#the parentage of Ajax

[possiblu]

the tragedy of achilles

Achilles is caught in a vicious trap. He is part god: his godly parentage, Thetis, his immense power and skill, his petty and grudge-holding nature, his beauty, his parentage. and yet he is also a mortal for one reason: his ability to die. Not many people would call death and ‘ability’, and yet it appears the Greeks did. The most glorious thing to a Greek was called kleos, and this meant death. Not just any death, but a fiery, sacrificial, blaze of glory in a battle sort of death. So while being a god in nearly every sense, this ability to die places Achilles firmly within the mortal realm, within you and I exist. Dionysus is a god, yet he has one godly parent (Zeus) and one mortal parent (Semele) - look for examples of gods with mortal fathers but immortal mothers, or something or other, look to Aphrodite's children and so on - in some sense, this is a gift for Achilles, since he can achieve mortal kleos far more easily. but yet.

Imagine being in a primary school class of mythology or ancient Greece. You, of course, know all of the answers to the questions, yet if you answered them with the truth, you would not be marked correctly. If a primary school student explained the story of Aphrodite's birth, this would probably lead to disciplinary action! And this is the situation in which Achilles is in. It is the fact that he exists within the mortal realm at all that kills him. Gods can prefer mortals, take Athena and Odysseus, yet they do not love them in the same way mortals can love one another. One could even argue that gods cannot love one another in the same way that mortals can. Achilles exists within this mortal realm and is driven to death by his (godly) need to avenge the death of Patroclus who, whether interpreted as a brotherly friend or lover, was certainly beloved by Achilles. It is his death that drives Achilles to kill Hector, hence ending the Trojan War, and leading to his prophesied death.

It is easy for a modern audience to say that Achilles should have simply accepted that Agamemnon as his superior at least in the traditional hierarchical sense had taken his concubine, Briseis, and that he should have returned to the battle, even if after a little while, but certainly at least after the war turns. And he does not, and we still discuss if this is an overreaction. Odysseus, Ajax, and Phoenix approach and supplication him, offering him gifts and so on and so forth, which he still refuses. Yet I would argue that for Achilles to return to the battle would have been for him to sacrifice his pride, and hence his kleos. For a mortal, pride does not equate to kleos, but the gods, μεν δε, are characterised by their pride, they live on it, literally, because if it is not sufficiently fed they do not continue. This may seem fantastical but it is also a literal interpretation, look at Helios and Selene, gods of sun and moon later blended into Apollo and Artemis. look at any older god blended into another for simplicity, to reduce the cost of sacrifice and worship and so on. Ao Achilles cannot forgive Agamemnon. It is only when Patroclus goes into battle, wearing Achilles’ clothes I might add, in an attempt to don the physical and literal armour of a god, that Achilles is roused to fight. Patroclus, up until this point, has not been characterised as a great warrior. And yet this armour, this disguise almost, imbued with the divine power of Achilles, leads him into one of, if not the most incredible aristeia in the Iliad or even the Greek canon. Slaughter was a part of Greek life in battle, and yet it was not mindless, we can see this in Homer’s biographies of each felled soldier - and then he killed so and so, wife of so and so with four children, five goats, and a very good credit score. There is a remorse in his death. Only in an aristeia does one kill as a weapon themselves, rather than wielding it. Achilles has the powers of a god which he is not allowed to truly exercise, essentially, and I will elaborate better when I am less sleepy and more sober. The weight and gravity of his tragedy or role as a tragic figure, is deeply underestimated.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

heya, i have a couple of questions about CN since i'm re-reading it for the nth time. like i kid you not, i have a week or two every month where i just gravitate towards both CN (and ITYSG too)

anyway, so question #1 is: is Ajax ever gonna meet the Tsaritsa or her equivalent in the new Teyvat since he changed history and stuff? like, would there be people whom he knew from Earth, like the other Harbingers, that he would eventually meet down the lane in the new Teyvat?

question #2: is he ever gonna meet himself since his ancestor is alive and thriving?

question #3: there was a part in the story where Aspasia and Crimson Thorn discussed the possibility of the people they lost due to the mutiny being able to reincarnate or be brought back to life since they would be retrieving Sophron from the Abyss. do you know if Basileios and the others they lost would be able to return? or if they would be lost forever?

sorry, i know this is a lot but i really just couldn't help myself whenever i re-read CN coz that fic of yours is just so awesome that re-reading it doesn't lessen its quality and it always feel like the first time, and loving them all over again

#1: no, because that would require for things to go exactly as they did in the og timeline, and not only is he trying to prevent that but he also sort of made it impossible for that to happen, what with celestia's turnover. the reason why he would be invested in bringing about the existence of other people (genshin's roster) is because at least there he has a through line to follow of possible ancestors and possible surnames. but for the people in his reality? not only does that require a catastrophe to shift who is alive where, but he also has no means of tracing back anyone's parentage beyond the tsaritsa, and even then that's not going to be easy. like- yeah the lack of archon war is going to make things complicated, but at that point in time most of everyone is staying in their own nations so it's not that hard to accomplish with enough planning. but on the other hand... #2: he's not going to meet himself for the same reasons as above. without celestia trying to thanos them, with the volchiy and zvezdochoty still alive as species and without the archon war to kill those who may have survived (nadezhda), it's more than likely that vephar's child will go on to marry and have kids with literally anyone else, now that they're not being persecuted and they have a family and someplace to stay n stuff like that. and the butterfly effect explodes after that. basically we have to assume that nobody who was in the arc beyond the second cryo archon is going to be born in this reality, and the same goes for most of everyone alive in-game atm (with the exception of the playable characters he'll manage to successfully bring about, for lack of a better expression) #3: i decided to leave that open and up for interpretation since it was no longer ajax' concern, but. i do like happy endings more than i do angst (if you'll believe that), so in my mind they were going to retrieve sophron and there would be a bit of a crisis in celestia as the energy imbalance settles (the three captains were linked to the island in a deeper level) and the next starfall (i think the reincarnation event was called that) comes around earlier than expected (like a week after sophron returns, immediately after the energy settles). so yeah, in my head, crimson thorn and aspasia would've gotten basileios back not long after returning to their teyvat, and it would've been a heartwrenching reunion.

[ilions-end]

okay i finished philoctetes <3 verrry intriguing even if it didn't hit me quite as hard as ajax -- i think partly because the deus ex machina makes the resolution kinda abrupt

two things that really stay with me:

1. neoptolemus so unproven and unsure of what is right. he's not just some kind of secret weapon essence-of-achilles to swoop in at the end of the war and kill the royal family. seems every hero in this war is haunted by the expectations that come with their parentage, but neoptolemus more than anyone. here he comes, fresh to war, and they put him in odysseus' care ("you who ruined him forever"!!). he has so much to prove, ohh that poor boy

2. the story of philoctetes in general!! the isolating effect of chronic pain/illness and how people's sympathy runs thin because it doesn't STOP being debilitating and obvious and unappealing. he tries so hard to pretend he isn't in agony to not drive neoptolemus away! he tries to be quiet and composed but in the end he can't help but scream and curse and faint and be inconvenient, because he is chronically ill!! he can't help it!

[birdie123au]

mania

mania - a spirit who personifies madness and insanity

Grief has consumed your every waking thought. You are given an opportunity from a long lost ally to lose everything so that those you love can have it all.

tw: mentions of suicide and self-sacrifice

part five of five

// prev

masterlist

“The prince battled Odysseus for the armor of Achilles,” the doctor said, “When he had lost the battle, the young prince became mad with obsession– completely insane. It wasn’t until he finally found clarity did he realize the way he had disgraced himself, you, and his family. It was said yesterday night they found the prince after he had thrown himself on his own spear; right on the beach with the blood still fresh.”

The world around you ceased to spin. You felt as though your feet were glued in place. At that moment, nothing had felt real. You had known Ajax for almost twenty years and had been his lover for over half the time. You knew him. You knew he could never do such a thing. He would never lose his mind and disgrace himself severely over some silly armor. 

“No,” you said, “I’m sorry, but this can’t be true.”

“Oh Y/n,” the queen said, eyes filled with tears as she approached you, “I’m so sorry, dearest,”

Queen Hesione then wrapped you in a hug, tears dampening your robe. You stood stiff, your expression completely blank. 

The gods had completely turned their back on you that night. After discovering the curse of your father, your true parentage, and the death of your husband you were certain the night could not get any worse. It wasn’t until a young doctor came running down the hall to the door of your chambers where most of the royal family and staff were gathered did you realize something was severely wrong.

At the bedside of King Telamon you watched in complete shock as you saw his wife, your mother in law, cradling his limp body in her arms while screaming bloody murder. Princess Tonia had passed out at this point, so the handmaidens brought her to a nearby couch and began fanning her face. 

“Don’t just stand there!” cried the doctor to his staff, “Fetch the medication, prepare to attempt revival!”

The night was chaotic. Doctors, handmaidens, and guards were sent running around the palace. This commotion had woken your children who then overhead of their fathers deaths through panicked and confused servants’ screams. Queen Hesione continued her screams even when the guards were forced to detain her off to the side of the room. Each time Tonia regained consciousness she only passed out once more. And so you stood, stiff as a board at the side of the late king’s bed, having not moved an inch. 

“Mother!” Alex cried as he ran into the room.

“Mother, what's happening?” Simon said, running alongside his brother. The two boys stopped at either one of your sides. You placed an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them in closer as you watched the frantic doctors' futile attempt to revive the dead king. 

“Is it true?” Alex asked again, crying in grief, “Are they both dead?” 

You said nothing to the boys, instead pulling them in closer to your bodies. Your boys, your poor, sweet boys, would now be forever without a father and grandfather. They would never know Ajax’s eyes, his mischievous smile, or his soft hair. 

“Take the women out of the room!” a doctor yelled, “Prepare to make the incision into the chest!”

Queen Hesione began to scream louder; “No!” she cried, “What are you doing to him! Why is he bleeding from the mouth! What have you done!” 

The guards then escorted the hysterical queen out of the room. Followed by several servants lifting the passed out Tonia after her. Followed by a guard placing his hand on your back and guiding the three of you out the door. 

They brought you all to the queen’s chambers but separated you from your sons, promising to guide them back to their bedrooms. The shock of the evening had yet to wear off, but you once more watched in surprise as the guards locked the door from the outside.

The queen pounded on the door, still in hysterics, demanding the three of you be let out. She stood there for hours banging and pleading. Only then did you come up from behind her, dragging her away slightly. You expected her to fight back, but the poor woman was overwhelmed with grief, so she instead braced your touch. You had yet to cry, scream, or yell. You felt numb– completely incapable of expressing any other emotion beside neutrality. At this point you were on your knees, cradling the queen in your arms.

You began thinking. What had once been impartial feelings of denial began to change, transform, into much uglier, nastier feelings. You became consumed with a strong sense of anger. Anger at Ajax for his reckless actions.

How could he have possibly been so careless as to fight in a battle of a dead man’s armor. He had strong, durable armor of his own. Was that not enough for him? You wondered how losing in such a battle could have made him so erratic to the point he had been driven insane. Was he that desperate for a piece or medal? Or was it something more? Perhaps it was his final straw. He had been gone for a decade, not having seen his loved ones in many years. He was desperate to meet his children. When the boys had turned five years old he told you he had almost sent a letter to his father, beginning to go home, it was only when he realized that was the way of the coward to back down. Prideful he was, dead he is. You had to wonder if this superficial quality of honor and duty was worth the mental hardship he had truly endured over the decade. 

It was only then when you imagined him, full of pain and deep sadness, wanting nothing more than to return home to your arms and back to his family, did the tears finally begin to flow. 

–––––––––

The guards had locked the three of you in the queen’s chamber for thirteen days. 

The only visitor allowed was that of your eldest son, Alexandros, the king of Salamis. You could tell he was scared, confused, and experiencing heavy grief at the loss of his father and grandfather. He remained strong and assured you that confining you to the chamber was by the order of the doctors, not him. The dowager queen yelled at him for this, calling him foolish and distrustful. The boy began to cry, assuring her that the doctor had your best interest in mind. He was only ten, you reminded the queen, ten and king of an entire kingdom– he is truly doing his best to rule during this time of great sadness, it was not his fault he had placed his trust in a man with sinister interest.

It took only a few more visits for the boy to command your release. The dowager queen was beside herself with pain, mumbling about how cruel the gods were to take not only one son but two as well as her husband all in a year. Tonia weeped constantly but, by the command of her husband, was forced to return to Sparta until the funeral would begin. Then there was you. Mother of the king, late wife of the crowned prince, and so you did the only possible thing you could imagine. You went to the temple of the gods and began to pray. You prayed to your father, the late priest, for guidance. You also prayed for your husband to have a smooth passage into the afterlife. He was a warrior, you thought, surely his great sacrifices would be honored. You developed bruises on your legs from the amount of time you sat praying. 

The rest of your spare time was spent by your sons’ side. You counseled Alex on his leadership and decision making; you read academic passages and scrolls with Simon, making sure his reading ability stayed fulfilled.

Despite your tears and deep sadness, you held yourself together to the best of your abilities. That was until the funeral. 

Something about watching Ajax’s bloody body, covered in a white sheet, being lowered into the ground caused you to snap. You began weeping, wailing even, and you needed to be held up by two members of the royal counsel to even stand up straight.

You went mad with grief. Locking yourself in your chambers, you refused visits from anyone but Dowager Queen Hesione and your two sons. Yet even when they visited with gifts and kind words to lift your spirits, all you could do was cry. Each day you would pace around your room, rereading the hundreds of letters from your late husband spanning back to your days as a teenager. This continued for weeks until one day when you had enough, tore up every single letter he wrote you during his time away at war, and threw them from your window. 

When you told Hesione what you had done she cradled you in a hug, begging you not to destroy any more of his belongings or yourself. She thought it best to get you out of your chambers, going on walks with her. But each time you would pass by a statue of Hebe or emblem of a god you would begin to weep all over again. 

During your time locked up in your quarters, you had shredded many of your royal dresses, opting to wear the same outfits as the servants, and developed a deep aversion for the ocean. Each time a person would walk in smelling of salt you would have a fit of sadness. 

The queen, Alex, and Simon continued their best to not only process their own grief, but also help you with yours. In a final attempt, Simon wrote to his aunt, Rosaria, begging for help. It was then where you found yourself in a small carriage, being ushered off to the Temple of Athena.

–––––––––

“Y/n?” Rosaria said, helping you out of the carriage, “Do you need to sit down?” 

You understood why she asked such a question despite the fact you were standing just fine. You had lost several pounds, due to the fact you hardly ever ate, and your eyes appeared sunken and dazed, because of all the tears you shed. The grief you thought you could once control had completely spiraled, driving you mad. You did not eat, sleep, or bathe. In fact, the very first thing Rosaria did upon your arrival was throw you in a cold tub of water.

She stayed by your side as you cried to her, complained, and cried some more. Rosaria spoke little to you, instead dedicating her entire presence as a sort of counselor. You appreciated her few words of wisdom, tales from the gods of tragedy and losses of love. It reminded you of your father. Oh how you wished he could be at your side. 

Each morning at the temple you would take walks with one of the priestesses. They were short, low commitment exercises that the doctor had prescribed to you to ‘better your condition.’ You had no desire to go towards the beach, so you instead walked amongst the gardens and trees. The priestesses would tell you stories about the heroes and gods who had walked this very same path to the temple while you in turn would tell tales of the kings and warriors of Salamis. 

A particular priestess who you took a great liking to, besides Rosaria, was an elderly woman by the name of Xanthia. Because her name reminded you of the headmistress who had grown up despising you or at the very least mistreated you, you did not trust Xanthia. However, these cruel assumptions were quickly shattered when you took your very first walk with her. She shared a story about her little sister, how her late husband was a great warrior built in battle, and how the girl was visited by the goddess Persephone one late night in the spring. She said this following was forever lasting, just like the memories she shared with her dead husband. 

Xanthia had a maternal quality about her, a certain warmth not many of the priestesses possessed. This intrigued you, as Xanthia had never married nor mothered any children. Walking with linked arms reminded you of the Dowager Queen Hesione, who you missed dearly. 

“Y/n?” Xanthia said with a frail voice, “Why don’t you tell me a story.”

“Oh course,” you replied, “About what?”

“I would like to hear,” she paused for a moment, “A story about your mother.”

“Ah,” you said, “I never really knew my mother… I was born a bastard and was raised entirely by my father.”

“If your mother showed up in front of you now, not at all dead” she said, “would you show her any ill will? Or would you place value on xenia and tradition over personal grievances?”

You thought for a moment.

“Well, I must confess,” you began, “If she showed up in front of me many years ago, I would have slammed the door in her face.”

Xanthia looked disappointed in your answer, but allowed you to continue with your words; “But…well, now I am a mother too. I understand there are certain sacrifices we must make. Sacrifices our children may never truly understand, but if they are to protect them, then who are we to judge and show ill will? It doesn’t excuse the way she made me feel, but it does bring me peace.”

“The gods will reward you for your graciousness,” Xanthia said, “Just you wait.”

The two of you continued on a path down to where a stream raced over a path of sharp rocks. Typically this is where the priestess would turn the two of you around, but Xanthia continued marching you forward. Her grip was strong despite her old age.

“Princess?” she asked, “Do you know how to skip rocks?”

You laughed, immediately being transported to a memory of when you and Ajax were 14. It was a bright summer day, and he had managed to sneak out of class, literally, through a window. His teacher was so exhausted he hadn’t even noticed the boy had left. It was there where he attempted to teach you how to skip rocks. You were terrible. For every distance Ajax’s rock would travel, you traveled a quarter of the way. The two of you spent hours pelting rocks into the sea, and by the end of it you were no better from where you had started.

“Oh– no,” you said, still giggling, “My husband tried to teach me once when we were very young, but I was no good.”

“You said you were a cupbearer, were you not?” Xanthia replied with another question, “I’m sure you have good hand-eye coordination. Come. Let us practice skipping rocks.”

You agreed, not wanting to turn down such an offer. It had been many years since you had last tried, maybe you would yield some better results. As you watched the elderly woman fetch you a rock, you began to ponder a peculiarity from earlier in your conversation: how was it she knew your mother was ‘dead’?

–––––––––

“I remember now!” you laughed, “He hit you right on the center of your face. There was so much blood, I thought father was going to pass out then and there!”

“It was ridiculous,” Rosaria clarified, patting Simon’s head, “He had no right to laugh at me– you don’t either, Y/n. Or should I remind you of the chum incident?”

“Oh please, that was with a prince! You got your ass kicked by a serving boy. What was his name again? Theon?”

“Theon,” she confirmed, “How could I forget.”

Today was one of the many days in which Simon was able to visit you and the fellow priestesses. Alex, your elder son, was often not able to accompany you due to his many duties as king. He was heartbroken over this, Simon assured you, and would write to you often demanding to know when your treatments were over and you could finally return home.

It had only been several weeks since you had left, but your children, mother-in-law, and handmaidens were said to have been itching for your return. You tried not to focus on such matters whenever Simon would visit. You instead tried to keep things light hearted by sharing stories, just as the priestesses had done for you. You were getting better. Some days you woke up incapable of getting off your bed, but others, most days, you found the motivation to pull yourself up and live through the day to the fullest of your abilities. 

All was going well. Yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. That someone or something was around the corner, reading again to tear down the walls you had built up for yourself. 

“Well,” Rosaria said, “It’s time for me to relight the candles and bless the halls. Simon, stay with your mother and read her some more stories. I’ll be back as soon as I can to fetch you for dinner.”

“Yes Aunt Rosaria,” Simon replied, shifting in his seat to locate his textbook.

“Have fun!” you said, exaggerating your wave as Rosaria was walking towards the exit door of your chambers.

“Y/n, before I forget,” she said, turning around to face you once more, “Sister Xanthia would like to meet with you after the sun goes down.”

“Interesting, do you know why?” you question as Simon snuggled up next to you, ready to start reading.

“No,” Rosaria said, “But she does want to meet you at the beach. I think it's part of your prescribed treatment. Let me know if you want me to be there.”

The beach? You froze. You took a deep breath, regained your composure, and nodded. You and Rosaria would meet Xanthia at the beach. 

“Try not to have too much fun while I’m gone,” Rosaria said, shutting the door.

You placed your head on your son’s shoulder, and so the two of you spent the rest of your afternoon reading tales of great heroes and their triumphs. 

–––––––––

“It’s getting late,” Rosaria said, annoyed, “I don’t understand what could possibly be taking her so long.”

“Maybe she fell?” you replied, worried, “What if she lost her balance on the walk and is stuck waiting for our help?”

The two of you remained in the same spot for several minutes before deciding it was best to head back to the trail. Afterall, if Xanthia had truly fallen or gotten lost, it was best to find her as soon as possible and bring her back to the temple.

You and Rosaria walked in silence while holding hands. You were not nearly as mad with sadness as you thought you would be, returning to the beach for the first time in many weeks, especially at night. It was calm. Oddly calm, as if the beach had been blessed by the lord of the sea himself. The two of you had only made it for several steps when you both stopped in your tracks. 

A feeling, unlike any you had before, began to consume your chest. You looked at Rosaria and realized very quickly from the way her eyes widened that she too was feeling it. It was a mixture of anxiety, the feeling of being watched by something far greater than yourself, and happiness. It was then when you noticed a faint glow from behind you. The two of you whipped your heads around in unison, breaking your hands apart in the process.

Behind you stood a sight out of an epic. Xanthia, or whoever it truly was, stood behind you. Though she was not the woman you had grown to love. She was younger, far younger, and significantly taller. She had long, brown hair that curled like a princess. Her beauty was breathtaking, but the sight of her strong arms disrupted the image. Despite this, her aura in which she stepped confidently was unbreakable. She was no mortal.

“Xanthia…?” Rosaria was first to ask after a few moments of silence.

The unknown woman’s face changed from a neutral expression to one with joy; “Yes, you could call me that.”

She began to walk towards the two of you. The closer she got, the more you and Rosaria understood that it was you who she was approaching. You who she had looked eyes with. 

“Or,” she said, grabbing both of your hands into hers; they were soft and had a welcoming warmth, “You could call me my true name: Hebe.”

“Mother?!” you blurted out, stumbling backwards in your place.

“What.” Rosaria said, exasperated.

“Hello my child,” she said, removing one of your hands to stroke your hair as mothers often did, “How you have grown since I’ve last seen you in my true form.”

“I–I,” you stumbled, “What are you doing here?”

“To wish my dear daughter a happy birthday, of course,” she said, smiling with a warmth and beauty you had never seen before, “I also wish to speak of something important.”

You held your breath; “I have learned from a recent… discovery of yours that you have finally learned the truth of your father’s conditions. Or perhaps, your family's condition. I’m sure your knowledge is not vast, but it is true that my own father is responsible for a certain… curse that haunted my late lover.”

“Yes..yes because of his,” you paused, “His hubris, yes?”

“Well, sure,” the goddess responded, “But again, that is not the truth entirely. I’m sure he had not gone into great detail, but his own father lost his wife at a young age. His father’s father did as well, and so for many generations this was true. It was a great curse from the goddess Aphrodite, who was angered by an ancient ancestry of your family for being more beautiful as she and so she cursed her. She made it so a husband who she truly loved would die young and in pain. The goddess made it so any of her descendants would suffer the same fate. It was I who tried to lift this curse from my husband, but it only ended up making it worse as he sacrifices his virtues for love.”

“Mother,” you said, tears forming in your eyes, “Why do you tell me this?”

“Because,” her face grew stern, sad almost, “I wish to offer you a proposal.”

Your eyebrows bent in suspicion and anticipation.

“I recently had one of my other, godly children, wed a child of Aphrodite’s,” she began, “And so I sat down with that insufferable woman and negotiated a deal. A deal for your children, my grandsons. An agreement that would end the curse that has loomed over your family for generations. Your children would not have to live a life of misery as their lovers, children, or themselves are stolen away too soon; they would live long, happy, fulfilling lives. But the cost…is one very grim.”

“Tell me mother,” you said, squeezing your hands around hers in desperation, “How can I protect them?”

“A soul for a soul,” she told you, sadness consuming her being, “Well, a soul for two souls is more accurate.”

“I don’t understand?” you whispered, “Are you saying I need to…”

“Yes,” she responded without needing to hear the rest of your sentence, “The greatest sacrifice. You said to me, Y/n, that you believed mothers were capable of making sacrifices beyond their child’s ability to comprehend. You have always had great respect and love for your father, you threw away everything he ever knew and loved so that he could raise you.”

You pinched your eyes shut, debating what was the best choice for you to make. But then, you imagined a moment from several months ago when the boys chased their little cousin around. The looks of pure childhood innocent and fun in their eyes made your choice as clear as day. 

“My children will not be alone,” you said, defying the very nature of grief, “They will grow stronger, and I will be united with my love once more.”

“So you will do it?” the goddess asked, “Oh Y/n, I knew it would be you. It always was going to be.”

“Um,” Rosaria said, “What on earth is happening.”

Instead of responding to her shock, you let go of your mothers hands and instead wrapped Rosaria in a hug. 

“Rosaria,” you said, tears freely streaming down your face “My first friend, my ally, my sister. Please, promise me you’ll take care of them.”

Several moments later, without saying a word, Rosaria returned your hug. A silent sign of support.

And so your mother took your hand and the two of you walked deep into the water, never to return again. As the waves reached higher on your body, you looked towards where you mother stood. But there in her place was another figure, Ajax, grasping your hand and leading you through the ocean. He smiled at you. You smiled back.

–––––––––

The king stood on the great rocks, peering over the hill of Salamis into the great big ocean. His ginger hair, which fell down to his chin, moved as freely as it could under the weight of his golden crown. Every morning after breakfast at the very same time on the very same rocks he would look out into the very great sea. Sometimes he was joined by his brother, on occasions his grandmother, on holiday’s his priestess aunt, and oftentimes his wife. 

The king was known throughout the land as being good. He was fair and ruled with jurisdiction. He was pious and had great respect for the gods. Each day he dressed in clothes of mourning, honoring his late parents who died when he was just a boy. Alexandros had been king of Salamis for eighteen years, a husband for twelve, and a father for ten.

The king loved his subjects, his family, and his role as their protectors. He had a rough childhood. No father, a tense situation at court, and growing up in the midst of one of the greatest wars Greece had ever seen. Still, he was deeply loved by those around him and was never seen as corrupt or unjust. However, one thing from his childhood that never ceased to shake him up was the death of his mother, the Princess Y/n.

The king’s brother, Prince Simonides, became the scribe of history. He too was loved by the people, but for very different reasons than the kind. He was seen as just, a historian who took into account several perspectives, and far less consumed by the grief of losing his mother. He worked alongside his aunt, Princess Tonia of Sparta, and his ward, the Princess Eudora. Despite their great distance in location, the two brothers remained extremely close and would visit often. 

The king not only honored his deceased mother in his daily actions, he also remembered the father he never knew. Ajax the Great was sure to be remembered by all as a strong warrior whose skill was only less to Achilles. Statues, caves, and even a festival was created, by command of the king, to honor his name.

The king would spend the rest of his life mourning his parents. Still, he shared great moments of joy and fulfillment. He also found comfort in the fact that his parents were reunited in the afterlife, their love now eternal. From the love of his wife, brother, Aunt Rosaria, the Dowager Queen Hesione, and his children he understood why his mother did what she did. She chose love, and so he would too.

“Father?” the voice of his oldest child, a girl, called out to him, “Won’t you come inside? Mother is requesting your presence. Uncle and your Spartan Aunt have arrived.”

“Excellent,” King Alex responded, “I’ll be there in just a minute to greet them, Y/n.”

[hannahhook7744]

My descendants oc aesthetics part 6 (for Hannah Hook's crew);

Willow Juniper Hawthorne. Age 4. Half human, half tree nymph. Junior of the Storm Bringer. She was given to Hannah by her dying mother as a baby. She is sick because of the barrier. She is 8 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air."

Beau Rodmar Nikolas Foundling. Age 6. He is 1/3 human, 1/3 Troll, and 1/3 Goblin but takes mostly after his human ancestors with some Goblin and Troll features. Junior of the Storm Bringer. He use to work at Claw Trimmers and live in the basement there until Hannah came and took him away when he was 4. He is 6 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "Goblin Oogie Boogie."

Darius Foundling. Age 4. Son of the Pirate Pharoah. Junior of the Storm Bringer. He is sick because of the barrier and his parentage and was given to Hannah as a baby when his father started to become paralyzed by the barrier. He is 8 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "The plagues."

Marcys Atticus Foundling. Age 5. Centaur and son of Nessus. Junior of the Storm Bringer. Hannah took him in as a baby after finding him and Lysander abandoned near one another. He is 7 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "Boy in the Bubble."

Lysander Ajax Foundling. Age 6. He is a satyr and the son of one of Chernabog's minions. Junior of the Storm Bringer. Hannah took him in as a baby after finding him and Marcys abandoned near one another. He is 6 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "A place in the choir."

Nadia and Noor Foundling. Age 3. They are twin genies and the the twin daughters of Dread the evil genie. Juniors of the Stormbinger. Hannah took them in after she and Dread realized he had no idea how near human children work when they were babies. They are 9 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "Two by Two."

Elara Astrid Foundling. Age 5. Daugther od an unknown elf. Junior of the Stormbinger. She was fished out of a barrage as a baby. She is 7 years younger than Hannah.

Theme song: "Fairy Tale Lullaby."

[arainaizevran]

30, 15 and 16? :)

thank you for sending <3

30. How does their love change as they get older?

Answered here! <3

15. Does their view of themselves differ from their partner’s view?

Yes :) Both of them don’t think themselves worthy of the other’s love sometimes 😭 Wyll thinks of Ajax as the great legendary hero that he wants to be, and Ajax loves to tell him otherwise, that it’s both their triumph; sometimes Ajax goes out of his way to introduce Wyll first and let him bask in the glory he deserves. Ajax thinks Wyll is too good for him, that Wyll deserves better than a Bhaalspawn, even after he’s “cured”. Wyll insists otherwise, that his parentage doesn’t define him, just as Gorion’s Ward before.

16. Jealous at all?

That word is not in both of their vocabularies, lol. Weeell, maybe Ajax gets a little bit overprotective of anyone trying to flirt with Wyll. For instance, Wyll may be talking to a too zealous fan of the Blade and Ajax is just behind him staring daggers at them, using his Intimidation Proficiency to make sure they don’t do anything stupid. (He gets a stern talking-to when Wyll finds out about it.) Aside from that, it’s not really a problem. Later on, Ajax learns to gush with Wyll’s fans about the Blade of Frontiers and how cool he is.

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

Storyline Study: Bangar and Almorra

This is a rewritten form of the juicy parts of this post that I foolishly left under a readmore. (This isn't all of it; there are some buried insights that didn't fit so well into the structure of this version.)

Inspired by @allergy-sufferer-emo-wandererr's Bangar-centric PMV of the song Rains of Castamere.

"And who are you," the proud lord said, "that I must bow so low?"

"Only a cat of a different coat. That's all the truth I know. In a coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours."

And so he spoke... and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o'er his halls, with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls. And not a soul to hear.

This song is about a lord and an underling; it draws lines between ranks and classes. A very Bangar song, but there's a hint of Almorra in it, too - the gladium-turned-hero, estranged from her people first by custom, then by choice.

One of my favorite aspects of this story is how strikingly little we, the Commander, have to do with it. This story started before many of our Commanders were even born, such as how Almorra and Bangar met, what their relationship was like, whether Almorra's unnamed daughter is also Bangar's, and when they broke up; several parts of it occurred right in front of us without our realizing - your first Vigil mission addresses Ajax, and even a few key parts of it during Bound by Blood were only accidentally overheard by the Commander. And, of course, there is the fact that we would never even know anything if it weren't for our eavesdropping through Ryland's memories. We are simply not relevant. It's not our story.

I think this is appropriate. There are stories in Tyria we will never know in their entirety; this makes the world feel more real, that we have these untold stories reaching into the murky past, connecting us with history.

Back to the song; a lot of my insights are drawn from wondering if the song would fit them, and a few stumbles I made along the way. It drew out the similarities and differences in a very striking way.

First, I wondered if the song could be mostly about Almorra and less about Bangar, since the pmv felt... not exactly connected right. (No offense.)

In this incarnation, it would be about Almorra, a new gladium, being rejected by her culture (presumably, specifically Bangar) and going off to found the Vigil. Except that the song ends in loneliness; and despite Almorra's death and even Jhavi's line that no warrior should have to die alone, it just didn't feel like it fit properly.

Contrasted to the song, this made me realize that the stories of Almorra and Bangar are similar, but in a way that they contrasted each other as a sort of emphasis.

Almorra's story began with loneliness when she lost her warband, but then she grew - she founded the Vigil, she was an open-minded leader who was, ultimately, willing to join the Pact, and later be part of the extended Pact that killed Kralkatorrik. That's where her story was supposed to end; at the pinnacle of her victory - not just that she'd defeated Kralkatorrik, but also that she'd found new allies after the loss of her warband. And she proved that she wasn't just in it for revenge, she wasn't just a bitter fighter who was simply desperate to avenge her companions - she was a true warrior. She kept fighting. She was praised as a hero upon her return to Ascalon, but she brushed off the fakes who dumped her when she was alone (a brilliant lesson in itself about true friendship), and went to continue her life's work - and at the time? At that specific moment, she was going to bring life and hope to her soldiers - her people - telling them of Kralkatorrik's defeat. Almorra Soulkeeper is an awe-inspiring influence and role model, and it's a disgusting shame that Bangar did what he did. But that, I think, was a masterfully contrived symbol that Anet used to contrast their stories.

Bangar was an Imperator. He was a powerful fighter, a masterful influencer (first time I laid eyes on him I pegged him as a politician, and he did not disappoint), and the mentor of the best rising star of the Blood Legion. But his story is one of losing - he lost Rytlock who knows when, he lost Almorra at some point, he lost Ajax in the PS, and then we have the start of IBS when he took all who would, and went into the Shiverpeaks to hunt a dragon. There, he murdered Almorra, supposedly his fire and blood, which may have been what started Ryland's fall. And then, despite his claims of doing everything for the charr, he started a civil war that nearly wiped out the charr, turned a good chunk of them into Icebrood, and all for nothing - Jormag passed over him. To add insult to injury, he lost his last ally - Ryland. Bangar's story ends in a cage, locked in silence, with half of his interactions with other people being solely so that Aurene or the Commander (and even Crecia) could request an audience with Jormag, who has even taken his voice from him.

These stories are polar opposites. To illustrate Bangar's fall, he murders Almorra, the opposing story of success. Almorra achieved what she wanted with Kralkatorrik; Bangar failed utterly with Jormag. Almorra and Bangar's stories spiral together (I'm kind of picturing the spiral helix at the end of HoT), but they are separate and vastly different and both go in different directions. Despite their endings being similar - ending in loneliness - Bangar's story derives in part from his inability to keep Almorra with him after she becomes independent of him. IBS is the climax, the disaster, the desperation and failed hope, the resounding end to Bangar's story. But for Almorra, it was just an annoying epilogue. She'd already lived her story - without him - and emerged victorious.

These two stories are startling in the way they contrast and orbit each other. The Icebrood Saga starts when both are at the height of their power - Almorra has the Vigil and even all of the Pact behind her, she has the Commander, she even has the support of the charr for having killed Kralkatorrik. Bangar, a highly-respected Imperator, is a great uniter - he has brought the four Legions together and managed to have them cooperate peacefully in a celebration. Their positions are nearly equal. The tension arises when Almorra and Bangar still don't see eye-to-eye. There is a disconnect between their core values.

The song is about a lord and a subordinate (I imagine a lowly peasant). This is Bangar, highly respected and powerful, and Almorra, the exiled gladium. The song illustrates the lord's pride versus the peasant's declaration that "my claws are as long and sharp as yours" - or Bangar's pride versus Almorra's individuality, Bangar's army versus Almorra's influence. The song is remarkably simple and short; but the two actors in this story have weaved a dance of opposition and contrast - yin-yang, and light-and-dark.

It is a masterfully plotted echo, a pre-type, a sort of thematic foreshadowing of the opposing but twinned forces of Jormag and Primordus.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JULIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of AJAX. Admin Minnie: Armand came to me out of nowhere, born out of a few concepts I thought could be interesting. But Julie, you brought him to life. I didn't think I could love him more but you added dimension and depth; you brought all his darkness to the table and paired it with all of the light he still carries. I genuinely think you may understand him better than I do, and I trust you with him completely. I can't wait for you to bless us and ruin us in the same breath. I can't wait to fall in love with him just a little bit more, with every word you write. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Alias | Julie

Age | 20 (!!!)

Preferred Pronouns | She/her/hers

Activity Level | Like a 5/10? Things have genuinely settled in life and I have a sort-of routine, since I’m working regularly, so while I’m not always here, the chances of me being active on a daily-ish basis are much higher. I’m also always lurking on Discord.

Timezone | MST

How did you find the RP? | I made a blood sacrifice asking for a good group and lo and behold, there you were. Thanks, roleplay deities!

Current/Past RP Accounts | Santino, Loretta

IN CHARACTER

Character | Ajax / Armand Giordano

What drew you to this character? | “He rises from his own ashes and abandons his humanity — as Ajax, and Ajax alone.” This line right here is really what did it for me. The concept of Armand shedding an old identity, a personal one, and taking on a new one is fascinating to me. I think a lot of characters within the mob don’t necessarily identify themselves by their nicknames, personally. Santino doesn’t think of himself as Sebastian, he thinks of himself as Santino, is what I mean. Armand, on the other hand, identifies closely with the name the Montagues have given him, because in his head that’s all that he has. The lines are very much blurred between Armand and Ajax. Armand is a direct result of catastrophe, pain, betrayal on two sides of a war he hadn’t even known existed up until it was forced upon him. Ajax, on the other hand, is the outline of his own actions, even if those actions were taken out of a need for survival. I don’t think it was intentional on his part, exactly, that cleaving of the past and the present in two, but I think he relies on it now heavily enough that he might feel lost without it.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I WILL BEAT THEE INTO HANDSOMENESS. I’d like to explore just how Armand got the reputation of being the person not to fuck with in the Montagues. When you have a slate of powerhouses like Marcelo, Matthias, Grace, or even Valentina, when she’s not traipsing around on the other side, garnering that sort of reputation has to be difficult. He focuses intensely on physical prowess and I’m sure that it shows. How he uses it and the way he occupies a room is equally as important. I’m not saying it was achieved through blatant bloodshed, but delving into how it is that he’s established that sort of fear in saying the name Ajax sounds like a lot of fun. This also sort of opens the door to relationships with the Capulets. I’m sure he’s beaten the fuck out of a Capulet at some point, right? Who would that be? Was it because they were threatening Roman, or was it a hairstring reaction?

BUT BE AS AJAX. Armand takes his role of protector to Roman very seriously, as he should. I don’t think Armand’s necessarily the most book-smart but he can see the paths laid out for Roman in front of him, and Armand’s ready to clear the way if necessary. His silence around Damiano doesn’t indicate a fear of the man, only distrust, which I feel like is only growing after Damiano endangers not only himself but his own son after the death of the Witches. He’s focused so incredibly intently on Roman that most other priorities just fall away, because Armand believes Roman is the key to peace in the city. I don’t think he sees it as key to a mutual relationship between Capulets and Montagues in some sort of new age, because look at what that made out of a boy as young as sixteen. But he wants to lift Roman as high as possible to ascend upwards within the Montagues and claim his rightful seat on the throne. Armand discovering that Roman and Juliana are corresponding could either make or break that belief. I don’t think he’s emotionally capable enough to handle that sort of betrayal, because in that, he would only see his parents. I’d love to see how that route plays out in whatever direction it goes, whether he feels betrayed by Roman’s correspondence (whenever it comes to light) or more at peace with himself knowing that his parents weren’t the only ones in the city doing what they had done.

SHALL PRIDE CARRY IT? Armand protects others; it’s the key element of his personhood. That’s just what he does. It’s a natural role that comes to him with equal pride and ease, and how he feels about himself is largely reliant on how well he can keep those he cares about safe. But I’d love to see a situation where it’s less about the wellbeing of others, and more of his own, especially in the capacity of his parentage and emotions regarding that matter. Sure, Armand can hold his ground in a fight, but the use of his own parentage against him more or less broke him. And sure, he was young, but that sort of trauma changes a person vastly. He’s never looked love in the eye again, only violence and destruction of those who threaten what he cannot directly comprehend (read: love). I don’t know that it’s necessarily a secret, his birth, but I’m sure someone knows, and I feel like that could be used against him. How he reacts to that being used would be interesting to explore, and could be a potentially catalyst for greater overarching plots as well as his pride in his job and his role within the Montagues.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Sure!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

The ride back from the whole fucking affair is silent. The little prince is practically fuming in his seat across from Armand, and Armand is touching gingerly at the tenderness at his brow. He’s shocked that the drunkard got in any sort of a hit at all, but he had to respect the force of the swing. There’d been a blistering moment of pain-pleasure-pain before he’d swung the whole weight of his body forward to crack his skull against that of his opponent. The Capulet had crumpled to the ground with a groan, and his friends were quick to collect him and go running. Armand had laughed as they’d been dragged away, crowed in victory, called out after them: it won’t happen like that next time!

And then he’d turned, eyes searching for Roman in the gathering crowd, and Roman had looked at him so strangely, like he’d done something wrong, when this was all Armand knew how to do right—

Roman alternates between looking at Armand, huffing, and looking out the window, huffing still. The fight with Damiano earlier had been bad enough. A brawl in the streets between Capulets and Montagues sat as the cherry on top of the cake. He wants to say it was you who wanted to go so badly. Even so, Armand’s not a complete idiot. He knows how that would go. Rebellious or not, he’s not sure that this is how the heir saw their evening going. He’s sure the lashing words from Damiano tomorrow will be harsh, if not outright cruel. He’s only seen the man lecture his son once or twice, but it more or less follows the same pattern: you have a legacy, you’re important to Verona, and to me, blah, blah, blah. Armand usually just tunes him out.

The divider between the passengers and the driver is up. They could get it all out now, if they wanted to. Armand’s not sure he knows where to begin. They’re both new to this whole thing, though, that’s clear enough. If he looks out the window, he can see the Castelvecchio glittering in the distance, a jewel of architecture and stone. That’s what his fathers had called it, at least. He clears his throat. “Roman, it’s-”

“Don’t.”

Armand’s mouth snaps shut. Fine, then. If Roman doesn’t want to talk, then they won’t. He’s not sure how long he can endure this bubbling of emotions in such a small space. He knows Roman is passionate — almost passionate to a fault. But that could very well kill him, if he’s not careful. He could say I worry for you, it’s my job to keep you safe. He could say a thousand things. He’s just not sure it matters. He’s never been any good at this sort of thing, doesn’t think he ever will be. He opens and closes his hands, clenches and unclenches them into fists. Anything to be anywhere else but here.

Roman won’t look at him for the rest of the drive, and Armand’s almost grateful for it. He says nothing to him once they reach the grounds of the Montague family home. It’s late in the night. Damiano is surely asleep. No one greets them at the doors, and Armand makes sure that Roman makes it into his bedroom before moving into his own small space at the end of the hall. He has his own place, although less time is spent there, and more here. His days revolve around Roman, now, and he’s almost thankful for the distraction from everything else. The world gets a little too loud, sometimes, and it only ever quiets when he’s slamming his fists against the weight of a bag, or something hurts, or running hard enough that all the thoughts drain out of his head. Or, as he’s now found, when he’s with Roman. He knows it isn’t the same for the little prince, but Armand worries that if he gets caught up in his own thoughts, he’ll lose it. Do something stupid. Go mad, maybe. Wouldn’t that be a laugh: Ajax didn’t die doing his job. He died from insanity.

He slips his running shoes on and steps into the cold night air, stares up at the window of Roman’s room. The lamp-light is on, and besides, he won’t be gone long. One foot after the other, then the next, until all he can think about is the weight of his steps against the ground, until it starts to ache. When he can’t go any longer he forces his body to pick itself up and keep moving, until he collapses on the ground, gasping for breath. (It’s been a while since he’s done that, he realizes).

The sky is full of stars. He pants, tries to connect the lines between every one, synchronize his breath with the dull thrumming coming from the side of his head. There might be a cut there. He’s not sure. He hadn’t felt any blood.

The drumming of his own blood soon calms. When he stops gasping, Armand pulls himself up and stretches. Focuses on the lamplight in the distance. Starts running again. All his thoughts empty out of his head, and for once, the world is blissfully quiet.

Extras: N/A

[marymosley]

UCLA Professor Suspended and Under Police Protection After Refusing To Exempt Black Students From Final Exam

Gordon Klein, an accounting professor in the Anderson School of Business has taught at University of California Los Angeles (UCLA) for almost 40 years.  He is now suspended and under police protection in his home.  The reason? Klein refused to exempt black students from his final exam and sent a pointed rebuttal to students asking for the “no harm” exam. Parts of the response was certainly mocking in tone, more so than I would have considered appropriate.  The school has launched a formal discrimination investigation. However, the suspension, investigation, and death threats against Klein reinforce the fear of many in the academy of a raising orthodoxy on campus and a lack of support for faculty involved in controversies.

According to Inside Higher Ed, a group of students asked Klein for a “no-harm” final exam that could only benefit students’ grades as well as shortened exams and extended deadlines.  They cited recent “traumas, we have been placed in a position where we much choose between actively supporting our black classmates or focusing on finishing up our spring quarter . . . We believe that remaining neutral in times of injustice brings power to the oppressor and therefore staying silent is not an option.”  They specifically noted that this was not “a joint effort to get finals canceled for non-black students”  “but rather an ask that you exercise compassion and leniency with black students in our major.”

Klein wrote back to one student that he was being asked to make a distinction that he could not possibly make. This is the entirety of the message:

Thanks for your suggestion in your email below that I give black students special treatment, given the tragedy in Minnesota. Do you know the names of the classmates that are black? How can I identify them since we’ve been having online classes only? Are there any students that may be of mixed parentage, such as half black-half Asian? What do you suggest I do with respect to them? A full concession or just half? Also, do you have any idea if any students are from Minneapolis? I assume that they probably are especially devastated as well. I am thinking that a white student from there might be possibly even more devastated by this, especially because some might think that they’re racist even if they are not. My TA is from Minneapolis, so if you don’t know, I can probably ask her. Can you guide me on how you think I should achieve a “no-harm” outcome since our sole course grade is from a final exam only? One last thing strikes me: Remember that MLK famously said that people should not be evaluated based on the “color of their skin.” Do you think that your request would run afoul of MLK’s admonition? Thanks, G. Klein

The controversy led to immediate demands for the professor to be fired.  Thousands have signed a petition that declares Klein must be fired for his “extremely insensitive, dismissive, and woefully racist response” and “blatant lack of empathy and unwillingness to accommodate his students.”

UCLA has launched an investigation that could lead to such termination and issued a statement that “We apologize to the student who received it and to all those who have been as upset and offended by it as we are ourselves.”  It has also agreed to extend all exams, presumably for all students.  I think that the extension of the time was a good idea for the school as a whole and I can certainly understand the school objecting to the tone of the response at a time of great unrest and trauma in our society.  However, the email was a poorly crafted effort by Klein to object to what he viewed as an unworkable, race-based system of accommodation.  One can certainly disagree with those objections, but the principle of academic freedom is to allow such views to be stated without fear of termination.

UCLA is also dealing with another demand for termination after Political science lecturer W. Ajax Peris, read aloud MLK’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” which includes the n-word. He also showed a documentary to the class in which lynching was discussed.  This might have been inappropriate in Klein’s accounting case but Peris was teaching the history of racism.  Students demanded that he stop the discussion but he apologized for any discomfort and continued his lecture.

The Political Science Department condemned Peris and  referred Peris to UCLA’s Discrimination Prevention Office for an investigation. UCLA will host a town hall for students in Peris’ classes to discuss the “controversy.” While Peris has apologized in a writing and video, students are demanding his firing.

  Such actions are applauded by many faculty who have supported the increasing limits on free speech and academic freedom on campus. There has been a startling erosion of such protections for those with opposing views at universities and colleges.  Many faculty are intimidated by the response in these controversies and fear that supporting academic freedom or free speech will result in their being labeled racist or lacking of empathy. In three decades of teaching, I have never seen the level of intolerance for free speech that we are seeing across the country.  As I noted, there are valid objections to raise in these incidents, but the response of universities is clearly designed to send a message to other academics that they cannot expect the protections of the universities in such controversies.

UCLA Professor Suspended and Under Police Protection After Refusing To Exempt Black Students From Final Exam published first on https://immigrationlawyerto.tumblr.com/

[footballghana]

Real Madrid in talks with Ajax for Dutch-born Ghanaian striker Brian Brobbey

Real Madrid are interested in boosting their B-team with the presence of Dutch-born Ghanaian international Brian Brobbey who is currently contracted to Dutch side Ajax Amsterdam according to Sportsworldghana.com. The Spanish giants have opened negotiations with Ajax to take Brobbey on a season-long loan with the option to buy at the end of the season. Born in Amsterdam to Ghanaian parentage, the 18-year old striker has been tipped to become one of the top strikers in the Dutch Eredivise in future following his explosive display with Ajax’s U21 side. The record-winning Uefa Champions League club are desperately in need of a youth striker to lead their team B attack and manager Raúl together with Real Madrid President Florentino Pérez, our outfit understands have commenced negotiations with Ajax to sanction Brian Brobbey’s move to Madrid having identified him as the right man to spearhead their attack. The highly-talented forward who according to Transfer Market, is valued at €1.00m and has represented the Netherlands from the U15 to U19 levels could be on his way to the famous Santiago Bernabéu Stadium in the winter transfer window. Brobbey, who is the youngsters among his four siblings Kevin Luckassen, Derrick Lauckassen and Samuel Brobbey who are all professional footballers, won the 2018 UEFA European Under-17 Championship and 2019 UEFA European Under-17 Championship consecutively with the Netherlands. The youngster who is contracted to Ajax until 30th June, 2021, also won the 2018/2019 Eredivisie U19 League and Youth Cup with Ajax. The centre-forward however, eligible to feature for the Black Stars if invited by head coach CK Akonnor. source: https://footballghana.com/

[calzonekestis]

Do you think there’s a greater chance of Pietro coming back if the Marve/Fox deal goes through?

Under a cut bc this got longer than I expected.

That’d be keen, but I don’t want to get my hopes up. Honestly, X-Men: Dark Phoenix is in post production. They could very well do reshoots to make it sort of the last hoorah for the Fox X-Men universe if need be.

Technically, there’s nothing save Ryan Reynolds to Deadpool back to the old films. The actor who played Colossus is different. The X-Mansion looks the same, but I mean, you can retcon it into being in the MCU all along. He’s meta enough, they can keep Reynolds and acknowledge the shift in continuity. He can say something about Cable looking like Thanos.

As for mutants, and Pietro potentially coming back? Mainly to interact with Magneto or whatever? IDK. Who knows. One can hope, but your guess is as good as mine. Back when Inhumans was going to be a movie, I thought there was a chance we may see him there. That was a popular fan theory/desire. 

Just because they’d be able to acknowledge his and Wanda’s family doesn’t mean they would. I mean… they already went with the retconned white versions, which upset a lot of people. To acknowledge their Jewish heritage? That’d be awesome. To address their Roma heritage while they’re being played by white actors? That’d be just as offensive, as ignoring it.

The Kevin Feige explanation is ‘this version of the twins, they aren’t Jewish-Roma.’

Which is hella problematic in and of itself. I mean ATJ has Jewish heritage, unlike Elizabeth Olsen, but both of them are still white.

If they decided to reveal that they are Jewish-Roma, despite being played by actors of the wrong ethnicity?

That’s when you go from whitewashing to brownface and it’s just very gross and I can see them not wanting to touch it at all.

So for the time being? I can see them keeping him dead, sadly. I see them not acknowledging Wanda’s parentage. It all depends on if Olsen is still a factor in the MCU by the time they’d introduce the X-Men, I suppose.

It is possible to just have mutants, have Magneto, and have the twins have zero connection to either. Which is honestly what I think the most likely outcome would be.

There’s an easy way to retcon the idea of Wanda and Pietro being mutants into the MCU. A sort of blend of what Agents of SHIELD did with Inhumans, and Deadpool did with Wade/Ajax being mutates. Say Strucker’s experiments activated dormant X-Genes or whatever.

As for retconning the existence of mutants into the MCU? It’d be tricky, but you could do it. Somehow. You could go the easy route, add reshoots to Avengers 4 that rewrite reality.

They can use Namor, according to Feige. Why not use him, Marvel’s first mutant, to introduce the concept? It’s too late to incorporate his history with Steve and Bucky, but they can hit up all the FF stuff.

If they introduce the Fantastic Four? Make him the villain of the first film, rather than Doom. Maybe Reed finds something in his genetics, and the only other person like that on record is Wanda? IDK.

Tho speaking of Doom, I also imagine you’d be able to count on Kang being the next non-Thanos baddie for an Avengers movie.

All that’s just a lot of armchair writing, though. We don’t know what they may do, and there’s still some time for the deal to fall through.

All that to say, do I think there’s a greater chance? Not… really? Sadly.

[beyondthedreamline]

Ladies of Legend: Helen and Cassandra

References: The Greek Myths Volumes I and II (The Folio Society, 2003) by Robert Graves, Mythology: Myths, Legends, & Fantasies (Hodder, 2013) by Dr. Alice Mills, The Greek Myths Volumes I and II (The Folio Society, 2003) by Robert Graves, Mythology: Myths, Legends, & Fantasies (Hodder, 2013) by Dr. Alice Mills, Eyewitness Companions: Mythology (Dorling Kindersley Ltd.) by Philip Wilkinson and Neil Philip, A-Z of Mythology (Bison Books Ltd, 1990) by Peter Clayton, Greek Mythology (Michaelis Toubis S.A., 1995) by Sofia Souli, translated by Philip Ramp, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassandra, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_of_Troy

Trigger warning: references to rape and incest

It all began with Eris, the Greek goddess of discord and the original bad fairy at the christening – or in this case, at the wedding, showing up at the nuptials of Thetis and Peleus to make everyone simultaneously regret not inviting her and remember exactly why they didn’t by riling up the three most powerful goddesses in the Pantheon and starting one of the most famous wars in myth and legend. She brought with her a golden apple (never ever trust a golden apple) with an inscription on it reading ‘for the fairest’. Zeus, who might be all kinds of terrible but was smart enough to realise that was a mess he wanted no part of, hastily foisted the role of judge onto Prince Paris of Troy. Thanks to an ominous prophecy made at his birth, Paris was living as an anonymous shepherd at the time, in ignorance of his birthright. All that was about to change.

The three goddesses who felt the strongest right to the apple were Hera, Zeus’s wife and sister and queen of the gods; Athena, goddess of wisdom and war; and Aphrodite, the goddess of love. Each offered Paris an appropriately extravagant bribe depending on her governance. Hera promised power and riches, Athena assured him of good fortune in battle, but Aphrodite swore that he would have the most beautiful woman in the world as his own and Paris awarded her the apple – thereby making himself two implacable enemies, and an ally as fickle as she was powerful.

And who, might you ask, was the most beautiful woman in the world? According to Aphrodite, at least, it was the princess Helen, whose parentage was as mysterious as it was regal. In one version, Zeus took the form of a swan and came to Leda, daughter of the king of Aetolia and wife of King Tyndareus of Sparta, who fell pregnant from the union and bore an egg with three children within: Helen and her twin brothers, Castor and Pollux. Helen also had a mortal half-sister, Clytaemnestra, the child of Leda and Tyndaerus. Another version has Clytaemnestra (also spelled Clytemnestra) as Helen’s twin, originally married to Tantalus and later claimed as a spoil of war by Agamemnon of Mycenae, the man who widowed her. In yet another version, Zeus pursued the goddess Nemesis, who changed herself into a goose to escape – not that it stopped him. In this story, she gave her egg to Leda, who raised the children as her own.

Whatever her true origins, Helen had the blood divine and it showed. Her beauty rapidly became her curse. Before she was ten years old, Theseus (he of the Minotaur incident) had abducted her for a mockery of ‘marriage’ and her brothers had to come to her rescue. As she grew older, the number of her suitors grew to a number between 29 andd 99, which meant – in a neat mirror of Paris’s conundrum – that whoever eventually married Helen would have a great many resentful rivals to contend with afterwards. A solution was proffered by Odysseus of Ithaca: all the suitors would be sworn to accept Helen’s choice and support that man should the need ever arise.

It’s a serious oath. It is also an interesting indicator of Helen’s paradox. She had just enough choices to drown in, and none of them were offered for her benefit. Various versions of the legend give her up to five husbands over the course of her life: Theseus (ugh), Menelaus, Paris, Achilles and Deiphobus.

In the best known version, Helen married Menelaus, Agamemnon’s brother. How much of that was her choice and how much was Tyndaerus’s influence is dodgy at best; Tyndaerus once gave the brothers his support in overthrowing their usurping uncle and after the marriage, gave Menelaus his throne. In reward for his good advice, Odysseus was given the hand of Penelope, Tyndareus’s niece. All very neatly settled for the king, except for a tricksy detail: Tyndaerus was not offering Aphrodite her due worship (or what she considered her due, anyway). That’s a lot of marriages to arrange when you’re on the outs with the goddess of love.

Helen gave birth to a daughter, Hermione, and three sons, Aethiolas, Maraphius, and Pleisthenes. Clytaemnestra also had four children: three girls, Electra, Chrystoethmis and Iphigeneia, and a son called Orestes. Both women lived as wives, mothers, queens – perhaps happy with their husbands, perhaps not, but untroubled by great events. And then, of course, Aphrodite happened.

She kept her promise to Paris. When he came to the Spartan court and met Helen there, the goddess of love smoothed the way for a wildly inadvisable love affair. Menelaus sailed to Crete during the (by now discovered and royally acknowledged) Trojan prince’s visit, and while he was gone Paris seduced Helen into returning with him to Troy. She took her treasures and her slaves – but not her children. Possibly it was Aphrodite’s influence again that caused the Trojans to consider Helen as Paris’s wife, though her husband ensured his existence could not be swept aside and before long Helen wasn’t popular at all. Only Paris’s brother Hector and his father Priam saw that she was not to blame for the devastation that followed in her wake. The gods were bad enough at their own relationships. When they got involved with mortals, it could get astonishingly ugly.

But Aphrodite was not the only one with a promise to keep, and Menelaus was quick to call upon the former suitors to fulfill their oath, with his brother taking charge of proceedings. A seer told Agamemnon that he could win over the will of the gods…by sacrificing Iphigeneia. Agamemnon sent for his wife and daughter, telling them that Iphigeneia was to marry the beautiful young Greek warrior Achilles. Then he slit her throat.

It took ten whole years to assemble the Greek army, since most of them either didn’t want to fight over a woman they weren’t actually married to or (very understandably) didn’t like Agamemnon. But assemble the army he did. It would be another ten years before the war reached its bloody end.

Meanwhile, in Troy, let’s meet a woman with spectacular relationship problems of her own: Cassandra, daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba and sister of Paris. She was the one to recognise him as a prince of Troy, after he won all the events at a funeral games and Cassandra’s other brothers were humiliated enough to murderously bad sports. Paris took refuge in the temple of Zeus, where Cassandra found him and brought him home.

She had a veritable horde of siblings, actually, well over fifty. Her sisters included Creousa, Laodice and Polyxene; her eldest brother was Hector, followed by Paris, Deiphobus, Hellen (Cassandra’s twin), Polydorus and Troilus. Cassandra was beloved of the sun god Apollo. He tried to buy his way into her bed with the gift of prophecy – which she accepted, but she changed her mind on accepting him. Apollo, it should be pointed out, was exactly the type of male deity to use the term ‘friend-zoned’. Unable to withdraw his gift, he went with the path of maximum spite and swore that whatever prophecy she made, no one would ever believe her.

Cassandra foresaw that Paris and his love for Helen would bring about the destruction of Troy. When the Greeks, worn down by long years of fighting and relying once again on the trickery of Odysseus, placed their notorious wooden horse outside the gates of the city, Cassandra told everyone exactly what would happen. When the warriors concealed in the body of the horse sacked her home, Cassandra took refuge at the statue of Athena. She should have been safe there. She was not. The prince of Locris, known as the Lesser Ajax, dragged her from the temple and raped her. Athena destroyed his ship on his way home from the war and Poseidon personally drowned him – but while it’s nice to know justice was done, none of that protected Cassandra.

As a spoil of war, she was claimed by Agamemnon, who took her with him on his return to Mycenae. Cassandra told Agamemnon they would both die there, only to have her desperation dismissed as ravings. Clytaemnestra had to wait a long time for her vengeance, but once the murderer of her little girl was within her reach, she wasted no time. Having once been taken as a spoil of war, you might think she would have fellow feeling for Cassandra. Instead, she murdered her.

Agamemnon had fathered two sons with Cassandra, twin boys called Teledamus and Pelops; neither survived the savagery of Mycenae, dying at the hand of Clytaemnestra’s lover and accomplice Aegisthus.

So, what about Helen? A Greek queen all in the arms of a Trojan prince, her heart would be broken no matter which way the dice fell. During battle, Helen would stand on the city walls and point out the Greek leaders on the field; but Odysseus entered Troy twice, disguised, and she let him pass by. Though Paris was still a favourite of Aphrodite and subject to her formidable protection, all the gods had a stake in the outcome of this war. He shot down Achilles in vengeance for the brutal killing of Hector, only to be slain by an arrow himself.

After his death, Helen took up with his brother Deiphobus, but he was no incentive for her to stay loyal to Troy. Odysseus slipped into the city to steal away the Palladium – a holy statue of Athene held in Troy, weakening the goddess’s partiality to the Greeks – and Helen told him exactly how to find it. Yet even after that, she was not Odysseus’s ally. When his wooden horse was brought into the city and the Trojans were celebrating what they believed was victory, Helen approached the horse and called out to the warriors within with stunningly accurate mimicry of each of their wives’ voices in turn. Odysseus, master of the underhanded trick, kept his wits about him enough to prevent his companions succumbing to Helen’s voice and emerging from the horse.

After the fall of Troy, when Paris’s family had been slaughtered or enslaved – Deiphobus among the dead – Helen retreated to the temple of Apollo. Menelaus found her there. The story goes that Helen did not speak a word in her defence, simply bared herself for him to run her through, but as soon as Menelaus saw her breasts he was helplessly hers again. Which strongly smacks of Aphrodite’s influence, bawdy and unpredictable and cunning as she was.

So Helen went home to Sparta. The versions of her later life vary wildly. Homer’s Helen became a model wife, insisting that Menelaus come with her when she was deified. In another Zeus rescued her from the vengeful attack of Pylades, lover of Clytaemnestra’s daughter Electra, who blamed Helen for all the disaster that came from the war. A much more fun alternative has Helen hooking up with an Achilles who did not die, the two of them enjoying immortality on an island getaway in the Euxine Sea.

Other stories take a harsher view. Helen became a sacrifice, or was murdered by Achilles’ despairing mother, or even committed suicide to escape the guilt of the war. Because beautiful women are always responsible for the pointless cruelties of grown men, you know, and ten years is not a long enough time for said grown men to recognise that no cause in the world could be worth so much bloodshed, least of all a spurned husband’s pride.

Helen and Cassandra are opposite sides of the same impossible dilemma. The capricious love of the gods gave both women extraordinary powers and extraordinary grief – but they have always been more than the beautiful tragedies of Troy.

These stories vary wildly depending on time and teller – I work with the sources I have to hand but if you know an alternative version I would love to hear it!

Originally posted on Wordpress

[hannahhook7744]

'The Marvelous Misadventures of Hannah Hook' Moodboards (Revamped)(Part 5);

Darius Foundling.

Age 4 years old.

Son of the Pirate Pharaoh.

Junior of the Storm Bringer.

He is sick because of the barrier and his parentage and was given to Hannah as a baby when his father started to become paralyzed by the barrier. He is 8 years younger than Hannah.

Family: The Pirate Pharaoh (Father).

Pet(s): Locust Swarm (he's named esch and every one of them).

Hobbies: Building sand castles/sculptures, playing in the sand, sailing, playing with his toys, listening to music, spying on people, playing with his locusts, pranking people, playing dnd, watching tv, reading, etc.

Weapon of Choice: Twin Sickles (eventually).

He has magic.

Theme Song: "The plagues."

Nadia and Noor Foundling.

Age 3 years old.

They are twin genies and the twin daughters of Dread the Evil Genie.

Juniors of the Stormbinger.

Hannah took them in after she and Dread realized he had no idea how near human children work when they were babies. They are 9 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Dread the Evil Genie (Father).

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: Listening to music, dancing, playing games, sailing, swimming, taking care of animals, coloring, drawing, watching tv, reading, playing dnd, etc.

Weapon of Choice: Scimitars (eventually).

They have magic.

Theme Song: "Two by Two."

Levine "Levi" William Giant.

Age 2 years old.

Son of Willie the Giant.

Junior of the Storm Bringer. He's 10 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Willie the Giant (Father).

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: Drawing, coloring, watching tv, being read to, singing, dancing, listening to music, helping people get things down from places he can reach, sailing, playing with sand/mud, playing games, breaking things (that he's allowed to break), playing cards, making paper boats, making miniatures (when he's older), etc.

Weapon of Choice: A Blunderbuss (eventually).

He does not have magic. He's just stronger and bigger than average because he's a half giant.

Theme Song: "Fireflies".

Willow Juniper Hawthorne.

Age 4 years old.

Daughter of a Tree Nymph named 'Cherry Hawthorne'. Human-Tree Nymph Hybrid.

Junior of the Storm Bringer.

She was given to Hannah by her dying mother as a baby. She is sick because of the barrier. She is 8 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Cherry Hawthorne (Mother).

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: Studying Unnatural biology, playing dress up, gardening, mud baths, baking mud pies, climbing, playing games, playing dolls, swimming, dancing, singing, listening to music, coloring, etc.

Weapon of Choice: Mud, Dirt, Rocks, and Tree Branches.

She has the powers of a tree nymph but no magic.

Age 5 years old.

Theme Song: "Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air."

Elara Astrid Foundling.

Age 4 years old.

Daughter Of An Unknown Elf/dwarf.

Junior of the Stormbinger.

She was fished out of a barrage as a baby. She is 7 years younger than Hannah.

Family: None/Unknown.

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: Bubble blowing, playing dress up, gardening, mud baths, baking mud pies, climbing, playing games, playing dolls, swimming, dancing, singing, listening to music, coloring, arts and crafts, collecting things, and rolling dice to make decisions.

Weapon of Choice: Longbow (eventually).

She has elf magic but no one is quite sure what kind since they have no clue what kind of elf she is.

Theme Song: "Fairy Tale Lullaby."

Marcys Atticus Foundling.

Age 5 years old.

Centaur and Son of Nessus.

Junior of the Storm Bringer.

Hannah took him in as a baby after finding him and Lysander abandoned near one another. He is 7 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Nessus (Father).

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: D.I.Y protects, Archery, playing games, stargazing, gardening, playing in the mud, singing, racing, dancing, painting, listening to music, making flower crowns, berry and flower and mushroom picking, being read to, reading, dueling, hunting, etc.

Weapon of Choice: Bow and Arrow.

He has magic.

Theme Song: "Boy in the Bubble."

Lysander Ajax Foundling.

Age 6 years old.

He is a satyr and the son of one of Chernabog's minions.

Junior of the Storm Bringer.

Hannah took him in as a baby after finding him and Marcys abandoned near one another. He is 6 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Unknown/None.

Pet(s): None.

Hobbies: Playing his pan flute, playing games, playing in the mud, singing, racing, dancing, listening to music, making flower crowns, berry and flower and mushroom picking, being read to, reading, painting, skipping stones in the river, stargazing, gardening, etc.

Weapon of Choice: Shepherd's crook.

He has magic.

Theme Song: "A Place In The Choir."

Beauregard 'Beau' Rodmar Nikolas Foundling.

Age 6 years old.

He is 1/3 human, 1/3 Troll, and 1/3 Goblin but takes mostly after his human ancestors with some Goblin and Troll features.

Junior of the Storm Bringer.

He use to work at Claw Trimmers and live in the basement there until Hannah came and took him away when he was 4. He is 6 years younger than Hannah.

Family: Unknown/None.

Pet(s): A snail named Gary.

Hobbies: Taking selfies, taking selfies, drawing self portraits, dancing, singing, telling stories, building things, climbing, doing nails, baking, playing in the mud, listening to music, making flower crowns, berry and flower and mushroom picking, being read to, reading, skipping stones in the river, stargazing, gardening, and finding shiny things.

Weapon of Choice: Hammer.

He has goblin magic.

Theme Song: "Goblin Oogie Boogie."