#universally fuck Agamemnon

[i-am-the-myrmidon]

CHECK THIS OUT!!

the movies mentioned in the Wikipedia article of “movies considered the worst” are far more interesting than the movies in the Wikipedia article “movies considered the best”

[classicschronicles]

Hi lovelies,

I feel like I’ve just returned from ‘buying the milk’. I’m sorry I disappeared for *checks notes* 11 months, but it’s been a hectic year. I feel like if I get into it I’ll sound like an AO3 author, so here are some very quick highlights- I have just finished my first year studying Classics at university, I qualified as a fitness instructor (which is a side quest nobody asked for), I’ve become a theatre kid again, and I finally watched Game of Thrones. Studying Classics at uni is basically telling everyone that you study Classics at uni and then getting one of two reactions- “What is that? What kind of job are you going to et with that?”. To which I have no response, because honestly I’m not sure. Or the ever famous- “Oh like The Secret History?”. To which I cry inside because it is nothing like The Secret History. It is actually reading so much Thucydides that he becomes your sleep paralysis demon, and having to translate so much Caesar and Cicero that your daydreams become wishing you were in the Theatre of Pompey on March 15th 44 BC… for no particular reason. And also crying at 3am whilst you try to delude yourself into thinking that this is so dark academia core (spoiler- it’s not). All that being said- this has actually been one of the best years of my life and I am so happy I get to study what I love.

Anyways, I feel like we’re missing the most important part- and that is of course Game of Thrones. Guys. I have a crush on Jaime Lannister. HEAR ME OUT! I can fix him! I promise. I just need one chance. But also, I would fight him because why did he do my girl Brienne like that. Anyone who makes her cry can fight me fr. You know what made me cry though- Shireen Baratheon. What the fuck was that. And Ser Davaos’ finding out and his whole “I loved that girl like she was my own”. BAWLED. Anyways, it might surprise you to know that her death was actually based on a very famous greek myth- the myth of Iphigenia. So that’s what we’re going to talk about today.

Iphigenia’s story finds its beginnings in another myth entirely- the myth of Agamemnon and the Deer. Quick fun fact- the movie ‘Killing of A Sacred Deer’ is actually based loosely on this. The story goes that Agamemnon, out hunting one day, killed a deer belonging to the Goddess Artemis. This angered Artemis, not least because the deer was pregnant and Agamemnon’s little hunting accident killed both the mother and the baby.

Fast forward to some time later, Agamemnon launches a thousand ships to save his sister-in-law Helen from the Trojans at the behest of his brother Menelaus, and also the whole blood oath situation. The Spartans and the Mycenaeans make camp at the island of Aulis whilst they wait for the rest of the fleet to arrive, only to find that when they are ready to set sail once more, they cannot leave the island. There is not wind to push their ships, the air hot and heavy and remarkably still. This goes on for quite some time. Eventually Agamemnon consults the priest Calchas who tells him that the Gods (Artemis) are angry with him and demand a sacrifice. More specifically, the sacrifice of a virgin. This is also where some accounts differ- some claim that it could be any female virgin, some say that it had to be Agamemnon’s eldest daughter. In all honesty, I think the latter is probably more accurate because of the level of hesitation he shows before he makes his final decision. If he could sacrifice any virgin I don’t really think he would care.

Anyways, he obviously cant just write to his wife and say “hey babe can you please ship our eldest daughter over, I want to sacrifice her xoxo”. So he instead he comes out with an altogether more devious plan, and that is to tell his wife that the Prince Achilles wishes to marry Iphigenia before they sail for Troy. Both Iphigenia and Clytemnestra are of course overjoyed that she should marry ‘the best of the Greeks’ and she comes to Aulis where the army wait for her.

This is where it starts to break my heart a bit. On the morning of Iphigenia’s wedding day, Clytemnestra dresses her daughter and prepares her. She, of course, does not know that she is preparing her child for death. Her fathers men come to her tent and escort her and her mother to the alter. However, she never gets to say her vows because as soon as she steps onto the platform, they cut her throat and spill her blood as an offering to Artemis. Her mother is of course beside herself with shock and grief, but her husband does little to comfort her, telling her only that Artemis is appeased, and with the return of the wind he is leaving for Troy.

Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis, differs from this account and tells the story that on the morning of her supposed wedding, Iphigenia was aware of her fathers plan to sacrifice her and accepts with stoicism and all the bravery of a child put in an impossible position. He writes the following, heartbreaking, lines:

Iphigenia- “If only I could sing like Orpheus, father! Orpheus, who could charm even the heartless rocks into following him! If I could use such a voice and have everyone charmed, have them convinced to agree with me and follow me, then I would use that voice. But I have no such skill. The only voice I have, father, my only skill, is in my tears and, here, father, I’m giving them to you! I’m giving you my tears! I’m giving you all I have! She leans before him and embraces his knees Here, father, here is the body of a suppliant! Here is the body that your wife has given birth to. I wrap its limbs around your knees and beg you: Please father, do not cut off my life short. Let me enjoy the sweet light of day and do not force me to enter the world beneath the earth. I’m your first one, father! The first one to call you father, the first one you called daughter. Me, father! I was the first to play on your knees, the first one of your children to enjoy your love and the first one to give you a child’s love. Remember, father? You used to ask me, “I wonder, my darling, will I get to see you married one day, married and settled happily in your husband’s home, your life ever blossoming, making me proud of you?” And I’d touch your chin, my father, hang from your beard, father, like I’m doing now and say, “and what about you, father, will I get to see you, father, an old man, visiting me at my house, ready for me to repay you for your hard work in raising me?” No, you don’t remember these words, father. I do but you don’t! You’ve forgotten them and so, now, you want to kill me. Please, father! Please, in the name of Pelops and of Atreus who is your father, I beg you! Please don’t do it! And I beg you also for my mother’s sake, the woman who laboured to bring me to life, the woman who is being tortured even now. I beg you, father! What does my life have to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen father? Why has their marriage brought about my death, father? Agamemnon turns away. She continues despondently. Come, then, father, turn to me and give me a final kiss. A kiss to remember you by in the underworld, since my words have not convinced you. Agamemnon does not move. She goes over to her mother and takes baby Orestes in her arms. She swings him, sadly, gently back and forth and leans over him as she speaks to him What a weak little helper you are, my tiny brother! Won’t you cry with me, Orestes? Come on, won’t you beg your father not to kill your big sister? Come on, Orestes, even babies know when there’s trouble around! Ha! See, father? Orestes is begging you, too! Begging you by his silence. Do you not care about me any more? Spare my young life, father. Spare me! Here! Look here, father! Here are the two of us, one’s a baby, the other a grown up girl, a brother and a sister, both your children, begging you, by your beard, pleading with you… She turns and looks sadly around her, then up at the sun. That! Up there is my final argument. That light, this light all around us, will cut all other arguments to pieces. This light is the sweetest thing that can fill the eyes! The world beneath the earth is a world of nothing. Only fools would pray to go down there. I’d rather live a life full of misery than die a hero’s death!

If that doesn’t make you cry I don’t know what will. And then to top it off he follows it up 200 lines later this this tear jerker:

“C- What report shall I give to your sisters?

I-Do not dress them either in black garments.

C-Is there any word of love from you I should give the girls?

I-Bid them farewell; and make sure you bring up Orestes as a man!

C-You look at him for the last time- hold him tight!

I-(holding Orestes close): Darling boy, you helped you dear sister as much as you could!

…

I-Who will come to take me there before they drag me by the hair?

C-I will be at your side…

I-No, not you- that would not be right!

C-…holding on to your clothes!

I-Mother, oblige me in this: stay here! This is the nobler course for me and for you. Let one of my father’s attendants here escort to Artemis’ meadow where I shall be sacrificed.

(Iphigenia begins to move away from a crying Clytemnestra)

C-O my child, are you going?

I-Yes, and never shall I come back.

C-You will leave your mother?

I-Yes, as you see, we do not deserve this.

C-Wait- don’t abandon me!

I-I forbid you to shed tears. (C sinks to the ground)”.

In every version you read, however, sacrificing his daughter is not a choice that Agamemnon takes lightly. He is torn between sacrificing his daughter and angering his wife- but winning glory for the Greeks, or saving his daughter, but abandoning his men. As a father, he made the wrong choice, but as a king some would argue that he did what was expected of him.

I do like, however, in Euripides’ version the character of Achilles. He is adamant that he will not be privy to the murder of Iphigenia. He tries so very hard to save her and to offer comfort to Clytemnestra and genuinely I think that this might be one of the loveliest most favourable depictions of him.

This myth then gives way to part of the Oresteia trilogy and many many retellings of her Iphigenia’s story- every single one of which always make me want to cry. I can’t explain what it is- I know that the whole point of tragedy is that build up and release of emotion but no tragedy has every made me actually sad other than Iphigenia at Aulis.

Anyways, you can imagine my absolute horror when I watched S5 EP9 and saw Shireen tied to the alter, literally gave myself whiplash with how quickly I tried to look away from the screen.

I would say I hope you enjoyed reading about Iphigenia, but if you did you’re an absolute psycho! The two translations I used are from PoetryInTranlsation and Penguin’s 2005 edition “The Bacchae and Other Plays”. Hopefully, now that I’ve posted again I’ll try and be more regular with it and I hope you all have a lovely lovely week <33

~Z

[dootznbootz]

Hiiiiiii I just saw the character ask thing :))))

Can you tell me about your NOTP, random headcanon and unpopular opinion about Helen of Sparta?

Thank you so much!!!

I'll save the one that'll get me crucified last! 👍

Random headcanon: Both Odysseus and Penelope were given a "photographic memory" by Athena. When Athena had "forsaken" Odysseus it was taken away. Makes it nice because a lot of the more fucked up parts of the Odyssey are a bit more "fuzzy" for him. And he hates feeling "so out of sorts". He gets it back though.

Also Athena technically took Penelope under her "wing" like, one month before Odysseus.

Unpopular Helen Opinion: In MY FICS, (It's okay if you don't agree!) She is built like Rose Quartz from Steven Universe. She doesn't have a perfect "hourglass figure". She's got some pudge on her tummy. Girl is TALL (Demigod) and CHUBBY. One of the important components of Helen and Menelaus' relationship is that they are both strong enough to lift each other. Also she's the most beautiful woman in the world and chubby women are hot af lskdjf She also SUCKS at singing. She's good at wrestling and spear work. (Sparta. I also love athletic women. Plenty of chubby women are also athletic af. If you think otherwise, literally look up women's Olympic sports participants.)

Homies, know that my NOTP can be YOUR OTP and that's okay! We can still love each other and be friends! Ignore the rest if you just don't want to see that, but know that while it kind of will be in my fics, it's probably not in the way you want it to be.

Please don't hate me and know I don't hate you or think I'm "correct"!

It's OdyDio.

These are the reasons why so avoid them if you don't want to read that! :'D This is the only time I will ever be on the "Odysseus hate train" because he's such an asshole to Diomedes.

I feel so bad about it. 😭 I'm a freak who likes Odysseus/Menelaus (Big BROTP) I think it's because Odysseus is just... SO MEAN to Diomedes. And when he's not mean, he's just neutral. There is not really any "Diomedes, you're the best guy!". Especially when have Sthenelus and Diomedes saying I love you to each other To ME, they are like co-workers who work GREAT together on the battlefield and on missions, but never do anything outside of that.

When Diomedes asks for help, Odysseus sprints away from battle. When Diomedes compliments him before the night raid, Odysseus literally is like "Dude, you're not the only person who knows I'm good at stealing. Let's go."

Odysseus, that long-suffering, godlike man, replied: “Son of Tydeus, don’t over-praise me, or censure me. You’re speaking to the Argives,                           who know everything about me. Let’s go. Night is passing quickly. Dawn approaches. The stars have shifted forward. Most of the night                   has passed, two thirds of it, with one third left.”

(Ian Johnston, Book 10)

Odysseus is an asshole but he's still so mean to Diomedes! 😭 ESPECIALLY WHEN DIOMEDES IS SO FUCKING NICE TO ODYSSEUS!!! I know that's what probably makes them so compelling to so many lovely folks but I love fluff BECAUSE I'm so tired of toxic relationships irl. I don't...I don't see how I can make OdyDio fluffy 😥 With OdyDio, I feel like I'm watching my bestie (Diomedes) get back with their toxic ex who mistreats them (Odysseus). Diomedes is actually quite polite to the others. Even when Agamemnon scolds him, he tells Sthenelus to think nothing of it. He compliments Odysseus! He listens to the gods when they tell him "Hey stop fighting!" and listens to Athena! Like he's violent and a killing machine but he's respectful! He's a traumatized, respectful, killing machine! He bitches at Paris but everyone has done that! That's something everyone partakes in /j

It bothers me even more because when Odysseus is with Penelope, he's so wonderful and loving? And that the Odyssey, literally Odysseus' story/Epic, doesn't even really mention Diomedes? That goes to show how little Diomedes means to Odysseus.

And since Odysseus runs away from Diomedes when he asks for help, it boggles my mind that books earlier, he goes into a rage when his friend gets killed!

[...]but hit Leucus, a brave companion of Odysseus, in the groin,                                           as he was dragging Simoeisius away. His hands let go. He fell down on the corpse. Enraged at Leucus’ slaughter, Odysseus strode up, through the front ranks, armed in gleaming bronze. Going in close, he took his stand. Looking round, he hurled his glittering spear. As he threw, Trojans moved back, but the spear found a mark. It hit Democoön, Priam’s bastard son, who had come from Abydos, where he bred horses for their speed.                                    Angry for his friend, Odysseus speared him in the temple.

(Ian Johnston, Book 4)

Odysseus, you prick!!! You go on a rampage when your buddy gets killed but sprint away when your STILL ALIVE BUDDY asks you for help?! ASSHOLE

They ARE kind of friends/frenemies during the end of the war but it's a weird thing where Diomedes cares about Odysseus but Odysseus tolerates him. Like he left him to die. I love Odysseus. He's my special little guy but he treats Diomedes, another special little guy, like shit 😞

They also have a fairly large agegap, (Odysseus being one of the older kings while Diomedes is the youngest. If you bring up pederasty, you will be smited.) and have very little in common other than them both being Athena's pets. Odysseus is a fucked up lil warrior trickster who loves his wife and child more than life itself while Diomedes is a young child soldier boy who is incredibly duty bound and war is where he feels most comfortable.

Also just...Most of anything about OdyDio (fanart/fanfic/etc.) it's of them fighting or bickering or betraying each other or being very sexual. Even OdyPenDio STILL feels very "OdyDio... + Penelope in the footnotes". I already plan to write Odysseus (and Penelope) as Aspec CODED and so I...just really don't care for that??? There's barely ANYTHING of them being soft. BECAUSE THEM TWO TOGETHER just aren't soft... I personally don't like couples that are mean to each other 😭 (I'm not even including the whole "betrayal with the Pallidium" because it makes me sad to think about. I don't consider it canon.)

Menelaus though?

I have plans 😌 These two bring me comfort and are a special brotp

[lupuslikethewolf]

ted lasso au-gust day 15: ancient history !!

Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV)

Word Count: 2,929

Relationship: Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt

Characters: Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt, Rupert Mannion, Ted Lasso, Keeley Jones, Georgie | Jamie Tartt's Mother, mentioned Rebecca Welton - Character, mentioned Bex (Ted Lasso)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Trojan War Setting (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Roy Kent is King of Sparta, Jamie Tartt is Achillies, Rupert Mannion is Agamemnon, Warning: Rupert Mannion, historically accurate portrayal of sparta, Misogyny, ancient warfare, Child Abuse, author's negative opinions on athens run rampant, and are explained away by the narrator being spartan, slightly ooc for everyone because ancient greece, AU-gust | August Writing Challenge, AU-gust | August Writing Challenge 2023

Summary: If Jamie was happy or not with what Roy was telling him, it didn’t matter, because Roy was right. It was the pride of Gods that brought them here in the first place, but the pride of Gods will not give them leave of this wretched war. the sacrificial wedding of iphigenia, and the fallout of such a plan for achillies, as told through the eyes of the king of sparta.

or: roy is king of sparta, jamie is achillies, and rupert mannion is a fucking dick.

[gratisdiamanten]

Max thinks he can shape the place around him ultimately by refusing to bend himself. Charles goes easily. -> A Very Interesting Take! Not a shipping ask, but who would do better if they were in an AU - Max in Charles' antiquity or Charles in Max's psychodrama?

If you mean who would personally fare/survive better I would venture to say Max. He's got that magic dust around him iykwim. Charles would bear the abuses Max suffers in stubborn grating understanding of destiny. That he has Roles and an Obligation (rather than a labor of love and desperation for family like Max). But ultimately I think he might crack under that kind of verbal pressure - he faced a lot of grief but had immense love in his life.

Max meanwhile would be an honorable but Just Some Guyish enough side character that he doesn't die but rather joins the chorus as things progress going WHAT THE FUCK... not especially dramatic, I think. His lack of complete pure intrinsic ambition and status consciousness means his hubris is like more garden variety. This man is not going to get dinged with peripeteia a la Antigone or Oedipus or whoever. He's like, the watchman at the beginning of Agamemnon to me. You could potentially do something very grand with him but I don't feel inclined to.

TL;DR Max would survive Charles's universe better, but Charles would be more interesting in Max's.

[seeminglyseph]

I am officially listening to The Iliad fully as like. An adult who comprehends the things it’s about? You know? Like. I feel like. There’s a layer of like… yeah I know the *story* of The Iliad and The Odyssey and surrounding mythology… but like… *now* I’ve done some university level classsics lectures and studying and reading and history and I like. Have more than a base understanding of what Greek Mythology and Classics and stuff is.

And like I’ve decided for the moment to listen to an audiobook because it originated as an oral tradition and it feels like. Right. Though I do know I’m gonna have to look things up because there’s words I don’t know and I’m gonna need to check which epithets are being used for everybody.

Also. Like. I did not realize the degree to which Agamemnon fully is a piece of trash until now, like I don’t know that I actually *read* read the Iliad before. Like fucking of course you were the one who provoked Apollo by pissing off his priest and can potentially sedate him by making things right by giving the priest’s daughter back? You’re literally throwing a temper tantrum about that? And publicly being like “but she’s hotter than my wife though?” While a god murders your people outside? It’s been like a week of a god waging war on you and you’re whining about not having your slave girl? You weird cowardly shithead. What???

[olivecave]

Me: *hears about Achilles and Patroclus for YEARS as these two lovely gay dudes from Greek Myth*

Me reading the Iliad: .... so y’all made that up huh??

[katyasghoulfriend]

does anyone else read Homer and watch Breaking Bad there are some things i wanna say

[ancientgreeksloot]

Reflecting on the gay past

As I am bored and procrastinating I have a decree: It’s time we stop comparing ancient sexuality to modern notions and saying they are the same. If you called Achilles gay, he wouldn’t understand. (Besides the fact that he’s a fictional dickhead whomst I disdain). In his world, men fucked men. Men had children with women. The notion that that behavior would have to be classified into a singular pattern of attraction would be absurd to him. Ancient Greek people did not live in a binary of desire, there was no notion of “straight”. Thus, there can be no ancient greek notion of “gay”. We map these terms onto the past because that’s how we understand our reality, but it does not make it the reality of the past. Carrying this further, an actual good example of this is Sappho. I love Sappho, i truly do, and I wholeheartedly believe her erotic poetry written about women should be interpreted as erotic desire towards women, not some weird expression of masculine lust communicated by a woman (an actual theory that someone said// odd but no one doubts Sappho’s male contemporaries as expressing their own desire organically). But Sappho also wrote erotic poetry about men. And she has been called bisexual, but this again relies on a binary that didn’t exist for her. Her duty as a noble woman was to marry a man (as a heterosexual marriage was the economic center of the household, the family structure, and it could be argued the city state), and bear his heirs. After that, she was free to love or fuck or desire whoever she pleased, (so long as there never was a dispute that any of the children she produced were not her husband’s). I support Sappho being a lesbian icon (Lesbian literally meaning, ‘a native of the isle of lesbos’ like the term Bostonian). I think she desired women, and I think it’s really important her work, and the beauty of it is celebrated (and I work continually to make it more accesible). I am not disputing that in ancient Greece men had sex with men (a lot) and women had sex with women (a lot). But they did so in a cultural system that in no way resembles our own, and it’s important to understand that while historians have certainly attempted to erase such couplings/ desire, that to insist that anyone in ancient Greece was ‘gay’ just isn’t true to how they lived their lives. What we consider to be a gay, queer, poly, questioning lifestyle they considered normal. Assuming your culture and understanding is universal is inaccurate, and another form of erasure. And it’s a dangerous assumption to make about cultures not your own. So as someone who lusts after women, and loves Sappho, I suggest we just let her speak for herself, and let’s just be gay here and now. 

[higgity-heck]

why do you hate Heinrich Schliemann??

it’s 1868, and you’re a horrible businessman who thinks he’s an archaeologist. and for some reason, people in 2022 call you the ‘father of archaeology’

heinrich schliemann is FASCINATED by Greek mythology and the works of homer, and fancies himself enough of an expert to go gallivanting around the greek islands and to turkey in search of troy. frank calvert, local expert and archaeologist, shares with him that he believes hisarlik to be the most likely site for the historical troy. by 1870, Schliemann has excavated the site at hisarlik and claimed SOLE credit for the discovery, despite only digging there after being heavily persuaded by calvert.

by 1869, he’s been awarded a phd by the university of Rostock for his topographical analysis of Ithaca - the vast majority of which were simply translations of another authors work. we’re beginning to see a pattern here.

more taken by the homeric stories of treasures buried at troy than any historical investigation, Schliemann immediately sets to finding such prizes. he confidently misidentifies several riches with the self-assurance only a rich man in an unfamiliar field can muster, naming them the mask of agamemnon and Helen’s jewels. he writes that his wife sofia carried several of the treasures out of the dig site in her shawl, which was bullshit. he smuggled them out of turkey instead of handing them over to turkish officials, which he was later sued for. what fun.

(the inconsistency of his documentation of his findings are also a common theme, which in archaeology is a Big Fucking Deal. none of the items he claimed were king priams treasure were noted in his documentation. big red flag)

additionally, his lifelong obsession with the Iliad led to him attempting to identify the layer of the city itself. in this, he was about 1000 years too early, as his contemporaries easily identified. which would be fine, if we weren’t taking into account the actual troy that was a few layers above his misidentified one. so how did he go about his excavating?

HE BLEW UP TROY. WITH FUCKING DYNAMITE.

so in his highly subjective desire to uncover evidence of a homeric troy, not only did he steal priceless artefacts from a historical site, document his findings extremely sketchily and take the credit for another man’s groundbreaking discovery, he blew up what was most likely the actual, historical troy. in naming his discoveries as helen’s jewels and prisms treasure, he put his own spin on anything he found just to make it link into his theories about the Iliad. also, for the purpose of showboating when showing off to the public.

father of archaeology my ass.

[johaerys-writes]

The Stars Will Guide Us Home

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Summary:

During the ten-year long Trojan War, Achilles was a fighter pilot, and Patroclus his combat systems operator and best friend. Now that the war is over, the two try to figure things out as they get adjusted to life out of combat, and their lifelong friendship and comradeship grows into something... more.

Or: I wanted to write smut and my hand slipped :) Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort galore, Achilles POV.

Read on AO3!

The first time they have sex is nothing like what Achilles expects. For the most part he tries to take it slow, to savour the moment, to show Patroclus how much he cares, how long he’s wanted this, but before he knows it they’re both tearing at each other’s clothes somewhere between the bed and the hallway, and Patroclus is urging him to go faster, faster, harder— until they’re both panting, boneless and spent, on the living room floor.

And it's great. Not how he’d imagined it, but great all the same.

In truth, there’s a million different ways he’d imagined this. It’s been a dream of his ever since he can remember himself actually— not this, precisely, but being with Patroclus. Kissing him. Holding him. In all the years they've known each other, he’s gone through all the possible scenarios in his head: the dreamy ones, where he takes him to the beach they used to go to as kids, and kisses him gently, bathed in the sunset’s glow that catches in the amber flecks in the dark brown of Patroclus’ eyes. The more emotional ones, where Patroclus comes to him in the middle of the night after one of his nightmares, and Achilles is there to comfort him, as always, and their innocent, friendly cuddling turns into something more. And there are the darker, more feral ones, where Achilles grabs him and pulls him close, and they kiss with abandon before falling on the nearest flat surface.

The reality is somewhere in between all of those daydreams, and none of them at all.

Achilles has just arrived in Athens from Troy. It hasn’t been more than two weeks after the war has finally ended, but Achilles was given early honorable discharge, while the others stayed back at the base for a few more weeks. So, the first thing he did was grab the first plane he could find and fly wherever Patroclus was. Patroclus was relieved of duty about six months back because of an injury —he’s better now, it’s fine— but to Achilles it feels like an eternity since he’s last seen him. He knew he should probably have gone to Phthia first to see his old man after so many years on the battlefield, but he just couldn’t help himself.

He feels a little guilty about it, but he forgets everything the moment the plane lands, and he sees Patroclus’ bright, smiling face waiting for him at the airport arrivals.

Fuck, he’s so beautiful.

Achilles' heart is beating a frantic rhythm as he closes the distance between them in just a few strides. Patroclus’ arms come around him, as if by rote, and it feels so right to be there with him, to have him in his arms and to have his familiar, earthy scent in his nose. Achilles has missed him so much that, for a few moments, he really has no words.

He pulls back to look at him, and in the airport’s artificial lights, Patroclus’ eyes are bright like lit up stars. He looks better than he did the last time Achilles saw him: he’s healthy and joyous and his complexion looks better, more vibrant; he’s gained a little bit of weight too which is good, after losing so much of it during those last couple months in Troy. Achilles’ gaze drops to his shoulder, his arm that had been wounded, and it’s such a relief to not be able to discern any visible sign of his injury, at least not through his clothes. He catalogues everything, every small detail in his mind in crystal clear, drinking in the sight of him.

“How was your flight? Good?” Patroclus asks. He takes a small step back as they peel away from each other. They stand for a little while there, gazing at each other, and it’s a bit awkward, a bit tense, like there’s something they’re not saying.

The distance between them makes Achilles feel uneasy, but he brushes the feeling away.

“Good. Yeah. The coffee was atrocious. Couldn’t wait for it to be over.” He slinks the duffel bag that holds all of his belongings over his shoulder, then places his arm on Patroclus’ shoulders in a friendly hug as they walk towards the exits. The people they pass by turn to glance at him, their eyes swiftly taking in Achilles’ aviation officer uniform. He’s sticking out like a fly in milk, but he honestly couldn’t care less. Soon, the planes and ships will be full of soldiers returning to their home bases; they’ll all get used to the sight. “What have you been up to? Tell me all about it.”

They’ve been in touch since Patroclus left, of course. They’ve been texting and talking on the phone, Patroclus even sent him an old fashioned letter once, but it’s different now that they’re face to face. It’s like Achilles has been starved, all the while they’ve been apart, and he can’t get enough of the sound of his voice, his expressions, his laughter, the way he slips his hands in his pockets and gets a little light on his feet when he walks.

He still feels a bit heavy, the war no doubt still fresh in his mind, but he’s smiling and laughing like always. And it’s good. It’s more than good actually— it’s great.

Things have been going great ever since he came back, Patroclus says. He got into vet school with the help of one of his ex-senior officer’s recommendation letters —he’s always wanted to be a vet. He's found a flat, and he’s getting a small veteran pension too, enough for him to go by. He’s met new friends, and they’re all great. Everything’s great, really.

“It feels like I finally have a life,” Patroclus tells him, and holds the car door open for him to get in. “You know?”

Achilles is happy for him. He really is. Patroclus deserves everything good, he deserves to have the life he’s always wanted. He gets in the passenger seat and puts on some music, and, for a moment, it’s just like old times.

The air in Athens is heavy and humid, the sun blasting scorching bright above them. Patroclus takes him to one of the restaurants near the university that he likes to go —the dumplings here are great, you’ll love them— and then gives him a tour of the part of the campus that’s open for visitors.

It’s not how Achilles imagined it would be. It’s quite an old building actually, and there are pigeons nesting in the high rafters of the open hall. It’s Sunday, though, so the park out front is quiet. Only a few throngs of students lazying about on the warm grass, basking in the sun, blasting music from tiny portable speakers.

Achilles watches everything like an alien. In truth, he is. It’s been years since he last set foot outside of Troy, and before that he was almost a kid. It’s a strange feeling to find that life has actually been going on in something that’s very close to normal, all the while they’ve all been risking their lives at the other side of the Aegean.

It is odd, not fighting anymore, not being at war. Patroclus himself seems to have forgotten about it all, to have gotten used to his life here, but Achilles knows him better than this. He’s thoughtful, and there are moments when he goes quiet, and Achilles can tell there is something that’s bothering him still.

But Achilles doesn’t ask him. He doesn’t want to press him to talk. It’s what Patroclus does: he always takes his time thinking about stuff, it’s how he processes everything. And the memories from the war are still fresh. Patroclus may never have been in the thick of it for the most part, but certain things never leave you.

Achilles sinks back on the grass, and sneaks occasional glances at Patroclus, at the fiery blaze of the late spring sunset and the way it warms up Patroclus’ olive skin, the dark curls that wisp about his face when the breeze blows through them. His hair has gotten long now, caressing the back of his neck, like it used to when they were kids, before Patroclus had to crop it short for the army. Achilles falls silent when Patroclus does, and pretends not to notice the tension between them, like there’s something vibrating in the air.

They’ve been apart for too long. That’s probably it.

After the sun sets, Patroclus takes him to a bar downtown. It’s apparently a cool place that college kids like to go, hidden in a small cobble-stone lane in the old city. Once again, Achilles feels the alien there, standing out like a sore thumb, but it’s probably all in his head. He’s not wearing his uniform anymore; the tee shirt and jeans Patroclus lent him are a little too small for him, but not by much. It’s certainly strange to be wearing normal clothes again, but Achilles tries not to think about it.

He has a drink, then another, and another, and Patroclus does, too. The music is pleasant, not too loud, just loud enough for them to keep a conversation going without the silences between them getting too awkward.

Things have not exactly been the same between them since Patroclus left Troy. Achilles doesn’t exactly know what it is, but he can tell it’s on Patroclus’ mind too; it has to be. They’ve known each other too long, and they’ve gone through too much to not be able to read each other. There’s something between them now, hanging in the air like a barrier, and Achilles keeps wanting to open up, to take the conversation there, but he never does.

Instead, he keeps getting distracted by the expression on Patroclus' face. His eyes look so vivid, so bright in the dim yellow light of the bar. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are glistening from his drink, and the way they wrap around the head of his beer bottle has Achilles’ mind going to places it shouldn’t.

So he orders another drink. He tries to act casual, and cracks a couple jokes, and then tells Patroclus about Menelaus and Agamemnon and Antilochus, all the guys from their division —those that made it back alive, but he leaves out that part— and the shadows in Patroclus’ eyes grow less and less dark.

“It’s time they all came back,” he says. “I'm just glad it's all finally over.”

Achilles nods in agreement, and takes another sip. It hasn’t been easy for anyone, that much he knows.

It’s almost midnight when they make it back to Patroclus’ flat. It’s just a short walk from the bar, and they’re both a bit buzzy from the drink. They’re not plastered by any means, but loose and relaxed and a little giggly, and Patroclus leans against him as they walk. His arm threads around Achilles’ as if by accident, his steps falling alongside his, and Achilles’ heart thrums with all the longing he’s suppressed for months, for years now, and that he’s suppressing still.

It’s fine, he tells himself as Patroclus fiddles with the key to the main building door. It’s going to be fine, though his eyes instinctively fall to Patroclus’ back, and he keeps picturing that soft dip between his shoulder blades underneath his tee shirt, the muscles that fall and rise under his skin when he moves. He tries to remember how long it has been since he’s caught a glimpse of his bare back as he was changing out of his shirt in the barracks before bed, skin still a little damp from his shower, and oh god why is he like this—

He jolts a little when Patroclus takes his hand and he leads him to the elevator. He’s not used to Patroclus’ fingers threading through his own, they’ve never really touched each other like that, but it’s a welcome change. Patroclus is still a little giggly, and his laughter reverberates off the walls of the dark entrance hall. Achilles’ arm comes around his shoulders as they watch the numbers flash in the elevator’s panel.

Ground floor. First floor. Third.

Patroclus doesn’t let him go as walks up to his flat door. He fumbles with the key a little, and when he finally pushes the door open, Achilles is almost relieved, almost a little disappointed, because walking in will probably mean letting Patroclus’ hand go, and he doesn’t really want that, but he’s not exactly sure what it means either if they keep holding each other like this.

Achilles says something to break the tension when they walk in and the door closes behind them. Patroclus laughs again, and the sound of it makes Achilles warm inside out.

He leans in and kisses him.

Read the rest on AO3!

[insecure-amphibian]

Hi I have the worst take.

I was talking about chapter 13 of the song of Achilles because one of my friends has recently started reading it and just got to chapter 14 and we needed to be angry about chapter 13 together.

But because of how twins have a history of working in Greek mythology, with one mother but different fathers (The most famous of this being Castor and Pollux and Clytemnestra and Helen... Quadruplets even.)

And Because of the fact that Achilles is most typically said to have had TWO sons with Deidamia

My horrible take is that Onerios does exist in TSOA universe as the son of Patroclus and Deidamia and was also given a complex because his twin is taken by his sort of Grandmother and he is immediately hated bc he is not Achilles' son and is raised by Deidamia and the poor kid gets a complex bc no one is good to him. And then he gets fucking murdered by Agamemnon's son. :/

[littlesparklight]

I hate Achilles too 🥰 #stopAchillespropaganda /jk (maybe...)

;) Glad to know I’m not alone, anon!

But, like, now that I’m less intolerably cranky and have gotten my ranting needs over everyone fawning over Achilles (and Patroclus) out of the way (for the moment, admittedly...) I can have some more overarching thoughts about this.

Everyone who likes Achilles always seems to brush off what Achilles does right there in the Iliad, or not care about it. To be sure, Achilles isn’t the only one who would have outraged an enemy’s corpse if they’d gotten the chance to. Both Sarpedon and Patroclus would have been in a bad position if the Achaeans or Trojans got to either of them. Achilles is just the only one who not only gets the chance to do it, he attempts to do it for nine days, and the only reason Hector’s corpse isn’t pieces of ripped apart skeleton with strips of meat hanging onto it, is because Aphrodite and Apollo kept it untouched. Hell, Achilles’ grief could/would have resulted in Patroclus’ corpse being worse for the wear, since only Thetis being able to offer ambrosia keeps it untouched until the belated burial!

That’s not the only thing he does in the Iliad alone, of course, but lets leave Achilles’ greatest crimes (I’m not sure what sort of crime wilfully getting a lot of people on your own side killed would count as, but it’s there) to the side for a moment.

Let’s touch on other characters instead. Those who get basically universally reviled despite that they either do less, or just about the same as Achilles have done.

Paris first. Like, yeah, he’s a bit of a whiny shit who worms himself out of combat, he doesn’t come across at his best in the Iliad, but like... so what if he’s a coward? War is scary, and unfortunately you can’t be someone who’s bad at war in a society where being good at war is the mark of a man. I also have high doubts he actually thought a war, even less a ten year one, would come out of what he did (since that’s not usually what happens in these circumstances [in myth]). Also, Paris gets treated kind of shitty both by characters (Achaeans) and the narrative for wielding a bow... despite that there are Achaeans who wield bows too, but it’s only okay and still manly when “our” side does it! Helen and Paris... personally, I interpret it that yeah, she was genuinely attracted to him, and the fact that she’s fed up in the Iliad doesn’t say anything about the previous ten, 15 or even 18 (as in the Bibliotheke) years that went before that. That’s plenty of time to fall out of love even if you started it in love and eager to leave.

Agamemnon. This dude, who yes, does shitty stuff, but compared to Achilles he has had his greatest crime blasted out in coherently readable form full of pathos and angst and revenge for the last over 2000 years. The poor people who still like Agamemnon/the Atreides despite the genuine bad things done are in a similar position as people who dislike Achilles; you’re working against the stream. Agamemnon is an asshole, but when it comes to Briseis and Chryseis he’s not any worse of an asshole than any other man in that army, Achilles included. His greatest dumbass move when it comes to Chryseis is in just not taking the ransom, but look, this is the man who wilfully claimed to be better than Artemis at hunting (he knows what things like this leads to!!! it’s family history!!!) and thus caused the whole Iphigenia situation, I’m not surprised he’d refuse the ransom to keep his High Honour war prize.

(That both Achilles and Agamemnon whine about their war prizes as if those are the ONLY WOMEN in their power is hilarious and infuriating both. Because they’re not! There’s loads of slaves they both have!! But no these are special boo hoo.)

Personally I’m kinda cranky Diomedes’ shit get passed over and he gets fawned on as well, but whatever. You don’t see as much of that. Odysseus has always been a complicated bastard, and I’m frankly more uncomprehending over why the hell some people like to talk as if the infidelity he engages in during his trip isn’t a grand tour of getting sexually assaulted, because at least with Calypso that’s what it is.

Okay, with that out of the way, lets get back to Achilles! And his worst crimes. Both of which exist only in summary form, fragments and pictorial evidence, none of which are as easily accessed or out there as Agamemnon “Child Killer” Atreides’ crimes.

Achilles, my dudes, claims a younger teenager as a bride to be sacrificed to him like an animal, after death. Polyxena deserves better than this! But no, she gets specifically murdered because a ghost wanted a “bride”.

Achilles also commits sacrilege by killing a younger teenager (who’s Apollo’s son) at an altar instead of pulling the boy out of the temple. Kills this boy, in Apollo’s temple, at Apollo’s altar.

Sacrilege he doesn’t really get punished for, since Achilles has already doomed himself by staying at Troy, which he knows what it will lead to! All Apollo gets to do is to help/be the one who kills him, which, considering what other gods do in answer to sacrilege (check out that whole fleet getting ripped apart by an angry Athena in response to the Cassandra-Ajax situation!) isn’t much.

Like, Troilus is most known in that fucking travesty that’s Troilus and Cressida. THIS is what this young teenager gets stuck in and most known for, instead being cruelly murdered in a sacrilege by a man who can’t even respect the gods or the child enough to not kill him at the altar.

But because what we have is a story where the tail end of it is Achilles dramatically grieving his killed lover and committing war crimes in said lover’s name, and everyone and their mom knowing Achilles, too, dies later to be buried right next to Patroclus, that’s all that matters.

[missfay49]

Who is Orange?

Disclaimer: Please enjoy?  Accept?  Beware?  This… Thing that started out as character analysis and turned into a deranged fanfic, because I experienced a literal revelation mid-way through free writing.  I did not clean this up much because I’m still reeling from the theory implications myself.  I cursed a lot.

~

What does Orange Side represent?

What do we know?

Orange is a “Dark Side”, defined as being one of the Sides hidden from C!Thomas.

The other Hidden Sides were Janus, Remus, and Virgil.

All the Hidden Sides were hidden due to a key aspect of their character that C!Thomas had to first acknowledge and then accept.  Virgil required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he had heightened anxiety and accept that anxiety isn’t inherently wrong, just a different form of information that can be processed.  Remus required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he had intrusive thoughts and accept that those thoughts don’t make him evil; they’re just thoughts.  Janus required C!Thomas to acknowledge that he was capable of lying and accept that acting “selfishly” sometimes isn’t just okay, but actually critically important to managing stress.

 What are the common themes here?  

Confronting the reality about ourselves instead of pretending some traits don’t exist.

Understanding ourselves to be more complex than ‘good’ and ‘evil’.

Addressing mental health.  

Orange Side is still hidden, but we can expect him to be something C!Thomas doesn’t want to (or isn’t ready to) acknowledge.  Something that would be difficult to accept about oneself.  All Hidden Sides fall under the jurisdiction of Janus, so let’s take another look at him.

In “Can Lying Be Good?” we get a lot of information about what Janus’ purpose is:

Roman: It you really don’t want to know something, he… can keep our mouths shut.

Logan: You don’t want to believe it.  That’s where his power comes from.  Things that you want to believe.  Things that you wish were true.  And things that you wish weren’t.

Deceit: What you don’t know can’t hurt you.

This all means that Orange Side is something that would cause C!Thomas distress to learn and something he subconsciously wishes weren’t true.  This is not new information to most of you: the spin-off interpretations of Apathy and Pride are widely popular fandom theories, traits that are typically viewed as negative in large doses.

But the Hidden Sides being seen as something negative isn’t their only defining characteristic.  They typically involve an aspect a mental health, involve societal expectations, and... what is it...

Janus is the umbrella over all the other Hidden Sides, sheltering and obscuring them from view. He is the gatekeeper in a very literal sense.  What is he gatekeeping?  

What is it?  What is it what is it, why?  What does he do?  What seems bad but isn’t?  What can he do?  What issue is actually useful?  What’s useful what’s useful WHATS USEFUL WHATS USEFUL?!  WHY DOES IT HAVE TO USEFUL?

shitshitSHITSHISTHISTSTs

I KEPT ASKING MYSELF, WHAT’S USEFUL?  WHAT TRAIT COULD IT BE THAT APPEARS BAD, BUT ISN’T BAD, IS ACTUALLY USEFUL.  ANIEXTY WAS OKAY BECAUSE HE WAS JUST LOOKING OUT FOR US.  LYING WAS OKAY BECAUSE HE JUST WANTED TO PUT C!THOMAS FIRST.  INTRUSIVE CREATIVITY WAS OKAY BECAUSE DARK IDEAS OPEN UP NEW PATHS.

But the whole GODDAMN POINT is ACCEPTANCE!  

You don’t HAVE to be useful to be accepted.  You – yuo just BE.  YOU BE!

PEOPLE don’t have to prove their Usefulness to you before you can treat them with respect.  Our WORTH does not depend on what we PRODUCE. YE GODS, THE COGNITIVE DISSONANCE I JUST BROKE-

~~~

C!Thomas comes back from his self-care stay-cation.  He’s ready to start production, he is rested and refreshed.  BUT JUST LIKE EVERY PREVIOUS DILEMMA, it isn’t Good enough, Original enough, Fast enough.  He’s done everything right, why is it still wrong?  He’s accepted his anxiety, he’s accepted that things aren’t just black and white, he’s Accepted That It’s OKAY to have Dark Thoughts, he Has ACCEPTED SELF_CARE.  Why Isn’t IT ENOUGH?!

“Fuck it.”  

C!Thomas spins in his chair, looking at a man that looks just like him, but not quite.

“What?”

“Fuck it.  Fuck them.”

“You sound like Remus,” Thomas jokes.  He’s lying, of course.  He’s nervous. The Side looks like a normal guy, but something about him is unsettling.  The unidentified Side just presses his lips together, unimpressed.

“Um, ef w-who, exactly?” Thomas asks, but part of him already knows.

“All of them.  Every person who isn’t you.  Every person who expects something from you.”

“Now, you sound like Janus.” Thomas looks back at the computer screen, but the Side’s retort has him spinning around again.  

“Janus is a short-sighted pseudo-rebellious minion of a capitalistic society, just like the rest of them.”

“Uh, excuse me?!”

“Isn’t it obvious? They’re all obsessed with Success. Whether they want to play by the rules, or manipulate them, or break them, whether it’s making money or pumping out good deeds, they’re still just trying to make you be successful within the framework of a system that prioritizes production over a human life.”

Thomas just stares for a moment before he can find his voice.

“Who are you?”

“Dude, seriously?”  He waves his hands, palms up and presenting himself.  “I’m Achilleus.  I’m your motivation.”

~~~

Take a deep breath and follow me down the research black hole, where every topic I looked up was more and more terrifyingly appropriate: 

Freedom

noun

the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.

Self-Determination

noun

the process by which a person controls their own life.

Autonomy

noun

(in Kantian moral philosophy) the capacity of an agent to act in accordance with objective morality rather than under the influence of desires.

Autonomic Nervous System (because i believe each Hidden Side is closer to the subconscious)

noun

the part of the nervous system responsible for control of the bodily functions not consciously directed, such as breathing, the heartbeat, and digestive processes.

Inherent Value

“inherent value in the case of animal ethics can be described as the value an animal possesses in its own right, as an end-in-itself” – Animal Rights – Inherent Value, by Saahil Papar

Intrinsic Value

“Intrinsic value has traditionally been thought to lie at the heart of ethics. Philosophers use a number of terms to refer to such value. The intrinsic value of something is said to be the value that that thing has “in itself,” or “for its own sake,” or “as such,” or “in its own right.”” – Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Value, by Michael J. Zimmerman and Ben Bradley

“Finally, his sense of respect for the intrinsic value of entities, including the non-sentient, is the Kantian notion of the inherent value of all Being.  This is based on the notion that a universe without moral evaluators (e.g. humans) would still be morally valuable, and there is no reason not to regard Being as inherently morally good.” – Technology and the Trajectory of Myth, by David Grant, Lyria Bennett Moses

Motivation

“Another way to conceptualize motivation is through Self-Determination Theory … which is concerned with intrinsic and extrinsic motivation.  Intrinsic motivation happens when someone does something for its inherent satisfaction.” – Second Language Acquisition Myths: Applying Second Language Research to Classroom Teaching, by Steven Brown, Jenifer Larson-Hall

Capitalism

“The flowery language of the United States Declaration of Independence would have you believe that human life has an inherent value, one that includes inalienable rights such as “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” But in America, a major indicator of value is actually placed on being a productive member of society, which typically means working a job that creates monetary revenue (especially if the end result is accumulated wealth and suffering was inherently involved in the process).” – The Diminished Value of Human Life in a Capitalistic Society, by Seren Sensei

Religion

“At the heart of the debate between Calvinism and Arminianism lay the insurmountable chasm between God’s sovereign election versus human self-determination.” – Sovereignty vs. Self-determination: Two Versions of Ephesians 1:3-14, by Reformed Theology

Mythology

“In Classical Greece, Achilles was widely admired as a paragon of male excellence and virtue. Later, during the height of the Roman Empire, his name became synonymous with uncontrollable rage and barbarism… He chooses kleos (glory) over life itself, and he owes his heroic identity to this kleos. He achieves the major goal of the hero: to have his identity put permanently on record through kleos…

“But is this really an accurate characterization of Achilles' pivotal decision? Is he really driven to sacrifice his life by an obsessive quest for honor and glory? One scene in the Iliad suggests the answer to both questions is no.

“When Achilles leaves the battlefield after his dispute with Agamemnon, the Trojans gain the upper hand on the Greeks. Desperate to convince their best warrior to return, Agamemnon sends an envoy of Achilles' closest friends to his tent to persuade him to reconsider his decision. During this scene, Achilles calmly informs his friends that he is no longer interested in giving up his life for the sake of heroic ideals. His exact words are below:

“The same honor waits for the coward and the brave. They both go down to Death, the fighter who shirks, the one who works to exhaustion (IX 386-388)…

“Not only does Achilles reject the envoy's offers of material reward, but he rejects the entire premise that glory is worth a man's life.” – making sense of a hero’s motivation, by Patrick Garvey

Achilles (/əˈkɪliːz/ ə-KIL-eez) or Achilleus (Ancient Greek: Ἀχιλλεύς, [a.kʰilˈleu̯s])

Achilles realizes his own inherent self-worth, thereby freeing himself from the expectations of others; societal or otherwise.  Only once we are free can we find the balance between our own needs and the needs of others in a way that breeds neither anger nor resentment in either.

~~~

But that’s... that’s just... a theory.   Huh.

[edelwoodsouls]

maybe in another universe - ch. 1 [fic]

Jon isn’t expecting anything good when he’s evacuated to the countryside. Living with his crush rival he can just about handle. The secret magical world in the upstairs wardrobe, on the other hand, might just break him.

AKA: Narnia AU

Word Count: 2,707 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 2,

chapter one: the train to everywhere

As the train leaves the station, Jon doesn't look back.

The corridors outside his carriage are filled with other kids, craning their necks out of the windows to wave at their parents, tears streaming down their faces. It's a mess of loud noise and emotion that makes Jon wholly uncomfortable.

There's no one for him to look back to, no one to share tears with. No one to yell at him, you'll be home before you know it! and have fun, dear! it's okay!

He curls his arms around his suitcase and stares out the opposite window, at the vanishing buildings. Smoke shimmers over the horizon, mixing with the clouds, and Jon tries to imagine the view from above. When the planes fly overhead, do they recognise the smothered lights flickering below? Do they spare a thought for the bodies on the other side of the flames?

The corners of his suitcase begin to dig painfully into his skin.

Before he can spiral any further, the door to the compartment rattles open with a sudden gunshot sound that sets every nerve in his body alight.

He flinches and turns to see a girl roughly his own age, head swathed in a dark blue hijab, pressing her lips in an apologetic line.

"Sorry," she shrugs noncommittally, inclining her head. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uh, no."

"So I can take it?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks." She shoulders her way into the room, heaving her own suitcase up onto the rack above their heads with an easy movement. Jon grips his own sheepishly - several blows to the head have taught him that he is nowhere near strong enough to haul it up that high.

The girl settles into the seat opposite him, retrieves a book from the recesses of her thick navy trench coat. It's a weathered copy of The Iliad, well-thumbed and annotated.

He's leaning forward curiously before he can help himself.

The girl looks up with raised eyebrows. "Nosy much?"

"Sorry," he shrinks back behind the large bulk in his lap. "I just- I used to have that same copy. Before..."

The girl's face softens, infinitessimly. "It's one of my favourites," she offers, almost apologetically. "I started keeping all my books in the shelter a few months ago. It's the only reason this survived."

Jon says nothing - there's nothing he can really say. In this moment, they are just two strangers, sharing a burning world.

"I'm Basira," the girl says, with a decisive look. "I'm from Finchley, being evacuated to Dorset. You?"

"Uh- same," Jon blinks, surprised. "I'm Jon. I've- I've never seen you before?"

"I mean, I imagine you go to the boys' school."

"Not until last year."

"Oh."

Jon glances down at his hands, hoping Basira can't see the way his fingers are white-knuckled against his suitcase.

"Well, I was new before-" she waves her arms vaguely, "all this. Home-schooled. So not really surprising."

"Oh." Slowly, one by one, Jon allows his muscles to relax. "That must've been nice. Quiet."

"That's one word for it," Basira mutters in a way that implies a hundred other meanings than nice. "I was really looking forward to actually getting to know people, y'know? New people, my own age."

"Well, you know me now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Jon tries for a smile, but it comes out as something more of a grimace. All the same, Basira seems to get the sentiment, and returns it.

~/~/~/~

Martin hates trains.

In theory, they're the perfect vessel. Hours of uninterrupted time, the world moving beneath your feet as you curl into a seat with a hot cup of tea and your favourite paperback.

But he hasn't been on a train since his mother sent him away to London, and that sort of memory tends to leave one with a distaste by association.

Now here he is, only a few years later, being sent away again.

He's just glad his mother refused to take him in. He's not sure he could bear going back to that house, potentially indefintiely.

All the same, he's trying to make the best out of the journey that he can. He's heard horror stories of other evacuees, forced to work on farms or taken in only to be used for their ration cards. If that's the sort of fate he's headed for, he'll take the luxury of a nice cuppa and the drafting of a few poems whilst it's still there.

And he really is in the perfect place for it. The smouldering London skyline behind him, the fathomless countryside ahead. A world in flux and chaos, defined in fire and water.

He notes that down in his journal.

"Any good thoughts?" Melanie asks through a mouthful of sandwich.

Martin blinks up at the girl sharing his compartment, an embodiment of chaos if ever he's seen one. She's lying across the seats opposite him, her suitcase open and contents strewn everywhere - she'd been digging through it to find something inane which turned out to be in her pocket the whole time, and hasn't bothered to pack it up again.

Martin's hands itch to tidy the space - instead he grips his pen a little too hard and settles for a quzzical smile.

"Your writing," she points with the corner of her sandwich. "You look very deep in concentration and dramatic. Any good thoughts?"

"I suppose," he shrugs, retreating somewhat under Melanie's energetic gaze. "Something about dichotomies. Peace and war, fire and water. City and country."

"Men and women, nurse and soldier. Alive and dead."

Martin raises an eyebrow. "I guess."

"Hey- if there's any time to be morbid, it's during a war, dontcha think?"

"True. Do you write?"

"Nope. I do photography, though."

Martin can feel himself getting interested despite himself. "Really? Do you have a camera?"

Melanie nudges at the pile of clothes somehow still heaped in the boundaries of her suitcase, revealing the packaging of a beautiful, sleek camera piece that makes Martin fall a little in love with this stranger instantly.

"Is that a Retina I?" he asks, unable to quite keep the awe out of his voice.

"You really know your tech," Melanie says approvingly. "Yeah, it is. I'm going to be a supernaturalist."

"A what?"

"A supernaturalist, Martin. I'm going to be the first person to prove that ghosts exist. I'm going to get one on film."

"Huh."

Martin deliberately avoids Melanie's eyes. To believe in the supernatural is not generally approved of, let alone to talk about it with the sudden reverence and conviction that have crept into Melanie's voice.

He's gotten very used to pretending he's never seen anything out of the ordinary. The smoke that follows him around like a shadow, the spiders that seem to understand him just a little too intelligently - they all have mundane explanations.

He's never met someone so open about such things.

He lasts a matter of seconds before his tongue gets the better of him. "What've you seen?"

Melanie grins, as if she's been waiting from the moment they met just for him to ask. "I got shot by a ghost."

Martin almost knocks over his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"I got shot by a ghost."

"Yeah, you said that already. What I meant to say was, what the fuck?"

Melanie looks delighted to have his attention. She reaches down and rolls her sock to her ankle, revealing a garish red scar screaming across her leg. "London's full of ghosts, if you hadn't noticed. They just love the chaos that's going on right now, always wandering all over the place when the streets are empty and everyone's hidden in their shelters."

"I'm guessing you're not one for shelters," Martin says dryly, attempting to smother the sheer confusion and excitement doing battle in his brain.

"Of course not," Melanie scoffs. "They won't let me enlist because I'm a girl, but, I mean, have you seen some of the boys in charge of Finchley's bomb clearance?"

"A lot of them were in the year above me at school," Martin nods. He could say far more bitter things, but he keeps his mouth shut.

"They're kids, just like us," Melanie nods, a furious look in her eyes. "I wouldn't trust them to protect me from a particularly vicious duck, let alone the end of days raining from the sky."

Martin grins in agreement. Despite initial perceptions, he's starting to like Melanie a lot.

A shame they'll only get to know each other for this one train ride, likely never to hear from each other again. Unless Melanie does actually become famous for photographing ghosts, and he becomes famous for his poetry, and maybe they'll meet at a gala sixty years from now and not recognise each other at all.

Martin mentally kicks himself out of that particular spiral. He's always had a problem with melancholy, and the world being on fire has hardly done anything to improve him.

He's convinced it's what makes him a good poet.

"Hey," he says, to distract himself. "Where are you being sent to?"

"Some professor," Melanie shrugs. "Probably a stuffy old bat who'll put you to work if she finds a single fingerprint in the dust. Academics are all the same, from what I've seen."

Martin looks down at his own tag, brown paper tied with fraying string, looped around his neck by a disinterested attendant at the posting office. He hasn't actually had the nerve to read the name yet.

His heart picks up. "Melanie... it's not Professor Gertrude Robinson, is it?"

~/~/~/~/~

"...But Patroclus called to his comrades with a loud shout: “Myrmidons, ye comrades of Achilles, son of Peleus, be men, my friends, and bethink you of furious valour, to the end that we may win honour for the son of Peleus, that is far the best of the Argives by the ships, himself and his squires that fight in close combat; and that the son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, may know his blindness in that he honoured not at all the best of the Achaeans-"

"Achilles is such an idiot," Basira interrupts, rolling her eyes and flipping the coin in her palm in absent, distracted movements.

Jon raises an eyebrow and lowers the book. "I can stop, if you'd prefer."

"No, no, you're okay. You've got a surprisingly good voice for this stuff. I'm glad you suggested it."

They've been taking turns reading aloud, switching out every few pages to pass the time, since Jon has no books of his own. But Basira seems to have quickly decided that Jon is a born narrator and delegated all further reading to him.

He's been glowing faintly from the praise ever since.

The journey has flown by - as time often does when Jon's hyperfixations make an appearance - but for once he doesn't feel guilty about indulging it. Basira seems just as fascinated, somehow, and he greatly enjoys her interruptions.

"You don't think Achilles is an idiot?" she asks, crossing her legs and leaning forward intently.

"No, I definitely do- he sends his boyfriend out to fight a war he isn't prepared for just because of a grudge and then throws a tantrum when that hubris gets him killed. He's definitely an idiot."

"Oh good," Basira says, visibly relieved. "For a moment there I thought we were going to have to argue."

Jon laughs, and the sound comes easier than it has in a while. This realisation crawls under his skin, cutting the sound short. He looks out of the window for some semblance of escape-

"Hey! Look!" He points out at the approaching train station, a quaint thing, barely more than a slab of stone emerging from a field. But the sign, rusted as it is, reads the same as the looping handwriting on the label around his neck does.

"Oh joy," Basira sighs. "Countryside air and a new family who'll probably hate me."

"Where are you being sent?" Jon asks, more hopeful than he's willing to admit. "Maybe we'll be neighbours."

"The household of Professor Gertrude Robinson," she reads from her own label.

"So am I!" Jon's heart leaps high in his chest despite himself. "You know, if we're with a professor, she might- I mean, she probably isn't a rough work kind of person- so maybe... this won't be so awful after all?"

Of course, Jon has always had a habit of speaking too soon.

~/~/~/~/~

Gathering Melanie's discarded belongings is a predictably chaotic affair, but she executes it with the practiced air of someone who lives that way every day.

Martin can't decide whether he's excited or dreading living with this girl.

As soon as they sprawl out onto the platform with seconds to spare, Martin realises that Melanie's mess is the least of his worries.

Because perched on the station's only bench, face knitted into his iconic perpetual frown, eyes squinting against the sun, is Jonathan fucking Sims.

Next to his suitcase, and wearing a knitted jumper several sizes too big, he looks tiny. The tall hijabi girl standing on top of the bench, looking searchingly into the distant fields, only serves to exaggerate this.

Melanie notices the sudden drain in his skin immediately, and follows his gaze. "For fucks sake."

"You know him?" Martin asks faintly, resisting the urge to brush his hands through his hair, or smooth his clothes. Jon doesn't care what he looks like, doesn't care about him. He should've learnt back in primary school that being rivals isn't something to be romanticised.

But his heart doesn't seem to get the message as a stray gust of wind dances in Jon's dark hair, and it skips a beat.

"Do I know Jonathan fucking Sims?" Melanie grits out, heaving her suitcase roughly over one shoulder. "That guy is such a wanker. 'Ghosts are for idiots, Melanie. Just a romantic ideal made up by delusional people afraid of the dark.'"

"He's not that bad," Martin begins to protest before he can stop himself, "he's just been through a lot."

"Doesn't excuse him being a dick," Melanie grumbles. "Not to mention he used to date my girlfriend. Always having a disaster and blazing back into her life. What I wouldn't give for five minutes one on one, I'd teach him..."

Melanie goes on muttering under her breath, but Martin barely hears, because Jon has just met his eyes and nothing else in the world matters. There's surprise, then panic, before his expression settles back into a frown.

Martin sighs. It's not as if he should've expected anything else.

"Come on," he says to Melanie, picking up his suitcase. "We'd better get it over with."

The walk to close their distance seems to take hours, and somehow no time at all.

"Martin," Jon greets him with a clipped, emotionless tone.

"Hey, Jon," Martin smiles, refusing to let the other boy's walls get him down. "And you are?"

"Basira," the girl nods, still standing high above them and glancing distractedly towards the dirt path, likely looking for whoever will be along to pick up evacuees. "I guess you guys already know each other?"

"They go to school together," Melanie brushes off the explanation, before introducing herself, too. "Now we're all acquainted, how long before we never have to see each other again?"

Basira's eyes flick silently between the three of them, clearly noting the tension, but saying nothing.

"We're in the same house," Jon says stiffly. "I don't know about you two. I'm sure there are other benches you can loiter at."

"Well we're in the same house," Melanie shoots back, linking her arm with Martin and holding tight. She's a lot stronger than she looks.

An awful thought dawns on Martin, quickly encompassing and eclipsing anything else. "Where..." he swallows around his dry throat, "who are you guys with?"

Martin watches as Jon's eyes widen. Glance down at his own label, across at theirs, and back.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Martin wants to burrow into the ground and hide somewhere his blushing cheeks could never be seen. He shouldn't be surprised, really. This summer was already looking down, being far from London, living with strangers, adjusting to pretending to be whatever fit in most.

Living with the crush who hates his guts is somehow the only escalation that makes sense.

[clodiuspulcher]

hey i need smth & i feel like youre the best person like on earth to ask.. house of atreus book recs? poetry, retellings, favorite translations, journal articles, monographs, fucking fanfic for all i care..... please my crops are dying 🙏🏼 thank you😩

MY HoA CONTENT RECOMMENDATIONS (assuming the ‘canonical’ “greek” “tragedies” are already accounted for):

POETRY

-> Ovid’s Heroides (Hermione to Orestes)

-> Seneca’s Thyestes and Agamemnon

-> Honestly Seneca’s Trojan Women also has Agamemnon dealing w/ the trauma of his family and history w/ a lot of fascinating nuance

-> That one Propertius poem about Agamemnon and his boyfriend (drowned)

RETELLINGS

-> giraudoux’s electra

-> jean paul sartre’s the flies

-> robert icke’s an oresteia (Ive heard GREAT things from Kashuan)

-> frank herbert’s Dune + the immediate 3 sequels of the Dune Universe (Dune Messiah and Children of Dune RADIATE house of atreus energies)

-> the album tallahassee by the mountain goats

FAVORITE TRANSLATIONS

-> I love Anne Carson’s translation of Sophocles’ Electra, but other than that I am not particularly partial to other translations in the Atreus House Extended Universe because I can’t read Greek SO its impossible to say if other translations are good or bad

JOURNAL ARTICLES

-> Check @kashuan ‘s tags for agamemnon/oresteia/house of atreus, etc. essays. they read so many good articles on them and send me excerpts from them often

ARTISTIC DEPICTIONS

-> Again see @kashuan for prime House of Atreus Content

FANFIC

-> me :)