#homer we need to have a word

[distant-screaming]

🙂 <- guy who is losing her mind thinking about one of the oldest works of literature

[felassan]

David Gaider on Alistair, under a cut for length:

"Ah, Alistair. Depending on who you ask, he's the adorable woobie with the biggest heart or the irritating, over-used man-child. Yes, he is indeed all of those things. Good characters have flaws to go with their virtues. Ugly spots. That is literally their humanity. He was a bit of a bear to write, at the outset. James (Ohlen, the first creative director on DAO) had this idea he needed to be a grizzled Warden veteran - older, distrusting. Everyone hated him instantly. I call this the Carth Onasi Problem, and suggested to James that maybe I try something else. My observation says that the characters who are generally liked the most are the supportive ones. Enthusiastic. Funny? Sometimes, sure, but that's *not* required. I need to digress. See, at the time James had this (regrettable) period where he believed everything could be derived from a formula. He even sold this idea to the founders, Ray and Greg. Google 'BioWare formula'. Anyway, how this relates is because James thought the DAO cast needed a Minsc: a comedy character who would become super popular and, ideally, the icon of DA. "Isn't that Alistair?" you ask. "Arguable," I say, "but no." James had me to up a huge list of 'comedic archetypes' and I wrote some possible dialogue for each one. Then he had the team vote. The winning archetype? The Buffoon - like Homer Simpson or Peter Griffin. James was pleased. I was not. "The problem," I said, "is I don't find the Buffoon funny." 😅"

""But you're a professional." "Sure, I *can* write him... but comedy isn't science. I need to find him funny. If I write him, the only comedy I'll mine is where he makes fun of himself." James took that on board and then passed the character onto someone else. The result? Oghren. I rest my case. So back to the supportive character: that was my thought for a new Alistair. It was a special case, after all - the DAO PC was thrust into a terrible situation. They needed someone who had their back. A bud. A *likeable* bud. I was watching Buffy at the time, and my thoughts drifted towards Xander. Now, I know Joss Whedon is persona non grata these days, but this was 2006, OK? I was watching Buffy and thought, "man, Xander is such a wasted character" and considered how to fix him. Then I realized this might work for Alistair. Plus, I wanted to see if I could replicate the Whedon vocal patter. That was the new Alistair: a more useful and likeable yet equally dorky version of Xander. We had very strict rules in DA about language: no modern speech styles, colloquialisms, any words that came into use in our world after 1900 got severe side eye... but Alistair? Alistair got a blanket pass. Was it great that the lead writer's leading man got to break the rules? I guess not, but it's my opinion that you can break those kinds of rules - selectively, in small doses. Too much and you break the illusion. And it worked. Alistair was an instant hit. Not just with the team, but with the fans."

"Confession time? Yes, I knew Goldanna wasn't meant to be Alistair's mother. But neither was Fiona, originally. I think fans caught wind of some revisionism at work, and OK it's true. I had a more Arthurian idea for his birth but I stopped liking it... yet not soon enough to go back and make edits. Should I have just left it be, left Goldanna as his mother? Maybe. It was one of those writer things I just couldn't let go of and I probably could have used someone to sit me down and go "Gaider, please. Just stop." I still like Fiona, and where I took it. But I probably shouldn't have gone there. Casting Alistair was SUCH a chore. He required a weird mix of devilish charm, but with enough sincerity and adorkableness it didn't come off as smarmy. Every audition went full smarm... until Steve Valentine up and appeared out of nowhere. In the midst of a batch of audition files, there he was. We brought Steve in "just to try out", and he pulled it off. Even the "frog time" line, which (seriously) nobody else could. And when he got to the romantic lines, Steve's voice turned into pure butter without, again, sliding into "oh, he's slightly creepy". Both Caroline and I were sold. And he was so gloriously easy to write. It's a well I'd probably return to... a bit too often, maybe? Maric, then Anders in Awakening, and then Alistair kept popping up in future games and the comics because, yes, he was pretty much the breakout comedy character of DA. Which still makes me happy. 😁 CORRECTION: Goldanna was someone Alistair thought was his *sister*, and her mother his mother. Look, it was almost twenty years ago, OK? 😅 --- I actually had a whole scene written in DAI where Fiona tells him, but the requirements were so specific for them both to be in Skyhold and it seemed like it'd be relevant only to a small small sub-section of fans (and confusing to everyone else) so it was dropped. Rightfully so, I guess."

[source thread]

User: "The Buffy vibes were strong in DAO and I was very happy with that at the time. What I loved about DAO was the mix of dark themes entwined with bits of levity. That's how I like my angst. Dark, broody with a side of ha-has and y'all delivered in DAO for sure." David Gaider: "That's a me thing. I like going dark - really dark - and then pairing it with light, comedic moments. It provides peaks and valleys in the tone, and prevents either from becoming overwhelming. Hey if it worked for Shakespeare (alas, poor Yorrick), it can work for DA, right? 😉" [source]

[three-cheers-for-green-tea]

Y'all... I know we have the Song Of Achilles and it's beautiful and tragic and gay and all the best and worst things that make us feel other things. But here's the deal...

I'm gonna need someone to sit down and write me a whole partner-in-crime-brothers-in-arms-colleagues-to-lovers-nasty-buddy-cop-romance-with-some-comedy-cause-It's-these-two-angst-cause-heist book about Odysseus of Ithaca and Diomedes of Argos. Like... you don't understand how deep these two war criminals have rooted into my brain.

Hardcover and all. Make it poly, get Penelope in there by end. Telenachus now has two dads and an amazing mom. The palace staff, tries their hardest to preserve his mind from the knowledge that OG dad is bottoming in every configuration.

Odysseus as a straight up mischievous, borderline villain, with a wicked silver tongue. Also a brat with amazing thighs, at like...40 years old. (Homer's words, not mine)

Diomedes with his whole "being the baddest of asses but noone gives a shit because of his father." Everyone pretty much treats him like they did in the Illiad. But Odysseus knows.

And Penelope... no notes. She's perfect.

I need this on my shelf..yesterday. I love classic literature, but bitches need their steamy retellings with all of the plot. It's me. I'm bitches. Have a lovely day.

[divadepreshawn]

𝑨𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝑺𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

Aaron Hotchner × fem!reader ×popstar

I hope this isn't repetitive, I wanted to update soon but my head was empty like Homer's (I guess exam week melted my brain). At least I got a perfect score on one of them. I also changed everything on my profile, I've been thinking about it for a month because I have some problems with change but I'm a person who adapts easily, ironic right? I don't know if there's any need to say this, but I obviously didn't write this song Anyway, I said I'd burn slowly. WC: 1 961 part five

Aaron arrived earlier than usual, as he did when he needed to get the reports in order before the team arrived. However, twenty minutes had passed and the folder was still closed in front of him. The conversation from the night before echoed in his mind. Your smile. The way you didn’t mince your words when talking to him – the naturalness, as if you had known him for years. It was an unlikely connection, quick for his taste – too real to ignore.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a frustrated sigh. His cell phone vibrated on the table, breaking him from his trance. The screen lit up with the notification from the messaging app.

“Good morning Mr. Hot, just to be clear, if you disappear again, my revenge will involve sound cars.”

Aaron let out a genuine laugh, the kind of laugh he didn’t know he was capable of before eight in the morning.

“Good morning. I have to ask, do you ever wake up threatening others? Not that I doubt your threat – trust me, I know you are capable.” “I prefer to call it a preventive warning. I still don’t know if you’re a repeat offender.”

He stared at the screen for several long seconds. Before sending a reply, still hesitant.

“You just insulted my reputation. Now I think I need to clear my name… Would dinner be enough?”

A few seconds passed, almost enough time for him to start regretting having sent it.

“Dinner… I like that, I think it might work.”

He felt a slight tightness in his chest. I need to schedule an exam, this is happening frequently, he thought.

“I have a place in mind, discreet enough that you won’t need disguises.” “That’s very thoughtful, I’ll see you tonight ;)”

Aaron read the message once, twice – as if it could disappear if he blinked. An involuntary smile appeared on his lips.

Damn, he’s screwed.

With a sigh, he put his cell phone in his pocket, adjusting his tie. He needed to focus on the report—or at least pretend to. Finally opening the folder, his eyes scanned the first few lines, forcing himself to focus on his work. He was almost halfway through when the office phone rang.

“Hotchner.” Her tone was low and serious.

“Sir, we have a case in Atlanta, Team on the jet in thirty minutes.” Penelope’s voice broke through on the other end of the line.

He closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. Someone on the other end doesn’t like him very much, he thought.

“I’m on my way.”

-

The team was spread out in the armchairs, each focused on their material. The constant sound of the engines drowned out the silent tension. Aaron reviewed the case information. After reading the same page three times, his eyes fell to his cell phone on the table. He opened the messaging app, clicking on the last conversation, his eyes scanning the keyboard – indecisive. He still doesn’t know why he hesitated to talk to you. Maybe it was the fear of crossing the invisible line – which he was one step away from doing. Maybe it was the awareness that something had changed or the fact that he no longer had control over it.

“I might need to reschedule dinner tonight. I have a case.”

He typed and deleted it. Aaron knew he should text you to explain himself. But a simple text didn’t seem enough. You deserved more than that. Opening his contact list, he searched for a familiar number and discreetly called.

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Do you know what the best source of artistic inspiration is? Relationships.

Your best compositions have always been those that were born from your feelings. Sometimes they were strange – you’re not proud of that. But what could you do? Composing was your love language.

Looking at the lyrics you’ve just finished, an involuntary grimace appeared on your face. “Maybe this is too… intense,” you thought. A knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts, startled, you slammed your notebook shut, your eyes slightly wide as you held your breath – like a child when they make art. Lisa – your personal assistant – enters the room raising an eyebrow at you.

“You look like you’re up to something…” she looks at the notebook on your lap “Who are you stalking right now?”

You grimace, opening your mouth ready to protest “Hey, I’m not stalking anyone” you open the notebook quickly skimming the lyrics “Well, not consciously.”

“Let me guess, is that the FBI guy?”

“No…” you tried to keep your expression neutral, but it was useless. Just hearing his name made your heartbeat falter. “Well, maybe.”

“Holy shit, you just got zinged.”

“What are you talking about?” you frowned as you tried to remember what that meant. “Zing? I think I finally cracked you.”

“Hotel Transylvania, you know, when two people look at each other and the universe just stops and goes like: boom, spark, destiny, soulmate.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know what’s weirder, you having time to watch cartoons or remembering them. Just stop it.”

Lisa shrugged. “I’m just saying, when you like someone you have two outlets. You write songs that are either really romantic or really perverted. But when you really like them, they get intense and obsessive – psychologically worrying.” She counts on her fingers as she speaks, before pointing to the closed notebook on her lap. “And based on what I’ve seen, plus your scared face when I walked in here, I’d bet my kidney that if this guy heard what you wrote, he’d run. Like: lock this woman up.”

You blink in disbelief. Was she lying? No. Would you admit she was right? Not even under torture.

“Shouldn’t you be reorganizing my schedule based on the cities and partnerships we have to make in a week?”

“I’m multifunctional, I can do both at the same time. I just came here to let you know that Lana is waiting for you at the studio,” she says with a smile, already turning to leave. “Disturbing you is my job. Organizing your schedule and sending emails is just a bonus.”

You threw a pillow in her direction – she dodged it, her reflexes were definitely on point. You stood there for a few minutes after Lisa left, staring at the notebook in your lap, your fingers hesitating before opening it again. The lyrics were there, staring back at you. Exactly as she described, intense and obsessive.

All up in your mind I try to get all up in mine your mind It stops at a crime that I wanna make you mine I try to get all up in your mind I'll go and do the time if it means I'll make you mine Your My eyes, yeah, I really like your smile It stops the time, yeah, I'll stay here for a while You awaken in me that good feeling that I didn't even know I needed.You give me that real good feeling that I need Be careful what you ask for 'cause I just might comply You need a real wild girl You need me, all mine your demons, it's gon' take a little work It's absurd but I'm gon' say those three words Yes, I do, I think it's true I just know I love you (gon' make you mine, minе) Tell mama that I'd do it for you The rider always want you, I'll bе groupie for you It may hurt at first 'cause I'ma make you work Put me first is what you need I know you're gonna love me  Why don't you take the time to really notice me? You need that really wild one (you're mine, you're mine) I knew that you can't live without her He know I'm a fuckin' problem I knew that I could get it out him (you're mine, mine, mine) I really love you (you know I love you) Tell mama do it for you (you're mine, mine, mine) My eyes behold you, this kitty always want you I'm the only one for you (you're mine, mine, mine)

A part of you wanted to lock it in a trunk and throw away the key. And the other… You secretly wanted Aaron to see this side, just to know if he would stay.

“What the hell, this song is going to be recorded,” you thought, getting up to go to the studio.

-

“I want a strong beat and something electronic, futuristic, something that gives a synthetic effect. I want the beat to grow as if it were surrounding the person listening, giving a feeling that is kind of claustrophobic, you know?”

Lana arched an eyebrow, already turning to the mixing table. “Like a glitch? A synthesizer with a metallic tone? Or something more “screaming”, like high-pitched effects?”

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. “No, nothing screamy. Add a bit of the first two, I want the bass beat, maybe even a reverb effect.”

“A synthetic base that sounds like a whisper.” She nods softly. “You know what would be cool? Add some very low, almost imperceptible breathing samples. To give the feeling that someone is there. Very close.”

You nod “I thought about it, I think that instead of whispering I will record some tracks going down a tone, I will harmonize and overlap.” you think for a second “Maybe a synthetic effect, half robot on top.”

“Girl, I love how your mind works. Do you want to record a track yet?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am.” You get your headphones and notebook ready, signaling for Lana to start recording.

After recording and choosing the best tracks, you sit down with Lana to adjust the beat and add some vocals in the background. She added effects, adjusting volumes, testing reverbs and delays with surgical precision. In the background, she added her processed voice, they floated like ghosts. After listening to the finished track, Lana leaned back in her chair, looking at you with an expression that was hard to decipher. “I don’t know if this is music, a spell or a threat. But I liked it. You should explore this more alternative side of you.”

You smile, shrugging your shoulders “Maybe later. This song doesn’t fit with the rest of the album and I still don’t know if I want to release it… Just save the demo.” Lana nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on you for a moment longer – as if reading between the lines of what you didn’t say. She didn’t ask questions – there was no need. She knew.

A soft knock echoed in the room, and you and Lana exchanged a curious look. You stood up and walked to the door, still confused, and when you opened it you were faced with Chris, holding a huge bouquet of flowers with only a card on top with your initials.

“Special delivery” he said with an amused expression, holding the arrangement out to you.

You raised an eyebrow in surprise, accepting the flowers. “Hey” you murmured with a half smile, bringing your nose closer to the flowers “Sending bouquets is my thing.”

“Yeah, it seems like it's both of their things now .”

You looked at him over the flowers, frowning “Our thing?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the side of the door, his smile widening. “Who do you think sent you this?”

Your heart raced, the question hanging in the air, but there was no need for an answer. Maybe you weren’t as crazy as you thought. Muttering a “Thank you,” you turned away, walking back into the living room to the couch in the corner, Lana’s eyes following every step. Setting the flowers down beside you, you pulled out the small card.

“Last-minute cancellations aren’t my style, but a case took me out of town before I could give you a heads up. If you’re willing to give me another chance, I promise to make it up to you. Pick a place, a day, and a time. I’ll be there. P.S. I wish I had the gift of writing notes as witty as yours… but all I can offer is my sincere apologies – and please don’t send the sound truck. - A.H.”

You bit your lower lip, fighting the smile that threatened to escape.

“Please tell me he wrote something absurdly cute.” She said with a fake sigh, clasping her hands close to her face.

“It’s cute,” you agreed, chuckling softly. “In his own way, of course.” You picked up your phone and typed a reply.

“I could consider this an act of relapse, but since the situation called for it, I’ll let it slide. No sound truck for you – for now. Just come back in one piece.”

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The local police station was stuffy, the distinctive smell of paper and stale coffee wafting through the air. Aaron sat at a makeshift desk, his jacket hanging over the back of his chair. In front of him was a stack of files—photos of victims, reports of old cases, a list of suspects.

His phone vibrated on the desk, his eyes darting to the screen reflexively, his name flashing on the screen. Swiping his finger, he opened the message.

A small smile—almost imperceptible—appeared on his lips. The casual way you teased him was disarming—and unexpectedly comforting. He definitely needed to solve this case soon. Maybe it was too soon to name what was emerging between you. But it wasn’t too soon to admit it—even if only to himself. He wanted more. More of your boldness and unexpected responses. More of the way you messed up his carefully constructed routine.

He wanted you to stay.

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English is not my first language are sorry for any mistake

If you have any ideas to contribute to the sequel I will be happy to receive them :)

tag: @duchesz @midnghtprentiss @jazzimac1967 @queenofnothng @leathynn @camihotchner @yourallaround-simp @pastelpinkflowerlife @padlockedheartsreading @tomhiddlestonforever-blog @michasia24 @sweetpianoxoxo

[madtzie]

Top reasons the Odyssey is a comedy, a sequel to my previous tirade

- Telemachus telling his mother to shut up in the most savage ways, many, many times

- Everybody, and I mean everybody, crying 24/7, at the slightest inconvenience, every other page

- Odysseus rolling around on the ground and crying after Circe tells him he has to go to the underworld while she sits awkwardly and watches. I am not kidding. Why.

- Odysseus making up ludicrous, stupid fake life stories to everyone he encounters on the way. This is a choice. There was absolutely no reason for those stories to be so detailed. He just really enjoys identity fraud, I guess.

- Calypso crashing out when Hermes gets to her island and going on an extremely dramatic and tearful rant about the unfair double standards of the pantheon while Hermes watches with a bucket of popcorn

- Telemachus’ fragile masculinity shattering into a million pieces every 2 pages

- Nestor. Everything about this guy. At this point the guy is like 300 years old. He’s the Heimerdinger of the Trojan cycle. Nestor x Heimerdinger fanfiction when?

- Odysseus’ crew actively ruining every chance they have at getting home because of their consistent stupidity

- Aeolus having twelve kids and marrying them off to each other. Which is lowkey kind of genius, because all dowries from the marriage would go to himself. But he would also have to provide the dowries… which he then would give to himself. So I guess, not genius?

- Aeolus then refusing to help Odysseus again when he comes back to the island after his men opened the wind bag because Aeolus realizes that the only way someone can be this unlucky is if they were cursed but the gods. In other words he turned Odysseus down because he thought he was jinxed. Odysseus x Jinx fanfiction when? (JKJK)

- Ajax’s ghost refusing to talk to Odysseus in the underworld because he’s still sore about losing the funeral games.

- Achilles’ ghost telling Odysseus that being dead sucks. Yah no shite Achilles.

- Menelaus recognizing Telemachus because his feet looked like Odysseus’ feet. This is an actual thing that happens. I am not making this up. Why. How do you even make that connection.

-Helen drugging all of her guests by spiking their wine, including Telemachus and Peistratus.

- The guests being lowkey chill with getting drugged.

- Menelaus takes 8 years to get back home from the Trojan war, but nobody cares because Odysseus took longer. Seriously, we need a Menelassey.

- Odysseus, upon reuniting with Penelope in disguise, makes up a fake identity and tells a story of how he met himself, then proceeds to describe himself in great detail. Ody. Dude. That’s egotistical asf.

- Eurymachus, one of Penelope’s suitors, throws a stool at beggar Odysseus. He catches it, like an absolute chad.

- At Phaeaicia, Odysseus asks the bard to tell the story of the Trojan horse. Which he came up with. Again, egotistical much?

- Constant shade being thrown at Clytemnestra and Aegisthus throughout the entire book, by everyone. And I mean everyone.

- Odysseus immediately passing out on the ship from Phaeacia to Ithaca. Honestly would have done the same.

- Naussica being an absolute girlboss and not giving a f*ck about the scraggly homeless man who just washed up on her shores.

- Penelope having a 20 year long self care day

- Roughly 20% of the book is Odysseus’ journey. The rest is hilarious filler and npc interactions.

At this point I’m convinced that Homer wrote his epics to troll everyone.

[lyculuscaelus]

Telestratus

So, we have the word ὁμοφροσύνη (homophrosynē) which approximately means “like-mindedness, oneness of mind”. The word seems to be an ideal state for a man-woman relationship, as proclaimed by Odysseus in the Odyssey, book 6, line 180–185, when he was wishing Nausicaä the best kind of marriage:

σοὶ δὲ θεοὶ τόσα δοῖεν ὅσα φρεσὶ σῇσι μενοινᾷς, 180 ἄνδρα τε καὶ οἶκον, καὶ ὁμοφροσύνην ὀπάσειαν ἐσθλήν: οὐ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ γε κρεῖσσον καὶ ἄρειον, ἢ ὅθ᾽ ὁμοφρονέοντε νοήμασιν οἶκον ἔχητον ἀνὴρ ἠδὲ γυνή: πόλλ᾽ ἄλγεα δυσμενέεσσι, χάρματα δ᾽ εὐμενέτῃσι,  μάλιστα δέ τ᾽ ἔκλυον αὐτοί. 185 May the gods grant you all that your heart desires, A man and a household, and may they send with like-mindedness, A good gift—for nothing is better or greater than this, When a man and a woman maintain a household together, Their thoughts like-minded—a great pain for their enemies, Yet pleasure for well-wishers, and they know it best themselves.

Many scholars have been analyzing like-mindedness in man-woman relationships in Homeric epics, the most famous examples should be Odysseus and Penelope, Menelaus and Helen, etc. Apparently, like-mindedness is a strong bond to keep their family together, and their love intact.

But that’s not what I’m gonna do at the moment, cuz I’d like to bring up another text where this word appears once more in the Odyssey. Basically, Book 15, line 194–202, when Telemachus was asking Peisistratus not to bring him to the house and hear Nestor yapping this time:

καὶ τότε Τηλέμαχος προσεφώνεε Νέστορος υἱόν: ‘ 195 Νεστορίδη,  πῶς κέν μοι ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειας μῦθον ἐμόν; ξεῖνοι δὲ διαμπερὲς εὐχόμεθ᾽ εἶναι ἐκ πατέρων φιλότητος, ἀτὰρ καὶ ὁμήλικές εἰμεν: ἥδε δ᾽ ὁδὸς καὶ μᾶλλον ὁμοφροσύνῃσιν ἐνήσει. μή με παρὲξ ἄγε νῆα, διοτρεφές, ἀλλὰ λίπ᾽ αὐτοῦ, 200 μή μ᾽ ὁ γέρων ἀέκοντα κατάσχῃ ᾧ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ ἱέμενος φιλέειν: ἐμὲ δὲ χρεὼ θᾶσσον ἱκέσθαι. ’ And then Telemachus addressed the son of Nestor: “Son of Nestor, can you make me a promise and fulfill it, as an order of mine? We can claim that we’re guest-friends forever, Through our fathers’ friendship, but we’re also of the same age; And this journey will greatly inspire our like-mindedness. Don’t lead me past my ship, O you cherished by Zeus, but leave me here, In case that old man keeps me in his house against my will, Eager to treat me kindly; I need to go home quicker.”

So Homer, you’re telling me that Telemachus was using a word commonly used for the bond of a couple, to describe his relationship with Peisistratus???

…Sure. And they were roommates.

[altis-of-olympia]

A conversation about King Zeus and Queen Hera's relationship. And a narrative on why we can't read the mythos and perceive them as truth.

Come with me on a bit of a journey.

Throughout modern media and historical accounts, we see that King Zeus and Queen Hera have a marriage that can only be described as tumultuous. King Zeus, a known cheater and liar, married to Queen Hera, his sister, and the Goddess of Marriage and Fidelity. Women prayed to Queen Hera to be blessed with a Marriage unlike Her own - one of faith, one of trust. One of reciprocity.

King Zeus is depicted in mythos as being disrespectful of His Wife. In Homer's Iliad, we see several instances in which Queen Hera attempts to revolt against His word, and very quickly, She is punished or shot down. King Zeus ruled over Her with an Iron Fist, as was expected of the Patriarch of the Ancient Greek Household. Especially Kings.

Not acknowledging this fact would be negligent. The Ancient Greek Household had a very particular rule of order - especially amongst royalty. A King ruled over all, his Wife was to listen, and the children were to fall in line. This was the standard for the time.

However, times have changed. With this change, the perception of their relationship must change. In the modern era, the relationship between man and woman looks much different. At least, the ideal looks different.

The newer generation values a relationship where both parties, regardless of sex or gender, are equals. There is no distinct breadwinner, there is no distinct person who "wears the pants" unless otherwise communicated. And King Zeus and Queen Hera reflect this. I have spent plenty of time with the two of them as of late, and they are nothing like the myths depict. King Zeus speaks highly of His Wife. And the few conversations I've had with Queen Hera, She sings His praises, just as He does for her.

Now, in terms of mythology itself...

Here is how I break it down.

Let us say, for the sake of examples, you have a governing document written 400 years ago. It was written based on the ideals of the people 400 years ago, what they needed, wanted, and what they thought was best. And they never changed them. Sure, the document has been translated time and time again as the language becomes more ancient, but other than this, they don't touch it.

Now, 400 years later, in a developed society with new ideals and new ideologies based on that of the old, you have two options. You can either take the document as it is, literally with zero nuance. Or, you can look at it as a breathing document and shape it to fit the ideals of the new society you live in.

This is how people tend to look at mythology. Mythic Literalists, and Mythic Revisionists, as I'll call it. Mythic Literalists will take a work of mythology and look at it as it was written. King Zeus betrayed Queen Hera time and time again, and Queen Hera made the women He slept with face Her wrath rather than confronting King Zeus Herself. A Mythic Revivalist will take this and say that, yes, King Zeus did betray Queen Hera, and She did make other women face Her wrath. What is the allegory behind this? What is the message?

Taking Mythology at face value is what turns people against certain Gods and leads to villainization. The amount of people who turn their heads away from King Zeus due to the stigma that He's a horrible God who rules with an Iron First is astounding. They victimize other Gods like Queen Persephone and may claim She is unhappy as Queen of the Underworld. This is definitively false - both of these narratives. Which is why Mythic Revision is important to understanding the Gods in our modern day.

May I leave you with a bit of homework, so to speak. What is your favorite myth, how did you view it before, and how would you view it after the modern application of it? I look forward to hearing your points of view.

[greekmythcomix]

How I teach the Iliad in highschool:

I’ve taught the Iliad for over a decade, I’m literally a teacher, and I can even spell ‘Iliad’, and yet my first instinct when reading someone’s opinions about it is not to drop a comment explaining what it is, who ‘wrote’ it, and what that person’s intention truly was.

Agh. <the state of Twitter>

The first thing I do when I am teaching the Iliad is talk about what we know, what we think we know, and what we don’t know about Homer:

We know -

- 0

We think we know -

- the name Homer is a person, possibly male, possibly blind, possibly from Ionia, c.8th/9th C BCE.

- composed the Iliad and Odyssey and Hymns

We don’t know -

- if ‘Homer’ was a real person or a word meaning singer/teller of these stories

- which poem came first

- whether the more historical-sounding events of these stories actually happened, though there is evidence for a similar, much shorter, siege at Troy.

And then I get out a timeline, with suggested dates for the ‘Trojan war’ and Iliad and Odyssey’s estimated composition date and point out the 500ish years between those dates. And then I ask my class to name an event that happened 500 years ago.

They normally can’t or they say ‘Camelot’, because my students are 13-15yo and I’ve sprung this on them. Then I point out the Spanish Armada and Qu. Elizabeth I and Shakespeare were around then. And then I ask how they know about these things, and we talk about historical record.

And how if you don’t have historical record to know the past, you’re relying on shared memory, and how that’s communicated through oral tradition, and how oral tradition can serve a second purpose of entertainment, and how entertainment needs exciting characteristics.

And we list the features of the epic poems of the Iliad and Odyssey: gods, monsters, heroes, massive wars, duels to the death, detailed descriptions of what armour everyone is wearing as they put it on. (Kind of like a Marvel movie in fact.)

And then we look at how long the poems are and think about how they might have been communicated: over several days, when people would have had time to listen, so at a long festival perhaps, when they’re not working. As a diversion.

And then I tell them my old and possibly a bit tortured simile of ‘The Pearl of Myth’:

(Here’s a video of The Pearl of Myth with me talking it through in a calming voice: https://youtu.be/YEqFIibMEyo?sub_confirmation=1

And after all that, I hand a student at the front a secret sentence written on a piece of paper, and ask them to whisper it to the person next to them, and for that person to whisper it to the next, and so on. You’ve all played that game.

And of course the sentence is always rather different at the end than it was at the start, especially if it had Proper nouns in it (which tend to come out mangled). And someone’s often purposely changed it, ‘to be funny’.

And we talk about how this is a very loose metaphor for how stories and memory can change over time, and even historical record if it’s not copied correctly (I used to sidebar them about how and why Boudicca used to be known as ‘Boadicea’ but they just know the former now, because Horrible Histories exists and is awesome)

And after all that, I remind them that what we’re about to read has been translated from Ancient Greek, which was not exactly the language it was first written down in, and now we’re reading it in English.

And that’s how my teenaged students know NOT TO TAKE THE ILIAD AS FACT.

(And then we read the Iliad)

[calliesmemes]

EPIC: THE MUSICAL — ACT ONE

ASSORTED SENTENCE STARTERS featuring lyrics and dialogue pulled from EPIC: THE MUSICAL by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, a new concept album adapting the story of Homer’s Odyssey into a musical.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

❛ I know that I’m ready. ❜

❛ I don’t think that you’re ready. ❜

❛ Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger. ❜

❛ I could raise him as my own. ❜

❛ Please don’t make me do this. ❜

❛ The blood on your hands is something you can’t lose — all you can choose is whose. ❜

❛ This is the will of the gods. ❜

❛ You’re as old as he was when I left for war. ❜

❛ Will these actions haunt my days? ❜

❛ Every man I’ve slain is the price I pay. ❜

❛ I would trade the world to see my son and wife. ❜

❛ When does a man become a monster? ❜

❛ When does a reason become the blame? ❜

❛ Six hundred men under my command. ❜

❛ The problem’s not the distance; it’s what lies in between. ❜

❛ My kingdom is waiting. ❜

❛ So Captain, what’s the plan? ❜

❛ Look! There, in the distance. I see an island. ❜

❛ I see a light that faintly glows. ❜

❛ Something feels off here. ❜

❛ I say we strike first; we don’t have time to waste. ❜

❛ We should try to find a way no one ends up dead. ❜

❛ You can relax, my friend. ❜

❛ I can tell that you’re getting nervous. ❜

❛ Is this how we are supposed to live? ❜

❛ Here we have a chance for some adjustment. ❜

❛ Give it a try, it's not that hard. ❜

❛ This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms. ❜

❛ Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart. ❜

❛ Stay back, I'm warning you. ❜

❛ Kindness is brave. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you? ❜

❛ I see you changing from how I've designed you. ❜

❛ Have you forgotten your purpose? ❜

❛ My life has one mission. ❜

❛ We'll make a greater tomorrow. ❜

❛ Enlighten me, what's your name? ❜

❛ If you're looking for a mentor, I'll make sure your time's well spent. ❜

❛ If there's a problem, we'll have the answer. ❜

❛ I still intend to make sure you don't fall behind. ❜

❛ Don't forget that you're a warrior of a very special kind. ❜

❛ It’s almost too perfect, too good to be true. ❜

❛ Who are you? ❜

❛ We’re just travelers. We come in peace. ❜

❛ What gives you the right to deal a pain so deep? ❜

❛ Your life now is in my hands. ❜

❛ I’ll take from you like you took from me. ❜

❛ There’s been a misunderstanding. ❜

❛ Maybe you and I could make a deal. ❜

❛ I’m so glad we see eye to eye. ❜

❛ If we're defeated, they're good as dead. ❜

❛ No backup, no chance for support. ❜

❛ Our foe must be thwarted right here and now. ❜

❛ Show me how great is your will to survive. ❜

❛ Stand up and fight for your lives. ❜

❛ Defeat is not allowed. ❜

❛ We must live through this day, so fight! ❜

❛ You’ve hurt me enough. ❜

❛ You won’t live through this day. ❜

❛ We must move quickly, we don't have much time. ❜

❛ But captain, what'll we do with our fallen friends? ❜

❛ We are not to let them die in vain. ❜

❛ Our comrades will not die in vain. ❜

❛ Mercy is a skill more of this world could learn to use. ❜

❛ The blood we shed, it never dries. ❜

❛ I am neither man nor mythical. ❜

❛ You're a warrior meant to lead the rest. ❜

❛ That's just like you, why should I be surprised? Selfish and prideful and vain. ❜

❛ Every time someone dies I'm the one who is left to deal with the strain. ❜

❛ This way, you won't plague my life. ❜

❛ What a waste of effort spent. ❜

❛ At least I know what I'm fighting for. ❜

❛ Since you claim you're so much wiser, why’s your life spent all alone? ❜

❛ This day, you lost it all. ❜

❛ Is it nature or divine or a blessing in disguise? ❜

❛ Our home's in sight. ❜

❛ Brace for a storm, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. ❜

❛ I'll ensure that we prevail. ❜

❛ We're taking too much damage to survive. ❜

❛ At this rate, we won't make it out alive. ❜

❛ Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do. ❜

❛ You've heard the legends; this proves they're true. ❜

❛ Don't forget how dangerous the gods are. ❜

❛ How much longer til your luck runs out? ❜

❛ I still believe in goodness. ❜

❛ I just don't wanna see another life end. ❜

❛ You're like the brother I could never do without. ❜

❛ Don’t forget how much we’ve already faced. ❜

❛ I need to talk to you in private. ❜

❛ I can't have you planting seeds of doubt. ❜

❛ I ask for your assistance so we at last can go the distance. ❜

❛ Sounds too easy, what's the catch? ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ The end always justifies the means. ❜

❛ Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. ❜

❛ Time for me to be the father I never was. ❜

❛ Why are my eyes and my heart and my soul so heavy? ❜

❛ It isn't very often that I get pissed off. ❜

❛ I'm left without a choice. ❜

❛ I’ve gotta make you bleed. ❜

❛ I need to see you drown. ❜

❛ Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. ❜

❛ You are far too nice. ❜

❛ I've got no mercy left to give. ❜

❛ The line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible. ❜

❛ I am your darkest moment. ❜

❛ What have you done? ❜

❛ Any last words? ❜

❛ There's only so much left we can endure. ❜

❛ I'm not a player, I'm a puppeteer. ❜

❛ I can’t sleep now knowing everything we've done. ❜

❛ I must say what a brilliant speech you gave. ❜

❛ I don't know who you are nor why you're here. ❜

❛ One wrong move, then you're done for. ❜

❛ All I hear are screams, every time I dare to close my eyes. ❜

❛ I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died. ❜

❛ I am the prophet with the answers you seek. ❜

❛ I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you. ❜

❛ How has everything been turned against us? ❜

❛ How did suffering become so endless? ❜

❛ Do I need to change? ❜

❛ What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along? ❜

❛ If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away — would that make us stronger? ❜

❛ I must become the monster. ❜

[warningsine]

Sigh. I'm tired of this claim.

Is the logic behind it that it's written by somebody who isn't the creator and/or not commissioned by them? Or is this about the quality of the writing?

No. Maguire's books are not fanfiction; they're original fiction using public domain settings and characters.

There is a long history of this practice, stretching from Homer to the Modernists, who'd often write "modern" versions of ancient myths.

A difference between what Maguire does and the type of writing we call fanfiction is that the latter is written by non-professionals, that is fans.

The audience for fanfiction is other fans. The audience for what Maguire does is a literary or general audience, rather than just fans.

Also, the former fundamentally differs in purpose. Maguire's series looks to subvert and extend the meanings of Baum's original fiction. What we call fanfiction often exists to exhaust what-if scenarios, romantic wish-fulfilling fantasies of dubious probability, and so on. It tends to have less to say--so to speak.

I think it's wiser to put "Wicked" in continuity with works like the "Aeneid" or "Orpheus Descending" by Tennessee Williams or "Wide Sargasso Sea" by Jean Rhys, which have very little resemblance in their aim and construction to the writing that gives us the term "fanfiction."

You do not really gain much by establishing that something is something else. It is more productive to focus on what a literary work does and whether or not it does it well.

There are people who call "Wicked" fanfiction to insult it and others who do so to convince themselves that their A/B/O Steve/Bucky on AO3 is on par with "Paradise Lost." Both groups are wrong.

If you (dis)like Maguire's "Wicked" as a book, then putting it in one category or another doesn't matter all that much. What matters is why you (dis)like it.

Last but not least, the elephant in the room is copyright, which is a pretty new concept.

"50 Shades" started off as erotic "Twilight" fanfiction, sure, but could not be published until E. L. James changed so many factors so as to make it legally unrecognizable to the source material.

Another example: all of the Marvel films/tv series/sequels/prequels are canon regardless of who writes them--even when the characters significantly change and the timelines diverge. However, anyone who writes a Loki story but is not employed by Disney, is a fanfiction author.

Every time there's a discussion about whether something is fanfiction or not, it is clear that people need to look up two words: "remake" and "intertextuality."

Again, fanfiction is fun, but this is untrue and, dare I say it, rather anti-intellectualist.

It shows that you either don't read books or that you need to ask a librarian for better books.

[babyrdie]

Okay, I'll talk more about Achilles, Patroclus and Antilochus. Why not? What I want to talk about here is how Philostrathus describes a supposed painting of the death of Antilochus (I say "supposed" because there is debate as to whether all the paintings described in Imagines actually existed or were literary devices). In such a short amount of time, he compartmentalizes a lot of what is special about these three and a few others (the other Achaeans, especially Menelaus).

Philostratus begins not with a description, but with a brief introduction, recapping who Antilochus is by using Homer. He reminds you, the reader, of how special Antilochus is to Achilles. He talks about how Menelaus asked Antilochus to give the news of Patroclus' death to Achilles, saying that it was intentional on Menelaus' part that Antilochus was chosen. Not only because of his speed, but for Philostratus it's also because Menelaus knew that Achilles would need him. And he did. Antilochus not only stopped him from killing himself by holding his hands, he also provided comfort. A comfort, as Philostratus says, "Achilles no doubts rejoices."

That Achilles loved Antilochus you must have discovered in Homer, seeing Antilochus to be the youngest man in the Greek host and considering the half talent of gold that was given him after the contest. And it is he who brings word to Achilles that Patroclus has fallen, for Menelaus cleverly devised this as a consolation to accompany the announcement, since Achilles’ eyes were thus diverted to his loved one; and Antilochus laments in grief for his friend and restrains his hands lest he takes his own life, while Achilles no doubt rejoices at the touch of the youth’s hand and at the tears he sheds.

Translation by Arthur Fairbanks.

You see, much is said of how inconsolable Achilles was in The Iliad. Much is said of his seemingly endless sadness and rage. But little is said of this moment of comfort. Short, but special. And we know it's special, given how commonly Antilochus has been referred to as a person dear to Achilles in the sources, second only to Patroclus. This is attested to as early as The Odyssey, when the ghost Agamemnon speaks of Achilles' funeral. And this comfort isn't just about Achilles, but about both of them. For, as Homer describes it, Antilochus was crying as he ran. Patroclus wasn't just important to Achilles, he was important to other people as well. Menelaus didn't defend his body "as a mother cow lows over her firstborn, knowing nothing before this of bearing young" (Caroline Alexander) just because it was cultural practice to recover bodies, just because Achilles needed Patroclus. It's because he is sad too, he cares too. When Automedon talks about how Patroclus could control the divine horses Xanthus and Balius, he isn't just talking about the loss of Patroclus' usefulness. He is mourning the loss of a companion, someone who had shared activities with him. And even the horses were in mourning, blaming themselves for the death of their Patroclus. It's the same with Antilochus. Antilochus, in comforting Achilles, is comforting himself. Because this loss is great for Achilles, but it isn't a grief that belongs only to him. Antilochus is saying "I understand you, I'm here." And just as Antilochus was there for his companion, Achilles was there for him.

And then Philostratus describes the death scene. And there are so many elements:

Now such is the scene in Homer, but the events depicted by the painter are as follows: Memnon coming from Ethiopia slays Antilochus who had thrown himself in front of this father, and he seems to strike terror among the Achaeans – for before Memnon’s time black men were but a subject for story – and the Achaeans, gaining possession of the body, lament Antilochus, both the sons of Atreus and the Ithacan and the son of Tydeus and the two heroes of the same name. The Ithacan is made known by his austere and vigilant look, Menelaus by his gentleness, Agamemnon by his god-like mien, while the son of Tydeus is marked by his nobility, and you would recognize the Telamonian Ajax by his grimness and the Locrian by his alertness. And the army mourns the youth, standing about him in lamentation; and, their spears fixed in the ground and their legs crossed, they stand, most of them in their grief bowing their sorrowing heads on their spears. You are not to recognize Achilles by his long hair, for that is gone since the death of Patroclus, but let his beauty make him known to you, and his stature, aye, and the very fact that he does not wear long hair. He laments, throwing himself on the breast of Antilochus, and he seems to be promising him a funeral pyre and the offerings to be placed upon it and perchance the arms and head of Memnon; for he proposes that Memnon shall pay all the penalties Hector paid, that in this respect also Antilochus may have no less honour than Patroclus had. Memnon, stands, terrible to look upon, in the army of the Ethiopians, holding a spear and wearing a lion’s skin and sneering at Achilles. Let us next look at Antilochus. He is in the prime of youth, just beyond the period of downy beard, and his bright hair is his pride. His leg is slender and his body proportioned for running with ease, and his blood shines red, like colour on ivory, where the spear-point penetrated his breast. The youth lies there, not sad of aspect nor yet like a corpse, but still joyous and smiling; for it was with a look of joy on his face (because, I fancy, he had saved his father’s life) that Antilochus died from the spear-thrust, and the soul left his countenance, not when he was in pain, but when gladness prevailed.

Translation by Arthur Fairbanks.

The characters are described by their reactions. You know who Menelaus is by the gentleness of his face, you know who Odysseus is by his watchful gaze. But when he describes Achilles, he says: "You are not to recognize Achilles by his long hair, for that is gone since the death of Patroclus, but let his beauty make him known to you, and his stature, aye, and the very fact that he does not wear long hair." You recognize Achilles by the loss of what he once was, represented by his hair. You know that the man with the clearly freshly cut hair is Achilles because that is the symbol of someone who has been in mourning. Someone who is in mourning right now, for the second time in a short time. And it's interesting to think about it. To think that Achilles' hair didn't even have time to grow back before Antilochus was gone too. Achilles couldn't even dream of dedicating his hair to Antilochus as he did to Patroclus because, with such a recent mourning, there wasn't even enough hair to do it. When Patroclus died, Achilles' balance died too. He was already violent and intense before, but anger and sadness like that had never been seen in him before. But when Antilochus died, the perception of comfort he had is what died. And Philostratus predicts that you're still imagining Achilles with his long hair. Yes, the epic Achilles of the battlefield. But this isn't the epic Achilles of the battlefield, he reminds you, this is a broken Achilles. This is someone who has lost two loved ones, someone who has lost Patroclus and Antilochus.

And as with Patroclus, Achilles won't bring him back. He killed Hector, but Patroclus was still a ghost. Achilles still couldn't embrace him, no matter how much he wanted to. According to the myth, Achilles killed Memnon because of Antilochus. And yet, Antilochus won't return. Like Patroclus, he is gone, never to return. But they will be reunited. Achilles isn't immortal, he is very mortal, he is destined for death. This is a con of his prophecy, where the pro is his undying glory. And yet, it's this negative point that will allow him to be with those he loves. Those who, like him, are mortal. Killing Hector and Memnon will feel empty, but will dying feel empty? When he sees Patroclus and Antilochus in the afterlife, will dying still feel empty?

But if, on the one hand, Patroclus in The Iliad died arrogantly when declaring to Hector that he could defeat him and when decreeing that he would soon die, Antilochus died… simply happy: "The youth lies there, not sad of aspect nor yet like a corpse, but still joyous and smiling; for it was with a look of joy on his face (because, I fancy, he had saved his father’s life) that Antilochus died from the spear-thrust, and the soul left his countenance, not when he was in pain, but when gladness prevailed". The idea of ​​dying doesn't sadden him, not if it means that Nestor is alive. He is a son who values ​​his father more than himself. This stark contrast in the way Achilles laments over his body, even momentarily abandoning the glory of the battlefield for it (note how Memnon is there and yet Achilles pays him no attention), while Antilochus himself is smiling…Philostratus knew what he was doing in this description.

And finally: "His leg is slender and his body proportioned for running with ease". It's said when describing Antilochus. Just a reminder that, like Achilles, he was a runner. Just as this whole scene is a reminder that, like Patroclus, he was a companion and someone to be mourned. Patroclus is often thought of as a kind of complement to Achilles, especially in the shared armor episode. But I think Antilochus is too, he reflects both Patroclus and Achilles.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

So I did Classical Studies in secondary school which was a fairly obscure subject, there were only nine of us in the class and we were all super into it.

Just for context here I’m talking about the class I was in from first to third year, between the ages of 13 and 16 for people with different education systems. We read the Iliad as part of course and it was really dense and when I tell you none of us could hear the word simile today without flashbacks to notating pages after pages of Homer comparing the way people walked to lions……

Anyway, it was a nightmare to read but we loved it.

We came out of those three years having forgotten most of the history of the Roman Empire but we all knew that Paris was a little bitch good for nothing but his looks, Achilles and Patroclus were definitely gay, Achilles was also a little bitch but we love him for it, Hector and Andromache deserved better and, most importantly, Agamemnon was a complete and utter douchebag who deserved everything he got and Clytemnestra was absolutely right to stab him to death in a bathtub, seriously fuck that guy.

We were so invested in this subject that we finished the curriculum early two years in a row and each year our teacher decided that we could put on a play related to the subject to fill out the last two months or so.

Naturally we settled on Troy Story 1 and Troy Story 2 detailing the Birth of Paris through to Achilles returning Hector’s body to Priam in two 40 minute instalments.

Absolutely no one of the forty people who wandered in by accident to witness our work of art understood a single second of what was going on or why we were all restrained laughter at what was basically eighty minutes of obscure classics in jokes. It was glorious. I recently found the script and I wanted to share the chaos.

Highlights included:

Jesse’s Girl playing over Helen and Paris’ introduction while she’s married to Menelaus.

So much unnecessary use of the word bro. Just so much.

Zeus and Hera narrating while passive aggressively bickering for every second of it. The gods constantly saying ‘do you want to get involved in some human drama’ to rope each other in

The extreme dramatic build up to the use of the word dog

Agamemnon speaks like a frat boy the whole time, like the biggest douche ever.

Achilles lifting Hectors body and dragging it around in slo mo while we are the champions plays

Achilles watching the war from his blanket burrito while eating popcorn out of his helmet

The shepherd who found Paris on a mountainside holding him up while the Lion King music played over it

Achilles’ trashy blonde wig. I cannot stress enough how trashy and blonde this wig was. Also Achilles was deliberately cast as the shortest girl in the class (5’ 3).

Odysseus and Diomedes night mission had mission impossible music playing over it as we parkoured across the stage and peaked out behind curtains. They also have dialogue in which they constantly want to stab something

Paris never appears in the sequel but is dissed constantly

We couldn’t do any actual Patrochilles cause Catholic school but we settled for prolonged eye contact to My Heart Will Go On and long pauses after dramatic references to My Closest Companion

Achilles: I need my best bro friend! My life soulmate! My favourite cook!

Achilles in the tent with headphones on listening to All By Myself with mascara streaming down his face after Patroclus died

The facts that Agamemnon killed his daughter and Zeus and Hera are siblings is constantly just kind of dropped in with no context

Everyone’s costumes were mostly just lab coats tied over our shoulders with shared armour from the one girl that apparently had a closet full of Ancient Greek style plastic swords, helmets and breastplates.

We spent an entire class making a giant pink tv frame out of cardboard, paper and way too much sellotape for one joke that wasn’t even that funny. We named it Daniel.

Briseis was an American Girl doll.

The gods yelling at each other to try and pick teams and resulting in a slap fight with an announcement that it lasted 3 hours.

Thetis yelling encouragement from the side lines and calling Achilles her little crib lizard for some reason also she’s reading Song of Achilles in one of her scenes

[tinirainboom]

What if that whole scene was a complete lie? GENSHIN IMPACT THEORY by Tinirainboom

Since the truth is that the player's choice does not matter and it does not change the story of the game, then... What if we never had a real sister? since in reality the canon is Aether and Lumine is the one with the abyss…

(it is shown by the plot cinematics that genshin shows of trama like "We will meet again", "Footprints", “Dim Luminar”, "The road not taken" and “Passing Memories”)

and it is a whole lie created by the Teyvat matrix itself to deceive the MC or us like players?

We do not have "real" evidence about the story of the "twin brothers" since it cannot be possible that one is descended and the other is not, that is where something does not add up. That also happens to Aether when Nahida tells him this. So... "Lumine" means light and "Aether":

According to Greek and medieval science, ether (ancient Greek: αἰθήρ, aither), also called quintessence, is the material that fills the region of the universe above the sphere land. The concept of ether was used in several theories to explain various natural phenomena, such as the movement of light and gravity. In the late 19th century, physicists postulated that the ether permeated all space, providing a medium through which light could travel in a vacuum, but evidence for the presence of such a medium was not found in Michelson's experiment. Morley, and this result has been interpreted in the sense that there is no luminiferous ether. The word αἰθήρ (aithēr) in Homeric Greek means "pure, fresh air" or "clear sky"(Aether's Japanese name is Sora= Sky). In Greek mythology, it was believed to be the pure essence that the gods breathed, filling the space where they lived, analogous to the air mortals breathed. Even Aether is also personified as a deity, Ether, the son of Erebus and Nyx in traditional Greek mythology.

Do you see that it is no coincidence that just "Aether" the canon MC is a descendant? Hoyoverse is not silly and does not do things at random.

And many times we are the only ones who can do things that others cannot and "coincidentally" there are no other people who interact with "Dainsleif", only Khaenri'ah characters interact with him such as Kaeya in the Sumeru mission, or the mention of Capitano in the Natlan mission, even our supposed "twin brother" and then us (we don't count Paimon since it is clear that she is not a being from that world, Teyvat). The same data from the game says that there can be no living beings in the Abyss (we already witnessed that from the victims of Natlan, Sumeru, Liyue/The Chasm...) and just "Lumine" is there, like the "princess of the abyss" she is DEAD, the same thing happens with the people of Khaenri'ah, they are DEAD IN LIVING/SOULS IN BARRAIN due to Celestia's punishment, that is why they are still in the world of Teyvat. That means that the twin brother that is with the Abyss is our counterpart, since as I explained before the "Aether" is EVERYTHING, and the light "LUMINE" is a part of that, just a fragment. For some reason she tells us, "We will meet again", "You will understand everything at the end of the journey", she speaks in a context future in the past tense (avoiding giving the answer so that you understand for yourself by taking the journey to reveal the truth) and as if we need to remember WHAT REALLY HAPPENED and Dainsleif's character is the part of that key.

Since he (Dainsleif) himself also has the attitudes of someone who IS DEAD, like on those occasions when he always lets us (MC) do the work, not HIM, for example: "I can't now, I have to go", "I'm just passing through" or he leaves without say anything, this type of actions are of a soul in pain and just his peers or someone related to the abyss, like "Lumine" can communicate with him, even Zhongli said that he cannot speak about him or the TRUTH because of a "contract". Even Venti in one of the voice lines tells us that "he's seen us before" and coincidentally "we" don't remember it. That further supports that Lumine is simply a fragment of the MC and that is why we are incomplete. Even Lumine has these "living dead"/lost soul attitudes when she appears. Lumine evades the important questions we ask her in the Archon Quest Chapter IV: Act VI - Bedtime Story, answering in a vague, generic way about something we really know called "the Loom of Fate" and only naming "her plans", enigmatic way to avoid specifically answering "TO HER OWN BROTHER" on purpose. She even wants to prevent us from teaming up with Dain and said it to our faces in Archon Quest Chapter I: Act IV - We Will Be Reunited: "why are you with Dain?", "You shouldn't team up with this man. He is my enemy”.

⭐︎Fun fact 1: Did you know that Aether's earring starts in black on its journey through Teyvat and over time it changes to the color spectrum of the elements of each nation while Lumine's light was always white and never changed? Aether = everything, Lumine = light. Even Lumine's clothes are white, and what's the light like? WHITE, however in Aether it is more varied, he has balance, with dark colors and a white scarf and cape with a drawing of a golden shooting star on it. Coincidence? I don't believe it. "Twins" always represent a duality. ⭐︎Fun fact 2: Did you know that the name Lumine in Japanese, Hotaru, means Firefly? In Japanese mythology, fireflies are associated with the spirits of the dead, referencing Hotaru's status as a warrior of death and rebirth. And "coincidentally" Lumine fights for the Abyss, which is death itself (we saw it in Natlan at its best pov) and wants to be "reborn", that is, reform the rules of Teyvat and govern it at his will. Here I give you an image of Fun fact 1:

Doesn't this remind you of something? he he

Surely we do fight against the "sustainer of heavenly principles" but not as really shown in the scene here in the beginning, which affects both counterparts about what they consider real and what not, because… if even the Irminsul himself can overwrite real information with false information like Scaramouche did. So, why shouldn't we doubt that just that "unknown Deity" has done something to us? Since Aether thinks she just sealed his powers, but like I said THAT'S WHAT HE BELIEVES. As she is an entity with great power and was not even seen sweating or struggling to catch the twins, even indirectly the same game confirms to us that the false sky is real thanks to the power borrowed from Ronova the shadow of death of Phanes that she gave to Mavuika to defeat the abyss and unintentionally breaking the sky of Teyvat... It shows that this "deity", the "sustainer of heavenly principles" is capable of altering reality and space, and is surely capable of confronting others entities/descendants (like us) then... Why should we trust what we saw at the beginning of the game? since it may be an altered memory. Even with us, in real life, it happens that the brain fills in compiled information when it does not remember and you create a false memory.

The world of Teyvat is a matrix, a false reality. Even players with the pause menu can control "time", Mavuika also told us that time itself is an illusion since the past, present and future are the same line, they pass simultaneously. This can be confirmed with Aether since what he "supposedly" experienced with the "twin sister" and the incident of the "unknown Goddess" were as if it had happened to him yesterday and not 500 years ago. Time itself is relative. A classic reference to this is the movie Matrix Reloaded, in the scene of Neo talking to the Architect. And why am I referring to that scene? Because Neo being the "chosen one" is a failure of the Matrix system and the architect tells him this. In our case, Aether/MC is a flaw in the Teyvat system since he is a descendant, in short an outside entity/alien. Did you even realize that the decisions we make in Genshin Impact as players do not affect anything, that they are completely USELESS? Since a clear example is the Natlan war or the Sumeru's Samsara, it does not matter which direction you take, those people are going to die and you will not see them again, the same choice is a LIE, an ILLUSION. Unlike Honkai Star Rail, our decisions do change the story of the destination of MC's journey and this is demonstrated with the alternative endings with a black screen and it tells you what happens, but in Genshin this does not happen for a very simple reason. Teyvat is a world of lies, and within the matrix you cannot change things, something that Neo was not able to do at the beginning because he did not realize that he was the chosen one and could break the rules, something that MC still cannot do.

Ultimately, the problem is the choice, just like The Matrix Reloaded. Neo realized that the choice itself did not change things in his favor and the only thing it did was favor the vicious cycle of the Matrix, so he decided NOT TO CHOOSE and CREATE A SOLUTION. In the case of Neo there were 5 chosen ones before him and they fell into the trap, the same thing will have happened with the other three descendants of Genshin and now it is up to us, who we are the fourth to change the rules and not continue with the cycle. There is evidence that comes from the game itself that Teyvat is a lie and that is demonstrated in Wings of Feasting with its inscription, but the most important is what it says at the end: "Teyvat's borders have grown fragile these past two years — looks like Mommy's going to have to get busy." These are Alice's words towards Klee and the reason for his absence. It has already been shown that witches are entities that can create life and underworlds with their own rules within Teyvat (events of the Golden Apple Archipelago, the island of Sri Lanka, even the fantasy theater, etc). 

And now coincidentally all the archons are rebelling in their own way against Celestia giving the Gnosis that have divine knowledge and as Skrik said are part of the corpse of the third descended (Venti created a false Gnosis since if you pay attention when Zhongli or Nahida deliver the Gnosis They don't shine and the one that Signora grabs in Mondstadt does, like the lyre that "he repaired with his power") but with his attitude he shows that he knows more than necessary. And the Fatuis are putting everything together to carry out the Tsaritsa's plan against Celestia.

⭐︎Fun fact 3: When we have to choose the twin and we give him a name, will the rest of the people never say it? They are going to call us "Traveler", except for our supposed twin. The same thing happens in the Undertale game, that at the beginning of the game we choose MC's name but they call us "human" and at the end MC reveals his name and it is Frisk. The election is a lie. Also in Archon Quest Chapter III: Act VI - Caribert, the broken mirror scene is almost the same as the one in the movie Avengers Endgame when the Nebula of the past accidentally connected with the memories of the Nebula of the future? She was able to pass that connection since she was "relatively close" to the Nebula of the future and could not understand what was happening, the same thing happened to MC seeing his twin in his reflection, and that he was seeing through the memories of the counterpart of themselves and just right in the place of the events of the past but in another time. Which makes my theory stronger.   ⭐︎Fun fact 4: It should be noted that the Pari, creations made by the Goddess of Flowers (now completely proven that the Seeles were angels in the past, by Natlan's last mission in 5.1) were the ones who indirectly mentioned to us about Lumine and Dain's journey in Teyvat. Besides, it is no coincidence that they have the power to stop the abyss because they are the creation of an angel in itself. ⭐︎Fun fact 5: The story of the battle pass that Venti tells is an allegory of what is currently happening to these "supposed twins" and the snake acting as a temptation to the strange entity of the "Sinner" who himself says that: "O dear creature, why do you bow down? For fear of the unknown? Or for a power that you covet?, "O dear creature, why do you bow down? For I am no god... I am but a Sinner", "You are like a flower born in sin yet pure, spotless... I know your fate well", "You need no longer hold back your resentment, nor accept the countless lies", "Go forth, become a transcendent one, rise beyond the fate bestowed upon you...", "And I shall shed a tear at the end of time... as I look back upon your life". Words that served Lumine, who is the light, being a pure flower but who can sin, go to the darkness of the abyss. ⭐︎Final fact: If you paid attention to the "Footprints" video, at the beginning of the video "the so-called  twins" appear together in the field of happy flowers and then at the end of the journey of everything, Aether appears alone in that field looking at his hand with a face melancholic, serious and reflective, as if he had discovered a hard and cruel truth at the same time. As the saying goes: "The truth is a very difficult dish to swallow." And there is even another Genshin video that is "Genshin Impact Commemorative Preview «Dim Luminar»" that just "Lumine" tells the entire story that had happened until now (to Sumeru) as if it had been a "witness" of everything, just like a spirit that sees everything that happens to the rest because they became an entity of the fourth dimension. At the end of the video, our “supposed sister” says: "Let's continue another time. Sooner or later, he will leave his mark on the desert. I wonder what choices you will make, Aether?" At the end of the day, did you realize that the scenes between the two of them are like seeing a reflection of themselves? There are no differences and no changes in the history, but it is like seeing a mirror. Lumine at the end of saying that is like looking at yourself in a showcase and saying "what are you going to do this time, me from the past?"

Ready! end of all the argument and theory of Genshin. If you've made it this far, thank you very much for reading. Reblogs would serve a lot to spread this theory throughout the Genshin community.The images are not mine, they are from their respective gif creators. This theory is made by me and my father who we're players. If you're going to use it, give credits to this blog! Now, have a good day, afternoon or night.

~Reiko Yukimura~

[gowerhardcastle]

As When I Wrote a Tumblr Post

I was starting to write a response to an ask about my use of similes, and I was starting to explain how important Spenser, Milton, and especially Homer was to my use of simile in my prose, but then I got caught up in thinking about how I use classical references to make jokes that amuse at least me.

So then I figure I would amass my ten favorite Greek and Roman jokes from my games for you. Then ten became eleven. I can't stop.

Learned jokes about classical and early English literature is at the very heart of this whole gigantic thing I'm writing here, which should be no surprise, because that's what I teach when I'm not writing interactive games.

All I can hope is that the reader either really enjoys a narrative voice that is a little obsessed with such things.

At any rate, much--perhaps even most--of these jokes will be invisible to a character with low Culture. Or, as in several examples below, the joke changes depending on whether you have high or low culture.

Here they are, my top XI classical jokes. Plus, one bonus. Some come from previously published games. Many come from my current game, Tea and Scones.

I:

"Honestly, I think you should just endure."

"You mean like the fellow chained to the rock with the vulture eating his liver out," moans Marmaduke.

*if culture < 35

"I have not seen that film as yet. Sounds a bit gory. But certainly, if that helps you. Like the liver fellow. Just endure."

*if culture >= 35

"Yes. You are a modern-day Prometheus, if that helps you steel your nerves. Just endure."

II:

You ponder Buck's words, rolling them round and round in your mind, turning like

*if culture > 45

            Ixion upon his wheel, to bring a classical simile into things.

*if culture <= 45

            a pinwheel, or a merry-go-round, or, let us say, some sort of carnival tilt-a-whirl.  But it is no use.  If he were trying to communicate something specific, the project was a failure.

III:

There is a moment in The Iliad at which the great Greek hero, Diomedes, filled with valor by the might of Athena, flings his bronze spear at the Trojan hero Phegeus.

The spear streaks across the battlefield as Diomedes emanates fire from his head, and strikes true, puncturing his armor, transfixing his foe, and sending him on a one-way trip to the underworld.

Back at university, you did not give much thought to this moment, but now, you think you have a better sense of what that Homer fellow was all about.

True, fire does not literally emanate from your head, but in all other ways, you emulate the feat of Diomedes, as the walking stick you throw flies true, across the opera house.

IV:

"But you haven't heard what I have to tell you.  You will realize why I need you when you hear the details.  It will be a simple matter for you to solve, whereas I am wholly helpless."

"As I say, you must fend for yourself.  I wish it were otherwise, but there we are.  Would you kindly remove yourself from my leg?"                                  

"No, I shan't.  Like Lykaon before Achilles, I supplicate you!  Mercy!  Mercy!"                

"If you recall, Achilles slew Lykaon, not heeding the supplication in question.  You ought to reread your Iliad."                                     

"Did he?"                                           

"Yes.  The supplication in question was not a wise idea."                                         

"Oh."  Marmaduke loosens his grasp and stands up.  "You certainly know your classical mythology."

V:

#"What's in the violin case?"

"I'll bet you'd like to know," he says.  "You know the story of Aolus and the bag?  It's like that."

"That's Homer," says Vyv.  "The bag of winds or something.  You have to open the bag to let the winds out.  No, wait a moment.  It's the other way."

"That is familiar," you say.  "The bag of winds is too tempting to open and then they open it, and there's wind inside, which frankly they should have figured out because it is called the 'bag of winds.'"

VI:

The tactical choice here is not a complex one.  You strike him as hard as you can with your fist.  It is a tried-and-true approach.  The thought bypasses your brain entirely, and comes entirely out of a conversation between your spine and your hand, as you sock him as hard as you can.

Scores of great authors have groped for the way to describe, say, Achilles spearing some unfortunate Trojan, or Macbeth slicing his way through some or other thane with his broadsword.  But this particular blow, if a Homer or a Shakespeare had been present, could only have been described by the bards in question with a single syllable:  "Wow."--or its equivalent in Ancient Greek.

VII:

“And then I shall defeat you properly."

"Oh," you say.  "Really?"

"Quite," he says, "There shall be songs sung about the things I do.  You may have heard of Achilles dragging the body of Hector around the walls of Troy.  That will be an idle picnic at the park compared to what I do to you."  He walks away from you slowly and furiously, fists clenched.

VIII:

The two of you approach a small, vine-covered restaurant, one of those new novelty eateries.  It is named "Polytropos," serving Greek feasts "Fit for Odysseus Himself Upon His Return" as the sign proclaims.  The whole place is themed after The Odyssey, and the walls and ceiling are festooned with grapevines and garishly painted plaster gods and goddesses….

Your waiter, dressed like a cyclops, places a basket of complimentary lotus root crisps on the table.  Before anyone can speak, Aunt Matilda orders the Octopus Supreme Platter for everyone to share.

IX:

"Yes, of course," you say.  "Really, you should be thanking me.  Imagine--a brutish ruffian is after you, hoping to treat you in a most unmerciful manner.  You have insulted his pride, heedless of the consequences.  You shall defend yourself against him, come what may.  How bold!  How unyielding.  Your name shall live forever."

“Gosh!” says Marmaduke.

*if (((culture >= 47) or ((persuade + culture) >= 75)))          

You are like Theseus braving the minotaur, or Heracles wrestling the lion, or Pompey the Great.  You are, or will be, Marmaduke the Great, in the eyes of many.”

*else

            "You are like that Roman fellow holding the bridge in the face of opposition," you say.  "The name eludes me at the moment.  Horace Sublicius?  Horatio Sulla Decimus?  Something like that.  Roman sounding."      

            "And this is your argument that my name will live forever?" Marmaduke says.

X:

You hesitate, just for a moment. *if culture >= 40 Like Aeneas, his sword lifted high above the prostrate Turnus, or Pyrrhus standing like a painted tyrant above the frail and helpless Priam. That's the way you hesitate. But then, like those warriors of old, the moment of indecision passes away, and you act. *if culture < 40 You hesitate, as when Duddles, having eaten eight already, holding his hand above the plate with the very last berry scone, looks about the room, his will poised between "take it" and "I probably shouldn't." But then, like Duddles, the moment of indecision passes swiftly away, and you act.

XI:

The corridor is decorated with classical scenes of service, like Ganymede being abducted by Jupiter to eventually be made the cupbearer of the gods, the messenger goddess Iris pointedly and respectfully not partaking of the sacrificial meat of the major gods, and Hebe spilling the divine nectar and being given a dressing-down and a lecture on the subject of carelessness by Juno.

As always, your nostrils flare as you recognize the frankly gauche mixing of Greek and Roman figures in the same scene.

Bonus:

"I love you," you say to the the mirror.  "It doesn't matter what anyone else says.  I love you."

"Thank you," you say to yourself, hugging your arms around yourself.  "That means a lot, coming from you."

"I appreciate you, and I see you, and I know how hard things can be.  You've got an ally in me."

"This gives me the strength to go on."

"Ignore the brickbats of society.  Be true to yourself.  γνῶθι σεαυτόν, in the words of the ancient Greeks."

"Right, right.  Well put."

"Thank you."

Perhaps Shakespeare is more your cup of tea? I've written up a similar discussion of my use of Shakespeare in my games here (albeit for patrons).

If the precise nexus where great literature and interactive fiction is where you live, might I tempt you to visit The Noble Gases Club? Become a member, read what I would call a panoply of mini-essays on game design and matters of literary interest, and play an absurdly long demo of Jolly Good: Tea and Scones.

[carolrain]

Bookshelf Snoop Cruise

@mostlyinthemorning asked us to share our bookshelves so we can all look at one another's books, so here I am.

I didn't dust even though it was badly needed, and I just moved in have been in this house five years but can't seem to get it together, so this feels a little imperfect and vulnerable.

This is an old photo (now it has a stack of dusty books on the top too!), but the picture books are organized all by color. Some are from my childhood but most are not:

More children's books, but these are all mine. This is also an old photo taken when I first set them up, as evidenced by the lack of dust and all that empty space. These are mostly by author's last name:

Cookbooks, recipe binders, sheet music, cheap little photograph books, random green tiger (??), broken Rainbow Dash mug, years-old child-made diorama, stack of book covers, arranged by vibes and neglect:

Okay, I have twelve more photos, so I'll make a break here and hope this is intriguing enough that you click through.

This is a small, unresolved disaster that requires an explanation, I think. I made this bookshelf out of an old set of drawers. I got the idea from Pinterest! It was very cute! However, I am not a woodworker. Or a physicist or an engineer. Or someone with proper tools. But here it was in happier days in a crowded little apartment that also looks extra junky because I was in the process of moving out:

Then I moved it halfway across the country in a truck and it became even less stable:

Which is why my nonfiction collection looks like this:

The books don't even all fit, and I want to put a piano where it is. So I need a new bookshelf and a better location.

The nonfiction is in Library of Congress call number order (I do not have spine labels, just a spreadsheet):

Mmm, well, a lot of psychology, religious studies, marriage and family, women's studies, words and writing, and a surprising number of books about cats.

And then my main collection is organized by birth year of the author. So it is a march through time (Homer through Casey McQuiston). This is fiction, literature, biography, some literary criticism shelved with its subjects, etc.

Here's the first shelf. I will zoom in a little for better snooping, and then I'll show you the other shelf.

(I really think this is the exact bookshelf that Noah Reid has in some of his Instagram videos? The green shelf behind his piano? Am I making that up?)

So that was The Odyssey through Sarah Vowell (b. 1969), and then it continues over here on the second and third shelf from the top, where the order starts to disintegrate. I haven't decided if I'm keeping the horizontal ones, so they are not interfiled, and there are a few authors I can't find birthdates for.

The top shelf is anthologies and a little bit writing-related.

And then, down here, reference books, and a bit of oversize and miscellaneous.

Not pictured: Maybe a dozen books in various places around the house (nightstand, table, next to two different chairs) that I'm "currently" reading; a small stack I just bought at a library book sale; a handful of oversize nonfiction; approximately thirty craft books in a tub; two more bookcases and a raskog cart full of my preteen's books, a tub of YA books from my youth in the garage; and, inexplicably, a collection of my ex-husband's childhood books (also in the garage) that he thinks the child should want to read and cherish, but she disagrees.

Well. Does anyone else want to share their bookshelves? I'll tag @jamilas-pen @a-noble-dragon @trickiwooao3 @characterassassination-at-9am @flowertrigger but anyone should jump in.

And I'll tag back @mammameesh, who has already posted and tagged me as well.

[evans23]

Daughter of mine IV

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : Richard Turpin, the High Judge of London, indulges is young daughter for a stroll in the snow.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : A bit of angst. Mention of prostitution and death. Mention of children being beaten. Awkward father. If I forget something, please mention it to me !

A/N: Hello dear 😁 It was lying around among my unpublished writings, so here it is, for you.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part V

Also read on AO3

It was the first snow in London. They had arrived sooner than usual, in the first week of December, yet it was there for Richard's desperation. He hated winter, carols, Christmas, but more than anything else the coldness which accompanied the worst month of the year. The snow was the last straw to put him in the worst mood. 

He hated the snow for several reasons, the first being that he had to go to work with the sleigh rather than on foot. In fact, he could have walked, but he abhorred walking on the snow. and feel his legs sink into this white powder.

The second things he hated about the snow was that after one hours or more after the world had waken up, it wasn't white and pure anymore but rather a disgusting slush, dirtying his beloved Courthouse and his mansion.

Last but not least, he had some bad memories related to that kind of weather. The memory of a father lashing out his anger on him and his brother after both of them had played the whole day in the backyard, happy to throw to each other snowballs and building up snowmen. After that day, where his father had beaten them with his belt for no good reason at all, he had started to hate that white carpet that all children loved.

And, how unfortunate he was, when he came down to eat his breakfast with his daughter, to see that joyful glint in her eyes at the view of the snow. She was looking through the window, Arthur in her arms, with delight. 

"Dad, please, can I be dispense with my lessons today ?" she asked, her eyes full of hopes. 

"Well, if only you were able to line up a correct sentence, like a true lady should, then maybe I could oblige you," he said seriously.

He had said that to tease her, more than anything as he had granted her that right the moment she had asked for it. She had started to call him dad some months ago. He didn't know where the word came from as in his world, children addressed their parents with the proper title of mother and father. Yet, he hadn't had the heart to correct her and since then, she had understood that this simple word could help her to obtain anything from the man. Yes, she had inherited the beauty and kindness of her mother, but she definitely had a lot of her father in her too. 

"Please, dad," she begged him with her most convincing puppy eyes, "I've never had the chance to play in the snow."

"Is that so ?" 

"I couldn't go out when mom wasn't home. And when she was home, she was too tired or too sick to come out and play with me."

Richard felt a pang of sadness at this statement. Catherine never talked too much about her life with her mom. He knew that she had a loving mother, who had famished herself to provide food to her daughter and also that, even though she had sold her body to provide to their needs, she had always protected her daughter from that sinful world. Catherine , who had had her birthday the month before, was innocent in every sense of the word and Turpin was decided to keep it like that. Never should she knows the true about her beloved mother. 

"Well, as I don't work today, I thought a little girl could be desirous to spend the day with her father, but maybe have I been wrong," teased Richard, preventing a small smile to grace his lips.

She turned sharply towards him, her eyes widened with pleasure.

"For real ? We can spend the whole day together ?"

"Indeed. What if we took Hector for a walk ?" he proposed.

Hector was the puppy he had gifted her for her birthday. At the time, during the weekend, he read The Iliad from Homer in the parlour for several hour after their supper. Often until she fell asleep. As he didn't have many occasions during the week to participate in her bed time routine, he wanted her to be bath and in her bed clothes before his lecture to be able to put her in bed once she was fast asleep. He carried her to her bed as if she weighed nothing, which was the case, where he tucked her in and surrounded her with her many stuffed animals. He couldn't fathom why she was so passionate about Hector, who died quite stupidly between the hands of Achille, yet, she had insisted to name the dog after the mythological Prince. 

"Oh yes, thank you father !"

She prompted towards the door, but Richard held her back with one hand on her shoulder.

"Breakfast first ! You need to eat to become strong and to stay in good health."

She obeyed him and joined him in the table to share the deliciousness the cook had prepared for them. Richard was still concerned about her weigh. She had gained some since she was living with him, yet she was still to thin for his taste. Elena, her mother, had some pretty curve, even though she wasn't fat, yet she was still well in flesh and himself wasn't the sveltest one, therefore, Catherine shouldn't have such a frail constitution. 

His personal doctor had examined the girl several time, and he hadn't noticed anything wrong about her. He had reminded Richard that she had grown up under bad conditions, and more than often, kids who were living below the breadline had the tendency to be smaller and thiner than their peer. He had advised Richard not to worry too much and in a few years, she would probably be in better shape with all the good care she was provided with in the mansion. 

He had frowned upon the physician's word when he had told him that he was worrying too much for the child. How a father could worry too much for his offspring ? 

Yet, Catherine was an easy child. She didn't disobey too much, exception done for some childish mischief that he had never felt necessary to punish, at least not in the way his own father would have done. In fact, he had strangely felt relief when she started to act like a child of her age. It meant she felt at ease with her surrounding and at home in the manor. Also, for Richard's greatest pride, her nightmares had begun to diminish and she no longer asked to have her room lit at night. Nevertheless, a candle was always lit in the corner of the room, just in case.

When she had finished to eat, he rang for her maid, ordering her to help Catherine to cloth warmly, then, he charged the butler to notify Catherine's tutors their services wasn't needed for the day. And for the next day. After all, she had deserved some day off as she was a very assertive students, always willing to do her best and progressing faster than expected. 

"Dad ! I'm ready," shot Catherine, Hector on her heels. Him too was ready to cool his paws in the snow. 

They walked along the Thames, Hector bouncing happily beside them, while Catherine held Richard's hand into her tiny one. Richard wasn't a man to display his affection publicly, yet, he didn't have the heart to hurt the child by wringing his hand free. Anyway, everybody in the High Society knew he had a daughter, even though they didn't know anything about her background. Yet, no one dared asking question. He was Richard Turpin, The High Judge of The London Court of Justice, The Death's Judge. No one had to question him. Was she adopted, was she a bastard, was she a ward ? No one would dare mingling in his business on that matter or any other one. She was Catherine Elena Turpin and that was it. And if anyone dared dig into his daughter's past or his, The Beadles was there to take care of the inappropriate and stupid person. No colony for them. No mercy. A hanging under a crime The Beadles found appropriate. 

"Dad, can we go to the park ?"

Richard frowned. He knew far too well why she wanted to go to the park. To socialise. A trait she had inherited from her mother, definitely. Not that he was against the idea the girl made some friends, but certainly not with the lower class of London, whose children were closer to little demons than real human beings. 

He had already scolded her governess to bring her in those parks after he heard Catherine talk some slang she had picked up from them. Dad was his only tolerance because... well because he feigned ignoring where she had learnt the world and because it always warmth is cold heart, imprisoned into a block of indestructible ice when she said that soft word in her trembling voice. 

If Richard was more honest, he would admit that the girl had fought her way into his icy prison of a heart and made herself comfortable in there. But never would he admit it, for that would be a sign of weakness and Richard was anything but weak. 

"What if we had some tea, instead ?"

He subtly asked to change her mind about the park. She beamed at him and his shoulders slumped in relief. What would the common people but worst, what the upper class would say if he, the High Judge of London, was seen in a park full of paupers, letting his child play with the scruffy and ill-bred children of the local oafs ?!

Fortunately, Catherine was easy to convince. Indeed, he had taken her a few months earlier to one of the finest tea room in town where he was to meet a judge with who he worked regularly to settle some secret business. The little girl had promised to behave and remain silent until the end of the encounter between her father and the other man. As a reward for her good manners, they had spent the rest of the afternoon together, having tea and eating mini cakes. 

Richard had seen it as a good opportunity to make her practise the delicate exercise of going out in public and drinking and eating in style, where Catherine had only seen it as a pleasurable experience at spending some time alone with her father. That evening, she had been rambling on and on and on to her maid about how pleased she was with her day, and Anne, the head maid, had subtly hinted to Turpin that it was something he should do more often in order to strengthen the bond he had started to form with the girl. Richard had grumbled that a man of his importance had better things to do than entertain a child in a tea room, yet that was just for good measure, as he had been back there several times with his daughter, including for Catherine's birthday.

The afternoon went well as Catherine, her cheeks flushed with cold, was talking happily with her father who was earnestly listening to her, as he did with everything in his life. Hector, the little puppy, had been allowed to accompanied them under the condition that he remained in his mistress' arms where he was snoring softly. 

They returned home shortly after, the girl still holding her father's hand as a lifeline while they were walking a little bit to briskly for her little legs, also with a look of little disappointment for her that the afternoon was cut short so suddenly. However, the threatening clouds had not escaped to Turpin who feared that another snowstorm would prevent them from returning safely to the manor. 

Once back, the magic of the moment faded away as Turpin went directly to his office on the purpose to catch up on the work he had fallen behind for the day. It was convoluted to understand for Catherine who was still struggling to adapt herself with the quick change of mood of the man who had now found his place as a father in her little heart, still fragile by the many trials she had gone through at such a young age. 

Fortunately, she could always count on her governess to cheer her up and together, they played until bath time with her porcelain doll and her many stuffed animals.

"You won't have class tomorrow either," Richard announced to her at supper time.

Catherine's eyes lit up with joy. 

"Thank you, father !" she exclaimed.

"To my great despair," his cold voice growled, "a young girl from a good family should never neglect her lessons, but I considered it as more prudent not to have your teachers come tomorrow as the snow will probably fall more heavily than last night."

A lie, of course, but he didn't want to appear weak in anyone's eyes. He was the cold, unyielding Judge Turpin, not a soft heart who catered to his child's every whim. 

Catherine's crestfallen face hurt his heart more than he would admit, yet he said nothing more. The two ate in silence, as usual. After supper, to make up for his rudeness from earlier, Richard allowed her to spend some time with him in the parlour, something he never did on weekdays, but after having seen her suppressing a yawn for the fifth time, he sent her to bed unceremoniously.

"Will you come and kiss me, father ?" she asked hopefully.

"We'll see," simply stated Richard without looking up from his book.

The maid helped Catherine to go to bed, tucking her in warm blankets, and whether Richard came to kiss her or not, she would never know as she had fallen asleep immediately when her head had reached the cushions.

The next day, the little girl woke up later than usual. Richard, who could not afford to stay away from the Court for another day, had already left long ago. Remembering she had another day off, Catherine jumped up from her bed, running to the window to make sure the snow was till there. It was. In fact, there was even more. Richard was right, the snow had fallen heavily the whole night to cover London with more white. 

After getting dressed, not without difficulty for her poor maid as she was fidgeting with impatience, and having her breakfast under Anne's supervision, Catherine had asked and been granted permission to go out and play in the manor gardens. Her governess, who had made sure she was dressed warmly, was with her and together, they made snowmen and snow angels. The day had passed in the blink of an eye, so that neither of them had noticed they had missed lunch. It was a voice, low and cold like the rumble of thunder, that brought them back to reality.

"Why is my daughter rolling around in the snow like an animal ?" Richard asked.

Catherine stood up straight, a little ashamed, while Richard looked at her half-amused, half-irritated. 

"We were making snow angels," she said in a small voice. 

"Is that so ?" said Richard, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded, a small, shy smile playing on her lips as the governess, who was dusting her damp coat, didn't dare look up at Richard.

"I am sorry my lord, we..."

"Silence," Richard ordered, "you are here to teach my daughter manners and ensure that she behaves like a true lady, worthy of her rank, of my name. I realise today that you, yourself, have nothing of that."

The governess lowered her head, cheeks red with shame.

"It's my fault, father," Catherine interjected, "I was the one who wanted to play in the snow. I just wanted to be like the other children," she finished in a whisper.

Turpin's harsh features softened slightly. Another trait inherited from her late mother. Catherine always felt the need to defend others, especially if she had an ounce of affection for said person. 

"Another duty of the governess is not to give in to every whim of a child."

It was Catherine's turn to blush. The poor girl knew nothing of the amusement that Turpin felt to know that for once, a unique moment of time, his child had had the opportunity to act like a real child of his age. 

"Disappear," he hissed at the governess, "and do not let this happen again... and if it does, do not let me know about it," he added, subtly making her understand that he wasn't really angry with either her or Catherine.

The governess strode to the house without asking for more, relieved to know that she had done nothing wrong after all. However, Catherine was not yet versed in the subtle art of conversation, and convinced that she had disappointed her father, her eyes filled with tears.

"Hush, hush ! You're not going to cry now," Turpin said in a harsh tone, irritated by Catherine's bad habit of bursting into tears at the slightest of his frowns. 

"I'm sorry, father," she murmured.

"Come on, forget what I said. I was just teasing that old goat of a governess you have," he said playfully.

"Really ? You are not mad at me ?" Catherine asked, looking up at him.

"If I was mad, would I have asked the cook to make us mince pies for tonight ?"

Catherine's face lit up at his words. She didn't get sweets very often as Richard didn't want her to end up with rotten teeth.

"Oh ! Thank you, father !" she said, rushing into his arms.

Turpin wasn't used to her outbursts of affection yet. He probably never would. But he still made the effort to gently stroke her hair. 

"Come on, that's not very ladylike," he stated, "Let's go inside. I'll have your maid prepare a bath to warm you up, you're freezing. Then, it'll be time for diner."

They walked back inside the towering mansion together and Catherine thanked him again for the impending deliciousness of the night. Richard waved her off, waiting until she was out of sight to allow the smallest of a smile to tug across his lips. He shook his head in disbelieve, incredulous at how grateful the child could be for such small things that were insignificant to him. 

"Anything for you, daughter of mine," he muttered just to himself.