.J.M did it strictly though.) :

This. This is who he is.

The jawline, the facial hair- the muscles.. spot on. I hope S.J.M really does deliver with that high lord inclusivity.

I know Pedro probably, okay maybe def- wouldn't play Helion. But this is Helion incarnate. I can just see this Man propositioning for a three-way with Azriel, Cassian and Mor, bitch.

Thesan :

(Does he even need introduction? Paing takhon. Thesan's always, always been Asian in my mind. I think it's canon AND accepted too so. )

(At this point. I want him to be RHYS in my imaginary movie with my imaginary dream actoar cast just so he gets more screen time...*In my head)

(uGH. I can't decide. Adarsh Jaikarran.)

( Pratik Shetty. This in golden clothes.

LUCIEN (I'M GOING TO GET DEATH THREATS. YES, Booboo NATIVE AMERICAN. I KNOW, BUT YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT THIS IS NOT THE FACE OF LUCIEN VANSERRA EVERYBODY- THE SMIRK, THE LIPS, THE EYES>... And would it be so bad to cast a Native american actor as Lucien? or even have Beron be Native American? I don't think it would be. ) :

(Booboo stewart. He's the one I want, oh so badly. I can see this the first time him and Feyre go riding. )

(I'll fight to the grave. Bitch. I will. "If I give you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss too?")

(This man. Snarling at Tamlin, leaving the doors wide open for Feyre to hear "For a guy with a heart of stone-", YES.)

Okay. So, Mr Stewart is perfect yes. But this is a dream cast, no? and who did I imagine the first time I picked up the book? (disclaimer: Who's smirk was I talking about in the disclaimer? A name bitch. That name's Billy wirth.

whoopsy,

this is not billy worth! I totally didn't check the sources close enough for the photos which held misinformation, this is actually Nuno Bettencourt, who is Portuguese!

This. This was, and is, what I imagined Lucien vanserra to always, always be.

Don't tell me you disagree.

Imagine, the mask- the hair. Red and gold. The russet eye. If the Harry potter fan-casts could make Ben barnes, who's almost FIFTY into sirius black...Billy wirth Nuno Bettencourt is MY lucien.

I'll be making a second post for who's next, bitches. Part 1.

Wait till I hunt down Azriel's fancast.