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streets-in-paradise · 2 years

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For A Love Like This - Paris x (fem)Warrior!Reader

Troy (2004) Oneshot

Requested by Anon

Omg bestie I love ur writing!!! 🥺 could I request something?! I was thinking maybe something Paris of Troy x reader where maybe the Trojan war didn’t happen bc of Paris, bc Paris and the reader are together. Maybe it could be during the Trojan war and the reader is a warrior! And Paris always gets worried bc the reader is always by Hector’s side bc she’s super skilled?

( So sorry for the delay but I hope the result will compensate. It took me ages to post this but, trust me, I got a lot of inspiration for this concept. If you see this and happen to like it, tell me because I am considering making a continuation for which i already know how to start.)

Word Count + 3.5 K

Warnings: Reader is a trojan woman whose character is slightly inspired in Penthesilea, the amazon queen who fought in the war according to the epic cycle. For so, this features some tension with Achilles bringing the conflict that worries Paris.

Summary: Your first act of involvement in the war against the greeks leaves the city acting as if you would have sealed your fate for a certain death on the next sunrise, what leaves you on the task of calming the worries of your husband. Paris doesn't know much about fighting, but the concern Hector shows is enough to make him guess you got yourself in danger.

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @spideyanakin @spideyanakin-interacts

The enemy surrounded you and there was no upcoming help. The battle for the temple of Apollo was already lost and Hector ordered the retree of the trojan troops, but you wouldn’t go without him. Achilles caused a general panic on your people, but nothing would be enough to make you leave your dear friend behind. He knew that, but he didn’t want you to follow his chaze of the myrmidon warlord and so you were taking another mission. The rescue of Briseis, his cousin, a newly chosen priestess of Apollo that was most likely to have been caught in the massacre.

The corpses of the priests made your horrified companions guess she must have been slaughtered, but you didn’t believe that and Hector allowed you to trust your instincts. From your particular perspective, you imagined she must have hidden somewhere despite the confusion and horror. Through your knowledge of the uses of war, you knew that an army coming from across the sea to fight at your shores would see women as a scarce resource. Even if she would have been found, there were chances to find her alive and made captive as part of the looting. Your self taken duty was saving her from that fate and stripping the greeks from the pleasure of capturing a trojan princess on their first day of stay.

It didn’t go too far. There were too many of them and while you got to show some more of your exceptional courage by killing a few in the search, it wasn't enough to accomplish your goal. The irruption of your friend and their leader heading outside stopped the combat and the man you were fighting against rushed outside following their actions. So did you, but surrounded by a multitude of myrmidons impeding you to get beside Hector. Your most recent rival, who you guessed as Achilles’s second in command, gave them the order of keeping you surveilled. He quickly found out that you were dangerous, even all on your own.

Taking risks was your thing, you couldn’t get recriminated for that because it served many times in victories of the past. Neither would you recriminate your leader for venturing alone against the blond myrmidon of abhorrent arrogance, even if it worried you as a friend. Perhaps the indignation made you both careless of your individual luck. You were used to witness many horrors, faced many defeats and handled the pain of losing friends before, but the men beating you were simply despicable in levels you have never seen before. Unfortunately, some were also shockingly talented.

Hate at first sight was what you found through your meeting with Achilles, he was simply the worst. At the gates of that temple, through his word exchange with Hector, he was letting you both know you were kept alive just to brag. There were a hundred different ways in which he could have declared the end of the battle, yet he had to pick the most annoyingly arrogant.

“ Go home, prince. Drink some wine, make love to your wife. Tomorrow we will have our war.”

Never in a long time you wished to slaughter an enemy with such visceral hate. Smacking him for such disrespect wasn’t enough, you wanted his blood on your sword. Through a furtive glance your friend was seeing it in your eyes, but wordlessly indicating you to calm down because the context was against you. Since you were at a disadvantage, standing powerlessly as Achilles would finish to praise himself was the only option to get back home.

However, Hector’s reply served as a display of your shared indignation.

“ You speak of war as if it was a game, but how many wifes wait in Troy’s gates for husbands they will never see again?”

Perfectly delivered, it made you remember once more of how proud you were of following him as your warlord and that almost served to calm you down a bit. The complementary effect you had on each other was no mystery and many trojans in the past have considered it proof for a viable romance. Your closeness as friends inspired some to fear you could have abandoned the lifestyle to marry him, a significant loss for the army given your skill, claim you both always found ridiculous.

The exhortation to calm you found in his words could have worked, if Achilles wouldn’t have awakened the worst of you with his comeback.

“ Perhaps your brother can comfort them, I have heard he is good at charming other men’s wives. “

Any glimpse of civility left on you faded.

“ …. You shameless greek BASTARD, THAT IS MY HUSBAND!”

Confusion reigned in the ambient, since the myrmidons were quite sure you couldn’t be Helen. Wasn’t that the reason they were fighting for? A pretty boy prince seducing a married queen and stealing her away to his kingdom?

Only then Achilles deviated his attention from Hector, in direction to the callout and being one with his soldiers regarding the intrigue.

“ Nobody told us Paris is married.” He commented while pacing in your direction in order to face you. “ My condolences, no one must be waiting for you behind those gates. The coward you got married to is cheating and the world knows it.”

The fire of your hate was growing with every gesture and every word coming out from his mouth. You couldn’t choose which part of that sentence was the worst, but you opted by starting with the assumption of your marriage being an arranged one. Angered to the core, you took your helmet off because he wasn’t wearing one. It was your own way to show that you weren’t afraid of him, even if common sense would indicate you should.

Teasing aside, Achilles seriously wondered how it was possible for you to be the wife of the hedonist fool who started the war. You were covered in dirt, sweat and blood; visual proof of how you busted your ass in combat. Your hair was a mess and the hate in your eyes as you challengingly stared at him was making you look crazy. He loved it, you seemed the most passionate woman he had come across in some long time. It was like standing in front of a daughter of Ares, an impression that made him also wonder if there could be an amazon at some branch of your family tree.

“ Keep your pity, I have a loving husband who has never chazed other women in front of me while the same can’t be said of Helen. I am aware of my privilege and that drove me to help her. The spartan king brought this on himself because his wife is escaping him, not following my Paris.”

“ Your Paris is hiding underneath the skirt of her dress while you fight their war, isn’t that unfair?”

The more aggressive replication was delivered so he could see your anger escalate because he liked it, but he also hoped to dig into some unspoken truth taking you over the edge so you would lose filters. He couldn’t accept the explanations you were providing, those were unbelievable to him. His best guess was thinking that you were ashamed of admitting your family or the trojan king forced you to marry that fool and you were defending him for your own honor.

“ I find it unfair that you are still breathing… What do you seek to achieve with these provocations? If a fight is what you want, I can give you that anytime.”

He couldn’t wait to fight you but, at the same time, he didn’t want to kill you. It was similar to the opinion he was forming of Hector on those first instants, only impulsed by something else. A different sort of curiosity, maybe stained with a bit of want.

Achilles smirked at you, a slightly flirtatious way of implying he would take the challenge.

“ How did your brother get her?” He asked right back at Hector. “ Who let that happen?”

“ Paris is, indeed, amazing at charming women.” The prince answered, turning the previous mocks against the rival. “ Nobody knows for sure how he made it, but I can tell you it wasn’t arranged. She became my sister by choice, if you knew her you would understand that commanding her is as easy as it looks right now.”

The implications, despite ruining his main theory, seemed to be of his like.

“ I see and I really want to try what she is made of.” The blond commented to him so he could later get back at you.

“ Get good rest, princess. Tomorrow you are mine.”

The menace kept wandering your mind for the rest of the day, your companions in the army interpreted it as a death sentence and they weren’t discreet about their impressions. Although Hector helped you through the moment and engaged on the less serious aspects of it, he was evidently concerned too. The pain of losing Tecton intensified to the thought of you facing his killer in the next battle. The spear throw that killed him was something neither of you have seen before. The precision and strength required for it were extraordinary, inhuman.

Your lovely husband read your friends’ preoccupation with horror. If the warrior you encountered was good enough to make them say all of that, to make Hector fear, then you were in serious danger despite how much you would insist him not to worry. He asked Helen for references on that greek and all he got to hear were horror stories. She didn’t want to frighten him; but those things were too much for him. The cultural concept of what greeks considered a hero was nauseating in his eyes, as was the description of some of the war feats that made that crazy man great among them.

The weirdest thing for Paris was noticing how her narration seemed neutral from a valorative standpoint. Helen wasn’t necessarily horrified by the actions in her tale, as if she was used to it, and there was no detractive intentionality in her words about the myrmidon. There was at least one thing she affirmed to like about Achilles: he hated her brother in law and she was respectful of him upon that hate.

When questioned about the situation at the temple, and how you both allowed the madness to escalate into a point where you ended up surrounded at the enemy’s mercy, Hector attempted to follow your route of lighthearted joking so Paris wouldn’t overworry Andromache.

“ We are still unsure if that was a death threat or if he was trying to seduce me.” You were commenting, referring to the awkward undertones of the altercate. “ In either case, I think I am fine.”

“ It could be both and it wouldn’t surprise me, that man is insane and you caused quite an impression among his men.” Hector added, supporting the anecdote. “ Not to mention how he reacted to the news of your marriage.”

The reminder made you throw a playful chuckle and Paris got an approximate idea of why.

“ Did you get in trouble for defending me again? “

“ He insulted your honor, called you a coward and a cheater. I’m sick of hearing people even here in Troy accusing you of bringing Helen as your lover. Now it turns out that Menelaus is using that narrative to portray himself a victim. I couldn’t stand it, so I called Achilles out.”

He was moved by your confession, a reckless but incredible soft gesture showing how much you loved him.

“ You made yourself a target of the most ruthless killer in the greek army just to prove I am a good husband?

You admitted the guilt with an innocent looking smile.

“ Nobody wanted to believe she is yours, Achilles is very curious about that. “ His brother continued. “ I think your honor has been avenged, at least on that front.”

“ We made it again, my darling!!” You cheered, seeking for his usual approbation. “ They are all so confused, just like Menelaus and his men were in Sparta. I knew right then I was going to hate that man, maybe judging the greeks based on their reactions to us will become my new pastime.”

“ Can’t you see the risk? Tomorrow Achilles will wander the battlefield looking for you, what will happen if he finds you?”

Paris was very serious, an unusual attitude for him and proof of how much he was suffering.

“ Rage is going to keep me alive, I fight better when I am pissed off and that happens all the time when he gets close to me.” You attempted to justify yourself. “ I will be alright, many others claiming to be better than us have passed by but your brother and I have proven them wrong.”

That wasn’t enough to calm him down, but you didn’t have time to discuss more because a call for council interrupted you. All you got to do was kiss your husband goodbye before he would go to attend his duty and that got a brief smile out of him.

Despite you being a respected warrior, you still haven’t earned a spot among the most notable citizens of Troy for the discussions. You didn’t mind not having a word there because Paris and you were a team. He would usually deal with the talking while you would get to do the fighting and the only regrets you had about that was your incapability of witnessing each other in action. That time, however, you wished you would have been there to stop what was later referenced to you.

An unfortunate comment coming from one of the present citizens pushed Paris over the edge and into a reckless choice that was an exact match of yours. Knowing him as much as you, Hector saw it coming but couldn’t stop it in the same way he couldn’t control your tongue that morning. Claiming that there were trojans burning in the pire for a youthful indiscretion, that man implied the very same thing Achilles did and Paris wanted to put an end to the insidious rumors. It wasn’t even about his honor, but of yours. You deserved better than being accused as a complicit wife who allowed her husband to bring a mistress under fears of being abandoned for her if you would have refused.

The shame you weren’t facing in your role as a soldier, you were getting in the domestic one. According to societal expectations, being a warrior should have anulated you from becoming a wife and you were once willing to pay that price pretty much as Briseis did when becoming a priestess. Paris was the one who proved you wrong, who did everything in his power to win your affections while showing himself absolutely careless of the warnings. He shocked the city asking for your hand, begging your parents to understand that he was in love with you and didn’t mind any of the presented atypicalities.They knew he was being serious when, after being asked if he would accept the mother of his children to abandon the household for war, he claimed he would. It served as an ultimate proof of his love for you, but the rest of your society wasn’t convinced of how long that could keep going.

Gossips, like the one summarized in that comment, claimed that Paris was getting himself another woman to cover up for the aspects in which your performance as wife would be neglectful. Because you were recklessly trying to live two lives, your husband wasn’t well served and Helen was supposed to fill that gap. A neglected spartan wife came across a neglected trojan husband with a turbious past as a woman chaser, making their adventure everyone’s doom. In short terms, the whole city was paying for the problems of an impulsive marriage that the young prince should have never ventured into.

He was going to fight to prove them wrong, one encounter with Menelaus putting an end to the war before Achilles could get to fight you. Paris was going to stand in front of the entire greek army and tell them that it was his love for you that made him offer Helen a chance to escape her husband, leaving the horrible man out of excuses for his mistakes. There was no passion of lovers justifying his anger, he lost Helen to no man other than himself. Paris was only guilty of not controlling his indignation to the mistreatments she was suffering, out of his own moral code but also because he was unable to stand how angry and frustrated it made you.

" You know you don't have to do this, ríght?" You softly reminded him while in the privacy of your shared room, insisting on it hoping it would dissuade him. " Not only you don't need to prove yourself to me, it will solve nothing."

" Agamemnon didn't bring fifty thousand greeks in vain, that's what Andromache says. " Paris commented to you what was a fraction of a conversation he had with his sister in law, since both were pretty much in the same state of desperation. " I can't let you fight tomorrow, not while I know what awaits. Let me do the fighting for once instead."

The vanity driven jester the outside world knew him as was completely gone. Seeing the worry in his sweet face was killing you.

" Did you lose all the trust in my skills you once used to have? Back when Hector took the lead of the army and gave me the chance to prove my worth, you were the first voice raising in approval. I remember you declaring your admiration for me, Briseis had to stop you from offending the gods by comparing me to Athena."

The mention of his beloved cousin brought the topic back by itself.

" Did you go inside that temple searching for her, or were you there only seeking to kill Achilles?"

You decided to be honest, he deserved it.

" A bit of both, the same can be said about Hector. An ambush of two against one could have worked, but you know your brother: he played fair even when the enemy was playing us. I believe in that, I respect his code, but the greeks were so ruthless that I would have consented to using questionable tactics. He made me stay out of it, but there was no way I would have gone back to the city knowing he was still there so I tried searching for her. I didn't succeed, we lost so much for nothing and that son of a bitch made fun of our suffering. Even that, I could take, but I lost my mind when he insulted you. "

" Was he shocked to find out your husband is a man widely judged as a coward and effeminate? " Paris asked, the self deprecation was more a repetition of things being said about him. " I bet he wasn't expecting that, no one does."

" They all thought the woman you are calling your wife is the adorable blond flower we brought home." You snarked back. " I am not precisely the ideal wife in the mind of most men."

" Yet I love you more than life itself and I want the whole world to get it clear. I want to expose the spartan king, set yourself free from those awful rumors, then walk straightfoldy to that myrmidon beast of a warrior and tell him you are mine."

You let out a soft gasp, the intensity of his phrasing would never stop amazing you.

" That sounds beautiful, but impractical. "

" You have fought alongside my brother for years and I have never felt as fearful as I am now. People say Achilles is a demigod, invincible from birth. Hector himself seems terrified to the thought of fighting him and that is unusual enough to be a bad sign."

" The bastard is very good, I don't deny it, but ' invincible from birth' sounds like a stretch. No one is, even gods lose battles from time to time. "

Unsure of how to proceed, Paris begged you in the most desperate way he found.

" Please, don't go. You don't have to, plenty of other soldiers can defend the city." As he said so, he abandoned his position to literally beg on his knees embracing your hips. " I'm desperate, my love, absolutely defeated. I don't know what to do or say in order to make you stay. Isn't my devotion enough for you to consider valuing your life like you should? I have no life without you, that's why I don't mind fighting tomorrow.."

You caressed his cheeks before his tears could begin to fall. When one of your hands reached closeness with his mouth Paris placed a kiss on it and that made you lose reason.

" That's what you don't understand: I fight with the strength of your love in my heart. I fight for you, to come back into your sweet embrace and get more of the kind of love I never imagined I would have. Whenever you await me at the gates, or here, laying on our talamus while looking more handsome than usual just for me. When you order to get my bath ready on time just to be the one helping me get clean, when you trace my scars with your fingertips and still dare to say my skin is beautiful. I am a better fighter because of you, in all those moments I get a strength I didn't have before you."

He looked at you with the sweetest disbelief and you were in awe with yourself regarding how much you adored him.

" Paris, I was not made for a love like this. Warrior women aren't meant to love or be loved as wifes, we are supposed to remain virgins like the daughter of Zeus. The intensity of your feelings is a blessing that I used to think was forbidden for me. Maybe the gods sent us this war because we crossed the line, but I prefer to fight a thousand more before letting you go. "

" Aphrodite shaped you for me in likeness to her greatest love. " He followed you, losing himself in the sweetness of your words. " I will keep praying to my goddess, begging her to get you the favor of Ares."

Intense staring between the both of you and he stood up slowly, letting a trail of kisses over every section of your body on his way up even while you were still dressed. The action concluded with a desperately passionate kiss that you initiated once his líps got to your reach.

" Love me." You sweetly begged him ríght afterwards, purring close to his ear. " Please, Paris.... just love me. "

Your pleading helped him get a bit cocky, what was sensed in the kind of teasing he delivered while getting in bed with you.

" Should I believe in those strange jokes you have with my brother? Deep down, that despicable greek craves to ruin you for my caresses?"

" Well, he advised me to rest after mocking Hector with the opposite. The idea of you making love to me must be uncomfortable for him." Was your honest and quite playful reply. " Yet he didn't shy away from suggesting you were hiding underneath the dress skirt of Helen."

Paris chuckled against the skin of your neck, what felt to you as relief on his part.

" He wants you, fighting is just the way to awake passion." He casually added. " Too bad for him that you are all mine. "

" It's just a joke, that happens when you are the only woman of the enemy troop. "

That explanation was unsatisfying to him.

" Don't discredit yourself, the sweat looks incredibly good on you."

#troy 2004 #troy 2004 fanfiction #troy fanfiction #troy #paris of troy #orlando bloom #paris of troy x reader #orlando bloom x reader #orlando bloom characters #orlando bloom fanfiction #troy (2004)

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frenchgremlim1808 · 2 years

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Milkshake’s is toxic

Hello everyone today subject is about the toxicity of my mother aborted me (mileven for the uneducated) from season one to the current season, season four.

Introduction

Milkman is for the general audience the main ship of the series since el is the protagonist (who of course by accident forget than will is too but anyway…), and mike was the main force of action in season 1 and 2. They’re the average perfect couple, a “normal teenage romance” even. Eleven is the badass, powerful super hero who always save the day with of course no flaws and Mike is the first boy who showed affection to Eleven. He was charmed by the beauty and perfection of our god lord Jesus Eleven, who he is completely obsessed with and want the rest of his life with her. They love each other so much that they are each other favorite person and of course the most endgame ship of all.

Well what if I told you that every, sentence I just told you was utter crap. Because in reality it may be one of the more toxic ship which is still canon in the show right now.

Chapter one: Eleven perspective.

Paragraph one: Who is she....Really?

In season one, when mike nearly died at the end of the bullies, mike reassure her that she wasn’t a monster and that her actions were justified. Eleven saved him and he loved her

In season 4, El defended herself from bullies just like in the past (she broke troy arm and broke Angela nose) but this time mike treat her like she’s a monster. Why? Because it wasn’t eleven, the invincible superhero, it was just Jane, the vulnerable Jane.

( This is my edit, you can clearly see it, it’s shit. Also i forgot most of the text but normally mike says “ your not a monster “)

El was always used as a weapon even when she became free from the lab, when there was a problem, well it seems like we need eleven!

“Hey eleven you were nearly sent to jail but you need to save not only your best friend from an horrible death and the entire freaking world from this psychopath who is one of main source of trauma or everyone is gonna freaking die, so get inside the shit and live again that traumatic experience”. Like bruh. Eleven always had her powers, they defined who she was to most, when peeps talk about her it’s mostly by her capacity. It’s never about her funny personality, her talent in art and craft, her love for cheesy romance and Miami vice, no it always was for her powers. She was just eleven.

Without her powers she felt miserable because now, in reality she felt like nothing. When Bitchela and the others bullied her she felt helpless. Before she defended herself with her powers but now she as to live without that part of identity. She was just Jane.

Eleven always was a super hero but Jane was just nobody, who would need a nobody.

Everyone need Eleven and her differences make her special, but Jane she a freak because of who she is. Only a few realize that being her is not cool all the times and can be so difficult (Will my boy...). Jane is a girl who can learn by herself and love, a girl who is just a girl with teen drama. Eleven is the lab rat who opened the gate and caused the death of good people.

So in the end who is she?

The perspective that others have on her change the way that see herself. Everyone pushed on her this ideal that it’s her power who define who she is. Expect some exception like our queen max. But it was max who gave her for the first time the chance to be her, the true her.

Not eleven not Jane, El

El is a young girl who loves eggo waffles, shopping and art and craft. El is a girl who like cheesy romance, she’s curious and creative. It’s the independent, strong and brave young girl who fought against the pain and the trauma for people she cared about. It’s the vulnerable, the emotional and emphatic girl who make mistake but always try to learn. Oh, and also she has powers.

This is the true her, the girl that she developed to be slowly towards the course of the story. Her journey to become her is slowly getting close to the end. She still has one obstacle to finish it...

Mike.

#el hopper #jane hopper #el my beloved #milkvan is bones #can you tell i love her cause i really do❤💕#anti mileven #byler

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iwantjobs · 2 months

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Last Revision:

God’s/Allah’s Punishments on Those Committed the Two Genocides in the Israel-Hamas War

God’s/Allah’s Punishments on Those Committed the Two Genocides

in the Israel-Hamas War

By Mai-Trang Thi Nguyen or Trang

(The female Buddha carrying the reincarnation theory of Buddha via Hinduism or the hardcore heterosexuality of God/the father of Jesus/Allah/Krishna/Ong Troi/ etc. living as a Vietnamese hardcore-heterosexual female with hardcore-heterosexual eggs.)

Oh Israel on 2/18/2024 (7:02 p.m.):

I can understand your difficulty to have an all-out revenge on your enemies because I went there, too. The differences between me and you are that I am not a country nor do have access to guns and Satan’s many free American freedom-and-equality-especially-for-the-gays bombs to bomb my enemies’ children into pieces when their children never voted for the Hamas terrorists as their government. If you continue to bomb South of Gaza, your children and grandchildren will be punished very badly for taking Satan’s route to bomb out the 900,000 Gazan children living that last place of Gaza you haven’t flattened.

Israel, for the sake of your children and grandchildren, have mercy on your enemies’ children, because your parents, grandparents, and great grandparents were praying for Hitler and the Nazis to have mercy on them before they were gassed, starved, and worked to death as collective punishment of God’s punishment for your ancient Jews’ nailing his son Jesus. You can show to your enemies and the world that you are not Hitler and the Nazis by having a ceasefire permanently and demand everyone to return their loved ones in Hamas’ hostages and in your prisoners in this great administrative detention with no formal charges as a Jewish democracy government.

You might not see this because all this bombing is blocking your Israeli hearts’ view, but your bombing is releasing so much poisonous gas such a tight military-gated land, it will make your enemies’ children will develop some kind of cancerous illness. This might not be as bad as the enclosed gas chambers of the Nazi camps, but it fits in an introduction version (it might not kill them now, but it will kill them later with many illnesses and birth defects). Your blocking of truck aids just killed one Palestinian little girl 2 days ago from starvation and dehydration. This is an introduction version of Hitler and the Nazis’ starvation of your people. You forcing the Gazans to walk around like chess pieces across 20-mile zone land with tiny food and no water is an introduction version of Hitler and the Nazis forcing your people to do manual work digging their own graves with no food (and probably no water). Guess what happened to Hitler and the Nazis after their war? Suicide, jail, the division of their land, and migration of some of their people. I fear this will be the fate of your children and grand-children, Israel. If you stopping the bombing now, you will have courage to show your enemies and the world that are you not Hitler and the Nazis, and your enemies and the world will forgive your children and grandchildren a little more—They will suffer less in antisemitism via the Nazis, KKK’s, and even some blacks in America now after they migrate back to Germany, and to America, England, France, and other Western countries in exchange for the millions of Muslims and Palestinians out of those Western countries to return to their Muslim countries, Palestine, and Gaza. Of course, all this might occur after we die of old age for the future generation of humanity is very inclined to fix the mistakes of their parents and grandparents.

If there is a God, if it was God’s punishment of the descendants of the ancient Jews for nailing his son Jesus in Hitler Nazi’s genocide of 6 million poor Jews as collective punishment, and if God or Allah is punishing the Gazans right now for voting for the Hamas terrorists as their government who fought back using poor people’s tactics of kidnapping children along, animalistic killing of infants, and animalistic hunger for raping women and decapitating bodies to fight back against 75 years of your colonialism of 75% of their land, wiped out their country; s name Palestine and replaced it with your new country’s name Israel, and your cruel apartheid system in Gaza and in the West Bank and stealing more land in the West Bank with your settlers and American settlers, while preaching freedom and equality. I fear for the pain of the Israeli children having with deal with those cruel and evilness of Nazis and KKK all over again after they are forced to live Israel and migrate to Germany, America, England, France, etc. to exchange for the millions of Hamas sympathizers living in those countries.

Oh, I also predict that I will be UNLUCKY live SO long, THAT I WILL BE TRAPPED IN EITHER A WWWIII OR A 2ND CIVIL WAR IN AMERICA SO I AM ALSO WORKING HARD TO SAVE MY FUTURE LIVING ELDERLY BODY IN VERY BIG WAR(S). TAKE CARE ISRAEL. TAKE CARE HAMAS.

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Oh, Israel on 2/18/2024 (7:11 a.m.):

I can understand your difficulty to stop an all-out revenge on your enemies when Satan keeps sending his free American freedom-and-equality-especially-for-the-gays bombs to kill your no-freedom-no-equality-especially-for-the-gays enemies and their children to death to protect yours, your women’s, and your children’s survival after your rat enemies dared to impose harm on you, your women, and your children even though you are their conquerors in most of their land, and their rulers controlling their freedom and equality while teaching them your Jewish religious words of “all men are created equal.” Israel…didn’t you get the memos from your white Christian buds that it was too late to this this God’s colonizing work in today’s time? Perhaps your parents and grandparents didn’t get the memos while they were living in Hitler Nazi’s gas-warehouse camps before England flew them out into England’s stolen Palestine land to allow them to rebuild their tortured hearts and lives after WWII. Israel…the animals, like me as a roach, have enhanced their brains in college education and developed skills to make their own money and bombs (even nuclear bombs) and learned the art of human’s reasoning using thousands of Bibles, 3 main God’s representatives (Christian’s Jesus, Islam’s Muhammad, and Hinu’s Buddha), zillion versions of God, gazillions of self-help places like TV, books, radio, the internet, podcasts, etc. to “control out animal urges” to follow the path of God/the father of Jesus/Allah/Krishna/Ong Troi/etc., and not the path of Satan or else we humans will be punished with “what goes around comes around” or karma with our future young generation fixing our mistakes and the mistakes of their ancestors when we die. I could be wrong, but at least I try myself to help reduce the pain of your children and grandchildren as the work of not a random human, but the work of someone who might be able to predict the future as the female Buddha

The Christians, especially America, England and even France, are using you as their proxy to do their dirty work with their free bombs and arms to steal their Jesus’ land so one day they will come in and steal it from you. They don’t care about you. They care about the prize Holy land because they don’t have what the Italians and Spanish have (the Vatican City, Jesus’ Bible, Jesus’ body, etc., and the ones conquering the Americas first: Jesus and Maria’s biggest continent). Find it in your Hitler Nazi’s tortured hearts and end this bombing in South of Gaza where 900,000 Gazan children are sheltering and they never voted for the Hamas terrorists as their government. The Jews in Nazi’s camps never nailed God’s son Jesus so they should never been collectively punished them Christians via Hitler and his Nazis. Hitler and the Nazis followed Satan’s path to do collective punishment on your parents, grandparents, and great grandparents, and I am sure them were praying for mercy on what’s left of humanity hoping Hitler and the Nazis would release them. The hearts of Hitler and Nazis failed to do it, but your Jewish hearts can if you allowed your scarred hearts to think: OK, I get it, my ancient Jewish ancestors nailed their Jesus so that was why they were so evil to me as collective punishment and I sure thought collective punishment on my people was wrong. I don’ know, perhaps my ancient Jews were driven out of their land (located where the Hamas and their people have been living for 400 years called historic Palestine, but now Israel) as punishment by God because they nailed God’s son. OK I understand now the Hamas and their people are fighting for land which they claimed their Muhammad died and went to heaven. OK I can understand why the Hamas and the Palestinians fought back so evil and hard because we Israel shoved them into their own ghetto section and treat them like animals in big open-air jail when we are singing “democracy, freedom, and equality” with our half-naked beautiful, happy, Jewish women dancing in a free-open-air rave next to the Gaza jail where men are used to bed-sheet-covered females.

For the sake of your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents standing inside the gas chambers of Hitler Nazi’s camps praying in their last minutes for what’s left of humanity to save them from dying of collective punishment from their ancient Jews’ nailing of Jesus, do it for your parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents by pardoning the children in South of Gaza who never voted for the Hamas by stop the bombing South of Gaza and have a permanent ceasefire now. Prove that you Israelis are better than Hitler and his Nazis or else look at the fates of Hitler, the Nazis after WWWII (suicide, prison, land broken up with half to be given to Russia). As further punishment, Germany will have to take in a million Jews back to their Christian German land so the million Muslims taking in by Merkel to return to their Muslim land after we die with our young children doing reparation work. Same fate for America, England, France, and all Christian countries, even India and Japan (for supporting Israel during this war)—Less Muslim terrorist in your Christian countries, but more Jews for taking Satan’s path of destruction is never a permanent solution with God’s punishment of “what goes around comes around” or karma.

Most importantly Christians and Jews, perhaps your Christian religion is too gay for God to allow to you control the land of his son Jesus. It was your Christian people via the help of the Jewish religion of “all men are created equal” that made Christian nations or Western nations heaven of the gays for gays benefit the most in your Christian nations or Western nations. Perhaps you Christians don’t cover your Jesus’ naked sexy crotch so it encourages homosexuality even more inside churches with your closeted priests raping your poor choir boys.

OK I am done. My arthritis and tendonitis are done with you human animals. Off to prepare for a WWWIII and American 2nd civil war while praying for my survival. Take care my human animals.

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Oh, Israel on 2/17/2024 (5:01 p.m.):

In my animalist revenge (humans, like animals, still need fight for their survivals), I can understand it would be hard to resist the seductions of Satan with all his free and obese American bombs and all his chants from America and Europe praying how manly of Israel is to rain down more bombs into South of Gaza killing more and more Gazan children (1 Palestinian child just died of starvation and dehydration as reported on Al Jazeera 2/17/2024) who never voted for the Hamas terrorists for the killing and raping a few of my precious white-looking Israeli children and women, even though I stole the most of the Hamas terrorists’ and their people’s land, wiped out their country’s name of Palestine and replace it with my new country’s name of Israel, and jailed the left-over stubborn animals who refused to leave Israel in an open-air jail while preaching my Jewish religious words of “all men are created equal” and equal rights for everyone including the gays. ONLY GOD CAN HELP YOU NOW ISRAEL. NO MORE SATAN’S BOMBS IN SOUTH OF GAZA. TELL THE ANIMALS THAT YOUR GOD USED SOMEONE OFF THE INTERNET TO TYPE THIS LETTER TO DEMAND THAT YOU MUST STOP THE BOMBING FOR SAKE OF NOT KILLING ANYMORE OF THE ENEMIES’ CHILDREN BECAUSE SATAN’S PATH IS NOT THE PATH FOR PEACE BETWEEN ISRAEL, NETANYAHU AND HIS BUDS, HAMAS, AND THE PALESTINIANS.

OK Israelis, Americans, white and ethnic people in Western countries, India, and Japan 2/16/2024:

I think that God/Allah created Hitler’s German Nazi genocide for killing 6 million poor Jews to punish the ancient Jews (ancestors of the Israelis) for nailing his son, Jesus. Therefore, I, think, God’s/Allah’s punishments for Israelis (the descendants of those who nailed Jesus) for trying to steal all the land of Jesus in the last 75 years and now (currently as historic Palestine where Jesus was born) and all those countries who helped the descendants of the people who nailed Jesus to steal Jesus’ birthland are the followings (It will be the reparation work of our future generation who wants to fix the mistakes of their parents and grand-parents while saving the environment not using war via extreme boycotting):

Israel to return all the stolen land to the Palestinians and only keep what England gave to the surviving Jews from Nazi’s camps.

The volunteering expulsion all the Israelis who don’t have direct ties with the poor Jews who were jailed in Nazi camps into America, all Western countries, and India (Indians spying for Israel living in Iran) and Japan (cutting off UNWRA funding while Gazans need it the most from starvation, diseases, and dehydration).

Yes, God or Allah (same thing in my view) is using you, Netanyahu, his war buds and IDF, and donated American freedom-equality bombs to punish the Hamas terrorist animals, Palestinian terrorist animals, Gazan terrorist animals, and Gazan children terrorist animals (even the 5 Gazan premature-incubator baby terrorist animals who died around the first month of battle because electricity was cut off by Israel) in the last 4.2 months for their actions, celebration, and denials of a tiny-tiny genocide of:

Shooting a poor colonizing-settler Israeli infant in his/her crib.

Possibly burning still-alive-after-getting-shot-at poor colonizing-settler Israeli baby(ies) in the fire along with Israeli colonizing-settler adult carcasses.

Kidnapping poor colonizing-settler Israeli infants(s) and toddlers to be used as precious war bargaining chips while being fed with milk and carried by your terrorist animal enemies. It’s scary and painful to think that your poor kidnapped Israeli’s tiny children are living in a tiny land currently being punished by you, Netanyahu, his war buddies, and America as you and they are trying to locate them poor babies by raining down free American bombs, blocking food trucks to create starvation, and deliberating cut off water to create illnesses, diseases (hepatitis-A just erupted), and dehydration. Yes, I also see the pain of you Israel and even Netanyahu along with his war buddies and IDF for feeling the highest number of HUMAN deaths in a terrorist attack/war in one day during the last 2 decades (1,139), and 200 people kidnapped with 8,730 people injured even though you are the poor recipients of a tiny section of free stolen Palestinian land from the British colonizers as you were coming out of Hitler’s Nazi gas concentration camps during WWII that killed 6 millions of your Jews; and in the last 75 years, you became colonizers and settlers of 65% more of Palestinian land, in which for the last 400 years was the place where the ancestors of the terrorist rats (the Hamas), the Hamas terrorist rats who was formed in Gaza, the Gazans (Palestinians living in Gaza), the Palestinians in the West Bank, the Palestinians driven out of land living in Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan, America, England, France, etc. Most importantly dear Israel and America, the Hamas terrorist rats said this is the land where their beloved Muhammad died and went to heaven, and we, Western countries, deliberately stole that “religious” land from them so that is probably why we see those evil, violent, suicidal, and religious Islamic jihadis in our land killing our children. I also that this is also the same land where your ancestors, Israel, lived in 2,500 years ago; however, I also know that your ancestors, Israel, the ancient Jews were the one who nailed God’s son, the Lord Christ. Of course, I know very well that this is land where the Christian’s Lord Jesus was born so that’s why America, England, France, and rest of the Western countries are willing to destroy the safety of their children, country, and religious and democracy concept of “all men are created equal” by sending you free bombs and weapons to bomb off all the terrorists in Gaza (people of Gaza) while stealing the terrorists’ also-religious land that sits top of a massive oil well which Netanyahu has already procured 6 contracts from oil companies to dig; and with Gaza sitting next to the beautiful seaside view looking out into the romance between Africa and the Middle-East as soon as all the Gazan rats are bombed off. All this stealing and killing work of religious land (the Holy land) and oil-rich land of Gaza while using the Bible while hiding under the Western words of “war against terrorism.” This is return of the Roman empire with the Western empire coming back to fight the Ottoman empire to reclaim the Holy land. However, the main difference is this fight is the military of ancient swords, horses, girly Roman pleated skirts are now replaced with atomic bombs, rockets, and crazy jihadis in robes. Oh goodness, you men, your women, and your children will never learn without “tui”, Trang, as a hard-core heterosexual female with hardcore heterosexual eggs.

are fighting hard because they are jealous that the Southern European countries (Italy and its buds of Spain and Switzerland) have the Bible of Jesus via the Vatican City of, and they have nothing but Jesus biggest Christian land (America) siting in Jesus’ biggest continent (the Americas), divorce-permission of Jesus via Church of England, and Jesus’ hot fashion and hot language of the France.

I, as revengeful animal and an American banana, can think it is genocide against their occupiers, because those poor Israeli infants and children never had a chance to vote for Netanyahu and his IDF to be their government who impose such an inhumane apartheid system on their indigenous people (the Gazans, the Palestinians, and the Gazan violent militant group called the Hamas) whose land got stolen (75% and still losing more) while Netanyahu, his IDF, and most Israelis call themselves a civilized democracy white people. Those poor Israeli children never chose to come to steal Palestine and renamed it as Israel (the land where the Hamas said their Muhammad died and went to heaven, the land where the Christians said their Lord Jesus Christ or God’s was born, the land where the ancient Jews (ancestors of the Israelis) who happened to nail God’s son Jesus lived 2,500 years ago). To an animal like me, babies (even premature babies in incubators) and people under 18 represent life of earth, humanity, a race, a religion, a type of people, a piece of that land, etc. Because we live in today’s humanity with tons of bibles, religious books, many versions of God here and there being thrown in our faces, a billion self-help books/websites/radios/podcasts, etc. to help us humans control our animal instincts, I (a hardcore-heterosexual female with eggs) learned that harming people under 18 years old constitute a genocide even if they and their adults are the first to hurt me (so I must wait until they are 18).

Now let’s discuss how God or Allah would punish Israel as the result of “civilized’ democracy Israel, “able to be reasoned with” Netanyahu and his “humans and not animals” IDF in their animalistic revenge with generous-free-obese American bombs and probably guns from “nice guy” Biden and the great democracy of America. I, Trang, think the solution is for Gaza to be the Vatican City of Muhammad’s religion with its own control of drinking water from the river via the “from sea to river” chant to pay for the sacrifice of those 5 dead Gazan incubator babies. Replace the name West Bank to Palestine as its own country of its own government and military, with no trace of any paw prints of the Israeli government and its army, police, and settlers. Kick out all Israeli and American (militia men and cowboys) settlers and hand them handsome fat checks for their hard work building the freeways and infrastructure of the land they are stealing and already in the West Bank in which the U.N. condemned.

If this aforementioned is not possible, then our children and grandchildren will fix their parents’ and grand-parents’ mistakes and turn Israel into a finally legit country (recognized by the U.N.) under the name of Israel-Palestine with the “true democracy” of allowing the returning of millions of Palestinians from Egypt, Lebanon, London, New York, America, etc. which will make Israelis the minority citizens (as what God truly intended when the British only gave the Nazi-camp Jews a tiny piece of Palestine to live and rebuild their tortured lives after the genocide of 6 million jews in Europe). However, your future Israeli generation will finally get peace and happiness living under true democracy laws that will protect them from being bullied and hurt by the Palestinian young generation. It will be true democracy in the Middle-East (right next to Africa). Those rich ex-settlers of the West Bank (American militia men from the North East of America and church cowboys) can use their fat checks to buy off properties around the place where their Lord Jesus was born and get permits to build their white people’s churches (not Palestine people’s churches). I believe their Lord would approve of this path because it involves no stealing and killing of indigenous people under their Lord’s name.

Below is a list of acts which constituted a genocide in Gaza and even in the West Bank released by the hurt and hate of the Israelis, Netanyahu, his IDF, and the settlers in the West Bank (Israelis and Americans) in their animalistic revenge against the Hamas and its people:

The deaths of 5 poor premature Gazan babies during the first 4 weeks of this war because Israeli democracy deliberately cut off electricity, prevented fuel from entering Gaza via aid trucks, and refused to allow dozens and dozens of premature Gazan babies in the incubators to leave Gaza before showering down American generous-obese bombs in Gaza.

The deaths of 12,000 of Gazan children, 100 deaths of the West Bank children (one Palestinian child was attacked with blood spilling out by an IDF dog in a house raid according to Al Jazeera News), the missing of 2,000 Gazan children, the physical disability of 8,500 Gazan children, 19,000 Gazan orphans with no parents to take care of them during this war, and lastly, the total of deaths of Palestinians is 28,000, total missing is 7,000, and total injured is 67,000.

Netanyahu said that the numbers are quoted by the lying Hamas terrorist animals government, and Biden even said he didn’t trust the numbers in the earlier days of this war. On 2/24/2024, Biden’s and America’s spoke person John Kirby said that Netanyahu’s IDF are protecting civilians more than American soldiers would--Perhaps subconsciously the colonizing-settler hearts of John Kirby, Biden, and America consider the Gazans (Palestinians in Gaza) and the Palestinians in the West Bank as animals (rats) so they don’t fit in their definition of “civilians” to be qualified in their democracy protection of civilians in this war). I am sure their Lord Jesus Christ would consider the Gazans, the Palestinians in the West Bank, and the Palestinians abroad as humans or civilians because Jesus himself was born in their homeland (historic Palestine in the last 400 years). Jesus was born in the same location 2,000 years ago next to the mouth of black Africa (top right area of Africa where the skin shade is lighter than black, and more Muslim looking being next to Egypt). I am sure your Lord Jesus as God’s son wouldn’t think he was an animal or a rat by being born in this Palestinian area 2,000 years ago to have such compassionate heart as a man to come up with such Godly words via God’s Christian door. I am sure the science of all races and religions will confirm the Palestinians do fit the definition of human beings so they must be considered as be civilians in a war, too. The internet via many news prominent websites and even Israeli news websites said behind the door Biden called Netanyahu “an a…hole” and “a bad f… guy.” As an ethnic American, I, Trang, would consider these names are names for person who failed miserably in protecting civilians in this war through the action of his army called the IDF. What do you think Kirby?

While us humanity mourns with Israel, Netanyahu, and his IDF for the highest Israeli deaths and injured in one day in terrorist attack or war of the last 20 years, we should also mourn Israeli’ enemies great loss too for this war kills both sides (Hamas initiated the war, and Israel pushed the buttons to throw out indiscriminate bombs), or else the Hamas and their young generation of international sympathizers won’t care. This Israel-Hamas war killed the highest number of journalists in the last 30 years as stated by NPR in December, 2023 (around 120), and they are mostly Palestinian journalists. U.N. lost the highest number of U.N. workers in a conflict (around 130) even though 12-13 U.N. workers are accused of being Hamas by Netanyahu out of 13,000 U.N. workers around the world. Those Hamas-infected U.N. workers are probably regular Palestinians being hired by U.N. to work in Gaza and they got caught up in the Hamas movement and joined in, for U.N. condemned Israel for defying its internation laws for stealing more of Palestinian land in the West Bank (Israeli and American settlers) to be closer to Jesus’ birth town to rebuild this God’s Kingdom of theirs as stated in their Bible for I believe Bethlehem (Jesus’ birth town) is part of the West Bank which U.N.’s international law recognized as left-over land of the Palestinians after fighting dated back to the 70’s or 80’s.

Some Palestinian journalists in the heart of Gaza was told by their Palestinian refugee neighbors to shelter elsewhere because the IDF were sending rockets to explode the house(s) of the journalists with their entire families in it (their parents and their children). Even your Margaret of Face the Nation in February 2024 interviewed a white-sounding American journalist who recently went into Gaza with IDF as his guides and he said he saw no Palestinians around (probably a newly created buffer zone between Gaza and Israel). He told Margaret that he thanked all the courageous Palestinian journalists inside Gaza who risk their lives to send out reports and pictures of the true devastation of this war (Al Jazeera Muslim News is where you can get most of the pictures not shown in American news). He said Netanyahu doesn’t allow any foreign journalists inside Gaza without his IDF’s strick supervision to document the destructions of his revenge.

In December 22nd, 2023, US Defense Secretary Austin said that 50% Israeli bombs are dirty bombs- dumb bombs, bombs missing targets, unnecessary bombs, wasteful bombs, bombs that could be used to help Ukraine for Ukraine didn’t steal land from Russian (Ukraine is not colonizing Russian land). After 2.5 months of bombing in the dark with one eye closed, on KPFA radio with a self-hating American Jew as the host and his guest was a woman monitoring the war, the woman informed the audience that Netanyahu and IDF are asking Biden and America to send them slimer bombs--These free, free, and free obese American bombs that Biden and America donated were too too fat for anorexic Gaza to precisely strike the Hamas terrorist rats in tunnels are running and hiding underneath, next to, between civilian buildings, houses, hospitals, schools, churches, Mosques, etc. Most importantly, Netanyahu and Biden might not know this, but an animal like me can see nearly 35-40% of Gaza has been flattened via satellite pictures to CONCLUDE the possibility of some high number of deaths of these Palestinian children who NEVER voted for the Hamas terrorist animals as their government in which who started this war with its colonizers (Israelis) for the severe Israel’s apartheid system as a democracy (with the wholeheartedly support of the great American democracy) that prevent some of the Gazan and West Bank children to see and get hugs from their grandparents, and get candies from their grandparents who live outside their assigned territories. This Israel-Hamas war marked the first war in humanity (Yes, Israelis: the Palestinians, Gazans, and the Hamas terrorist animals fit the science definition as humans) to have children as 40% of the population in the war zone. Furthermore, this war marked humanity’s first war where the war zone is surrounded by military fencing which prevented the children to flee; along with the smallest piece of war-zone land in the size of 42 km or 26 miles (twice the size of Washington D.C. where 700,000 Americans live) where 840,000 children inhabit; and perhaps even the first war where water was deliberated cut off for the children to drink, clean (washing hands after bathroom #2 regime which probably lead to the recent eruption the hepatitis A outbreak), and wash babies who just popped out in births.

The possibility of massive amount of dead Gazan children in South of Gaza (the last area where Israel hasn’t completely bombed out (the safe zone), but the bombing has begun already 2-3 days ago).

I, Trang, made an amateur theory that God punished the ancient Jews for nailing his son (Jesus) by killing 6 million poor Jews who never nailed Jesus as collective punishment in Hitler’s German Nazi closed-gas-warehouse-starvation camps for their ancestors’ sin. Now, around 2,500 years later, the descendants of the ancient Jews who nailed God’s son are demanding the back their ancient Jew ancestors’ land where God’s son Jesus was born by flaunting their Bible to rebuild this new God’s kingdom even at the cost of blood, deaths, and all land of historic Palestine (if possible, even though 75% has been already stolen, and currently stealing more in the West Bank with Israeli and American settlers conducting harassments, violence, and even kill Palestinians while stealing land, olive crops, and recently destroyed 40 baby olive trees from Palestinian farmers during the war. Netanyahu called all these actions as “peace keeping actions” to prevent uprising of the Palestinians in their own West Bank territory). Even though the Palestinians and their ancestors have been living historic Palestine (now Israel) for ONLY the last 400 years, the Hamas terrorist animals said they are fighting to defend the land where their Muhammad died and went to heaven. One of the top Hamas terrorist animals who currently being hunted down in Gaza by Israel was one of the children whose parents were killed and kicked out of historic Palestine since 1947. The Israelis claim the land was given to them by God, but God via the British only gave the Jews from the Nazi camps around 10-15% of historic Palestine land in 1945 when the British was first white colonizer that land/country. Now after 75 years, Israelis own 75% and more of historic Palestine land thanks to the yearly welfare checks and bombs of 3.5 billion dollars of hard-earned tax money of the bananas of America (the finance commissioner of Israel proudly stated that Israel is not a “banana republic of America” on 2/5/2024 for Biden’s sanctions on 4 Israeli settlers as his effort to win votes. Biden calmed the American bananas down by stating that he didn’t impose sanction on any “American” settlers in the West Bank).

What do you think God’s punishment would be for those Western “colonizer’s heart” countries, the Asian “colonizer’s heart” country called Japan, and the Hindu Asian country that forgot its painful British colonizing past called India who support Israel to steal more of Jesus birthland knowing that the ancestors of the Israelis nailed God’s son Jesus while they all sing, dance, and come out of their gay closets to celebrate their great civilized democracy of freedom, freedom, freedom, and equality for all by chanting the Jewish religious words of “all men are created equal” in America, Israel, Europe, and around the world?

Permanent ceasefire now and return all poor hostages of the Hamas and poor prisoners of Israel’s administrative detention with our God’s or Allah’s forgiving hearts for our lost enemies. The Hamas terrorist government only leaves if the Israel democracy colonizing terrorist government of Netanyahu and his IDF leaves. Thank heavens there are self-hating Jews in the West Bank, America, Europe, around the world, and perhaps even Israel to help the Gazans and the Palestinians to get their freedom, and most importantly to prevent a collective punishment which might involve them and their self-hating Jews children and grandchildren in a WWWIII as we old farts die off. Palestine belongs to the young generation (all pro-Hamas protestors around the world are mostly young farts of all races while pro-Israel protestors are mostly old white-looking farts). If the children of the Palestinians who were killed and got driven off their land since 1947 can create this pain on Israeli on October 7th, imagine what the surviving children in South of Gaza would do after we die if Netanyahu, his IDF, and Biden are allowed to flatten the last section in Gaza which started 2-3 days ago with American free, free, and free bombs.

Peace now to the Gazans, Israelis, Palestinians, and the world before God sprinkles us with nuclear bombs. Take care suckers. Off to prepare for a WWWIII if the human animals can’t wait for A.I. to do the job for God to kill off poor planet earth’s human cancer.

Tell your enemies that you care for the future of your innocent children, grandchildren, and race in this Holy land where Jesus was born, Muhammad died and went to heaven, and your ancient Jew ancestors lived 2,500 years ago so you are willing to take the first step of a permanent ceasefire and let’s release all hostages and administrative detention prisoners, and be BFF’s.

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littlesparklight · 2 years

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Opening snippet from a post-war, pre-reaching Sparta Helen/Menelaos/Paris fic I'm not writing yet but planning to write. (Tt follows the eight years of wandering, with Helen/Menelaos reconciliation and reconnection developing into OT3.) The scene came to me today so I had to get it out, other fics will be written before this one, haha. Paris survives his duel with Philoctetes, barely... *

"There you are!" Menelaos bellowed as he slammed the door to the bedchamber open - not the bedchamber he'd expected to open, not the one he'd first stormed through the second they'd reached the palace's gate, following the implication of Helenos' words.

He couldn't put a finger on why, but that Helen was still sitting in Alexander's rooms incensed him far more than the prospect of having to find her in yet another man's bedroom.

"Menelaos," Helen said quietly, smoke from the city drifting near the ceiling, head bent and hands around the handle of a dagger she had resting against Alexander's throat. White-knuckled and trembling, that was obvious even from a distance, but the throat so close to the blade was unmarred. "I was going to give him a gentle death, but I find I can't."

Menelaos stopped in the middle of the room, looking from wife to wife-stealer. Thought Alexander looked rather dead already, pale and sweaty, but he was still - barely - breathing. Helenos had clearly simply mistaken on how soon Alexander was going to die from the poisoned arrow he'd taken, but in that case there was something ghoulish in Alexander's brothers having fought over his stolen wife before he was already dead.

Shaking that thought away, Menelaos fixed his stare on Helen, his hand aching around his sword.

"And why can't you?"

Not out of a wish for a punishment, that much was clear, for Helen's voice had been soft with sentiment, and her large, shining eyes were dark with many emotions, but not anger. Fury slid cold through his limbs, carried on a snake bite pain in his heart, at the realization that Helen still loved Alexander.

"He has many faults, but he doesn't deserve to die in more pain or humiliation than has already been visited on him," Helen said firmly, looking up now even as she reached out - to brush a couple limp curls for Alexander's cheek. Menelaos' jaw hurt from how hard he was grinding his teeth, but a glance down at the sleeping, or unconscious, man didn't deepen his anger. Alexander looked small and fragile, pale where he'd been tanned just a week ago. Angry at himself now, for how weak his heart was, Menelaos snapped his gaze back up to Helen, drawing a too-hot breath. She got there before him. "If you promise me you will do it kindly, right here and now, I won't stop you."

Perhaps that hurt just as much as Helen leaving originally had, as finding Helen sitting here beside Alexander's sickbed, tending the pale flame of his struggling life.

"Fine," he ground out, stomping across the room and snatching the dagger from her lax grip. Turned around - and maybe that was his downfall, maybe that was why Helen hadn't been able to do anything either, but to slit his throat gently, to allow Alexander's life to slip out on a quiet, bleeding breath and not just stab his in the throat or chest, one had to see what one was doing.

If it was only the throat, it wouldn't have been an issue. A throat was a throat, one much like the other, even graceful as Alexander's was. But Menelaos was staring at his throat, the pointed chin, above that a slack mouth that looked wrong, caught in tension sleep ought not to have, robbed of an ease of movement and smiles Menelaos remembered. Alexander laughing in the sunlight during a hunt in Sparta. Quiet, smothered huffs as they hiked up Mount Ida, little curls dark with sweat sticking to his forehead, but never complaining out loud. The angled, low-lidded looks thrown his way while long-fingered hands caressed strings, both in Troy and Sparta, before everything.

And that was the problem, wasn't it?

It shouldn't be one, not with what Alexander had done to him, but it was. It was, and Menelaos found his hands trembling with tension as he stood there, the idea of killing this pale-faced, fragile-looking version of Alexander while he couldn't even theoretically defend himself sitting ill on his heart. It was his right, though. It was. Shadows danced with the bare few oil lamps lit, but they didn't match the steady little flames.

"Well?" Helen snapped, her hands tightly folded in her lap, not having moved from her seat other than shift away enough to give Menelaos a chance to squeeze in next to the head of the bed to reach. "Are you going to do this, or not?"

"Be quiet!" How was he supposed to think, with Helen's liquid honey voice in his ears, accusing, knowing? The tunnelling vision the threatening darkness closing in despite the oil lamp just by the table on Helen's other side had caught him in wavered with her words. Why was he even hesitating, dawdling here? He could just take Helen and go, even if he couldn't kill Alexander. The room grew darker again, easier to do what he was supposed to, for now it was harder to see Alexander's face. In fact, he should - but someone else would find him, and if they didn't kill him themselves they might just take him along and present him to Menelaos in front of all the commanders, because surely he should want this one, particular life to spill by his own hands.

He should want this.

"You can't, can you?" Helen asked, accusation weighed down under that knowing, needling him. "You, who when faced with the man who had wronged you so, didn't reach for his sword, within such easy reach, when you lost your own, and didn't reach for a nearby spear either. You dragged him away instead, choking but not killing by will, and you're going to sit here and accuse me o---"

"Curse you!" Menelaos shouted, whirling around and tossing the dagger away. The shadows retreated, settled back where they should be while the knife bounced off a wall and only after that fell to the floor, spinning and skidding over the painted plaster to come to a gentle stop up against the feet of Helen's chair. He had his sword in his hand now, but he could use that as little as he could the dagger, and was facing his wife now anyway. "Curse both of you!"

His sword up between them, Helen stared at the bronze edge close to threaten her body, gleaming faintly in the light from a nearby oil lamp. She looked up, eyes huge and infinite, lips thin and bared her throat.

"Well?" A repeat of her earlier demand, but this time it was soft. Weighted with emotion, and surely she had more words than this - Helen always had more words, she wouldn't just sit here quietly while faced with a sword intended for her neck. But she was, hands still folded in her lap, nails digging into her skin. She didn't need to say anything, anyway.

"Helen---" Menelaos' voice cracked partway through and he reached out - not with his sword, but with his other hand. They both flinched when his fingertips brushed her cheek, but whereas the hot, wet weight in Menelaos' chest spilled up and over, flooding him and burning his eyes, sight turning blurry, Helen's gaze was steady.

Her lips trembled briefly as she, still staring, tilted her head just slightly into the cradle of Menelaos' hand.

"We're leaving," he proclaimed, sheathing his sword and feeling lighter than the heavy tears he had to scrub away should account for.

"We're not leaving him here," Helen countered, her voice firm but her eyes begging-wide.

Menelaos should be angry, he felt, but he'd already had the same thought. The risk of leaving Alexander behind and then be presented with his still-alive but unconscious body and be expected to kill him like that - be expected to want it, when Alexander currently barely looked capable of breathing - dragged the unsettled weight on his heart down into his stomach, unwieldy and nearly nauseous. If he could be assured no one would find him, maybe. Leaving him to die by fire wasn't the kindness Helen had demanded from him, but Alexander would surely die from the smoke alone before the fire came for his flesh. The thought brought no pleasure, despite that it should.

"Why - how - is he even alive?" Menelaos asked, grunting, as he dragged a hand down his face and turned back to face the bed. Not acknowledging what Helen had said, but his answer was plain in his attempt of wrapping Alexander up enough he might pass unnoticed through the confusion of the city. He just needed to get both of them to the camp - he would have gone directly there with Helen anyway, would be expected to. This might yet work. "From the way his brother talked, I expected to find you with another brother of his, not sitting by his bedside. Is he even alive?"

Menelaos glanced between Helen and the bed. Alexander didn't really seemed to be, despite his shallow breathing and thundering, too-thready heartbeat when Menelaos lightly touched his throat, skin hot and dry. He didn't stir at all when moved.

"He is," Helen insisted with the fervent intensity of belief. Menelaos almost felt bad for her, but if Alexander never woke again, or died out at sea, then this would've been a small price to pay. "A nymph came a couple days ago, and though she didn't stay, she gave me a mix of herbs. Said they wouldn't have been enough if he wasn't born of the blood he was. Apparently there's enough naiad nymphs and river gods in the bloodline of the Trojan family to fight against Hydra poison."

Helen chuckled, a soft, dry sound, and shook her head. "He woke up the other day, if only briefly. He eats, what little can be encouraged into him, even when he can't fully wake. He's alive. No thanks to Deiphobos. If I hadn't been awake when he slipped inside here, Paris really would be dead. Is he dead?"

Menelaos might have startled from the crack of Helen's voice, vicious in the smoky air, but for as long as it'd been since he heard it, it wasn't too surprising. He'd heard stories of Helen's anger when she'd been kidnapped by Theseus.

"He is," Menelaos said, and the slight shudder through Helen, as well as her drooping shoulders, was not relief just out of anger at Deiphobus attempting to, if not kill, then speed up his own brother's death to marry her. Whatever Alexander had been, the reasons she'd followed him, Dephobus wasn't something she'd wanted.

Deiphobus shouldn't have happened at all, Alexander dead or not - the weight of judgement on Troy would be a little lighter, from the gods at least, if they should've given his wife back, then. But they hadn't. Shaking his head, Menelaos picked a thoroughly swaddled Alexander up in his arms, and even with the extra weight of blankets he definitely weighed too little. He turned around to face his wife, and they stood there for a few, far too long moments, staring at each other. He was burdened enough - would she choose to run, now, despite this? Despite everything? Maybe because of it?

Helen stepped close, her hand latching onto his elbow and her nails now digging into his skin instead of hers. It was as much a relief as it only made the weight in his gut lurch sideways with an uncomfortable awareness of beginning, and it didn't even have to do with the softly brown curls tickling his mouth. Alexander's presence - whether he truly survived this or not - wouldn't make this easier, no, but his absence wouldn't heal fifteen years gone, either.

He had what he wanted, but now, as he got himself walking and Helen followed, Menelaos had no idea what to do, going from here.

#the iliad #trojan war #menelaus #helen of sparta #lightart #no war ot3

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arilie · 3 years

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GOD OF WAR

Ares!Eren X GreekPrincess!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Summary: A war waged on a small island that guarded a prize wanted by all of Greece. After years of bloodshed and battles, an unknown warrior graces the battlefield. He swiftly disposes of the armies and makes it to the gates of the castle that held the golden trophy. You stared into his eyes and realized who he was, and that he had come to claim you.

A/N: This was started at like two in the morning and I stayed up wayyyy too late writing it. Shoutout to Izzy for the prompt, this will definitely be a multiple part series because I have so many ideas. Enjoy!

IMPORTANT: this work was inspired by the art posted by @/artofneight on Instagram. Here’s the link to their page!

↓

https://instagram.com/artofneight?igshid=x1dz5mawokpj

Please do not repost my work without proper credit. Likes, reblogs and feedback is greatly appreciated!!

Helen was known to be the most beautiful woman in all of Greece. Thousands of men and mighty kings fought in Troy for a decade in her name. Even the great hero Achilles was seen on the battlefield, roaring in the name of great Helen. You wondered if she was truly that beautiful, and if her hand in marriage was worth so much bloodshed. As you looked out the window of your bedroom and onto the fortified walls of the castle, you also wondered if this is what she saw. Massive walls caging the castle in a protective circle. A sea of men armed to their necks in weapons stood before the walls. Beyond them were fields that were once a vibrant green. After years of war, the plains were now brown from all the blood they’ve soaked. It wasn’t unusual for you to sit beside your window and stare at the clouds of smoke and listen to the distant sounds of the battles. You have debated if this was all worth the deaths and massacres you’re sure have occurred on your land.

Five years later, the effort to overthrow your father and his reign was still raging on. Your people had options of course: side with the traitors or remain under the rule of the royal family. Those still loyal were the ones serving in your military. But after years of grueling battles your numbers were starting to fall. Your military fought against those part of the coup, and those from other kingdoms. The other nations of Greece were patient and their patience was rewarded with the uprising that suddenly occurred. They took the opportunity to try and take the island themselves. Many of them focused their efforts on the sea, fighting off other nations who wanted to join the war. Those who made it on land either joined the coup or fought against them. The island and its treasures were the spoils of war, but the biggest prize gazed out of a palace window deep on the island.

Winter was finally coming to an end, and you saw Demeter’s happiness in the way your plants were flourishing. They were the only things you could really have since the war started. Everything else went towards the war effort and trying to keep the army afloat. You stroked the petal of the flowers perched on your window. Persephone finally returned home from the underworld, and your flowers shared her mother’s joy. The air still had a chill from the remaining fragments of winter. You pulled on the silk that rested on your shoulders. The morning was still frigid and you wanted nothing more than to bury under the warm covers on your bed. Before you could act on your temptations, a knock was heard from your door.

“Y/n? Are you awake yet?”

“Yes I am awake. Please come in.” You replied.

A maid dressed in a simple dress entered your bedroom. In her hands she held a shining dress that had beautiful lace adorning it. You frowned at the item in her hands and stood from your spot near the window. The maid had placed the offending dress on a chair while she fussed over your bed. Watching her tidy the bed made you sigh in regret about not having dove under the covers. You picked up the dress and tried to keep the frown from deepening on your face. You knew this was expensive, you grew up with lavishness and riches many dreamed of. You were a woman after all, who didn’t like a new sparkling dress? But you knew your people—those left—needed it more than you did.

“Did this recently come in?” You asked.

The young maid jumped slightly at being addressed. “Yes my lady, the seamstress that has always made your clothes dropped it off this morning. She left some other items as well, but I thought you might want to wear that today.”

You hummed as an answer and placed the dress back on the chair. The soft patter of your feet was heard as you crossed your bedroom to the wardrobe that contained your clothes. You opened it, picked out an equally expensive dress and held it up.

“I’ve worn this dress maybe once, and I have hundreds more that haven’t even been touched. I don’t think I need new ones. I’ll take what I absolutely need from the seamstress. I want you to sell the rest and distribute it evenly among the workers in the palace.”

The poor girl flushed deep red. You didn’t know if it was at the generosity you just displayed, or the fact that she somehow displeased you.

“Please don’t think you have offended me. I appreciate the thought and tell the seamstress I loved it. What happens to my clothes stays between us, you understand?” You said.

The pink-cheeked girl nodded her head up and down furiously. You smiled at her and gestured for her to help you get dressed. She scurried behind you and helped you remove your nightgown. The linen on the dress you took out was soft against your skin. You thanked the girl for helping you and you finished tying off the dress.

“What’s your name?” You asked.

“My name is Clio, your highness.” The maid answered.

“From now on you’ll be the only one who is allowed to dress me. I look forward to getting to know you, Clio.” You smiled at the younger girl. She stammered before thanking you profusely. You reached out and stroked her hair lovingly.

“Please go and do what I said for my clothes. Once it’s done come by and let me know.” You said.

Clio curtsied before she grabbed the glittering dress from the chair and rushed out of the room. You glanced down at the one you put on and realized it really was one you barely wore. The war made you realize how much you had, and how little others did. You straightened your shoulders and shook the thoughts out of your head. Every morning you and your parents met to discuss any changes in the war. It was usually the same thing every dawn, this army retreated while the other was victorious. You saw no end to it all.

The palace walls were still warming up after the cold night that passed. You were grateful for the warm dress you picked out earlier that morning. Each servant that passed by greeted you and you responded with a soft “good morning” to each one. You were known to be kind and elegant. Your mother taught you well on the principles of how to be a princess. Even though it was rumored you were among the most beautiful princesses in Greece, you were sure you were the most boring. You kept to yourself and focused your energy on your people and your kingdom. You didn’t know how to entertain, let alone keep the attention of a man. If it wasn’t for the war, you’re sure you’d be stumbling from one match up to the next.

The throne room was grand and fitted for the rulers of the kingdom. Your father and mother’s thrones were the same in height, displaying the natural balance they shared in power. You were raised to believe that no man was allowed to keep you as a pretty ornate on his arm. You were born to rule, and that’s what you would do. The chair beside your father’s was yours. It was smaller, but no less striking and imposing. It was in this room you all listened to the pleas and demands of your people. The room has been empty of any subjects since the war began. You walked through the room and took a turn into another, more private room. This was where you and your parents met every morning.

“Good morning my darling y/n, how was your sleep?” Your father stood from the chair he was occupying. You smiled warmly at him and walked into his embrace.

“It was fine, father. Although I can see that yours wasn’t as peaceful.” You remarked. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced, and his hair continued to gray at lightning speed.

“War does that to a person I’m afraid. You’re old enough to understand.” The king said.

You gave him a look before your mother came in with a swirl of fragrance and poise. She captured everyone in the room in the grace she held herself in. You were in awe of her when you were little, and you hoped you could have a husband who looked at you like your father did your mother.

“Good morning mother. I was just telling father that he needs to prioritize his rest. He looks like he’s already preparing for Thanatos to come pay a visit.” You teased. Your father still had his arms around you and pinched your hip in retaliation. You squealed and jumped away.

“Yes he certainly does look that way doesn’t he? One could say he’s already in Hades’ domain.” Your mother replied. You heard your father huff in mock anger before the queen kissed his cheek in apology.

“Now that we have concluded the discussion on my withering, I have some news for the both of you.” Your father said. His face suddenly turned serious and the prospect of something finally changing in the war made you sit down in the chair beside his.

“Plague has struck all of the armies except ours. Even those participating in the coup against us have fallen gravely ill. I got this report this morning. I have yet to talk to a priest, but I am not sure if this is the work of a god yet.”

You blinked up at him while you tried to process his words. A plague had struck. Your army was spared but for how long? You picked at the skin beside your nails, a habit your mother has tried to break all your life. The woman in question looked horrified for a second before she composed herself. She was calm and collected whereas my father was brash.

“That’s not all; a warrior has risen among the armies. It seems that he fights alone. I’ve gotten reports that he plows through every brigade and unit mercilessly. He’s getting closer and closer to the castle each day.” Your father said grimly.

This news made your breath hitch. If the so-called warrior made it to the walls—no, if he made it passed them—he’d ask for a reward. You turned to look at your father and saw he was already looking at you.

“If he makes it here, he’ll ask for me as a prize, won’t he?” You asked.

Your father sighed and rubbed at his eyes. Such casualness was only reserved for you and his wife. In front of others he must always convey an act of indifference; not letting his emotions show. You knew giving your hand in marriage was something that had to be included in a peace offering. He wished he could keep you safe in the palace forever, but the bloody war had to come to an end.

“Father, it is alright if he does ask for my hand. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this war end. I want peace as desperately as you do. Our people have suffered too much.” You clasped his hand away from his face and into yours.

Your mother remained quiet, but you expected nothing less. She was more distant with you, having grown up in a different nation with different rules. She didn’t approve of your independence, but you knew she’d agree with you. The king seemed to age in his seat more as he debated your statement. You couldn’t stand to see him in this state any longer.

Before you could answer, your mother intervened, “It is decided then. If he does make it to the castle and gets past the walls, we will give him what he asks for. If that prize is y/n, we can use it to convince the other kingdoms to sign a treaty. The biggest prize would have been claimed and the war doesn’t need to continue.”

You digested your mother’s words and let go of your fathers hand so he wouldn’t feel the tremble in your fingers. You hoped the warrior slashing through all those men would be kind to you. You felt like a child again, hoping that fate would give you mercy for once.

The next morning, you were abruptly woken to the shouts of the guards outside your window. You stirred in your sleep, not paying much mind to the ruckus of men. Then you realized, those men were the ones guarding the walls. You jolted upright in your bed and swung the covers off of your body. The chill of the morning air bit at your exposed arms and legs. Clinging to the side of the window, you watched as the men outside all fought against a single enemy. At first, you were confused as to why it took so many of them. You didn’t see infantries and captains on horses. Then a single chill ran down your spine as you realized: the warrior.

You quickly opened your wardrobe and pulled out the first dress you could find. You hastily undressed yourself and put the dress on. If he made it past the walls, you needed to be present. It was just yesterday you were discussing this. Had he been that close already? Who was this man?

Having the dress securely on, you almost sprinted out the door of your bedroom. You hurried to the throne room where no doubt your parents were also arriving at. When you entered, you saw your mother sitting on her throne with her king pacing before her. You walked quickly to them and stood before their thrones gasping for breath. You made eye contact with your mother and for the first time in your life you saw nervousness. Your mother’s blatant show of emotions did nothing to stop the galloping of your heart.

The doors of the throne room were slammed open and you all turned towards the intruder. Standing before you was a man well over six feet. His hips had a white cloth around them that hung loose. His torso was bare and exposed, a clear sign of strength. No wounds were littering the ripples of muscle that shifted as he walked towards you. What armor he did have clanged as he walked; the bronze pieces were placed on his shoulders and around his calves. Dark brown sandals adorned his feet, and he held a mighty spear with one hand and a shield in the other. The shield had two wings adorned on it, a symbol that seemed almost familiar. Once he got close enough, he removed his helmet to reveal his handsome face. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were a forest green. His jaw was sharp and was clenched shut. His hair was past his shoulders and the brown accentuated his beautiful eyes.

You backed up against your father, and he came to stand before you. No words were spoken in the first few seconds, the shock of it all weighing on your shoulders. The warrior then inclined his head in a greeting. His lack of bow indicated he was someone important, of higher or equal standard to your father.

“Greetings. I have fought against many men and many armies to make it to this fortress. I heard a tale that a beautiful maiden was hidden away here. I have come to claim her as my prize.” The warrior said.

Your father didn’t react at first and you saw his fists clenched by his sides. Your mother soon came too and took his hand, instantly relaxing him.

“May we ask first who you are? It has been many years since this war began, and not one army has made it halfway to this castle. Yet here you stand, alone.” Your mother’s tone was curious.

“This war has been going on long enough, with no end in sight. As you said, no one has gotten remotely close to this castle. I thought it was about time I stepped in and put an end to things.” The warrior smiled and the wings on his shield glowed. I gasped as I finally remembered, the wings were the symbol of the gods. A man who obliterated armies and made it here alone was no man at all.

I stepped forward and passed my parents. The warrior—god, looked into my eyes and a warmth spread throughout my entire body. None of us spoke again, we stared into each other’s eyes as if looking for the answers to our own questions. I went through all the names of the gods and who would have any remote interest in a human war.

“I am Ares, god of war and brother to Zeus, king of the gods. I quite enjoyed the prayers and offerings this war brought to me in the beginning. But I believe this war has lasted too long now.” Ares said.

You felt a hand wrap around your arm before you were dragged back and into the chest of your father. You trembled in his grasp, not quite believing what you were hearing. The god of war has come to claim the prize all of Greece was fighting for. Not just any minor god either, an Olympian.

“Ares, god of war, you are welcomed into my home and in my kingdom. We will do our best to ensure your comfort and pleasure while you are here. But if I may be so bold, is my daughter really the only prize you want?” The king asked. You glanced at the glowing god before you and his eyes held a humor to them.

“Yes, I’d like your daughter’s hand in marriage. My siblings have claimed mortals as their spouses and I have yet to. Of course, if my wish is granted I will also stop the war.”

You froze at the last sentence. If you accepted his request, you could end the war for once and for all. You wove out of your father’s protective arms and turned towards the god of war. You took a deep breath in, looked at him in the eyes and curtsied as low as you could.

“I accept your request, my lord. So long as you end the suffering that my people have endured all these years, I will be your wife.” You said shakily.

Ares grinned as he lifted his hand towards you. You took his offered palm and he lifted you off the ground with ease. “Starting now, you will be my equal. You bow down to no one, not even to me.”

You widen your eyes in surprise before you nod your head. You turn back to your parents and a look of bewilderment overtook their features. Ares pulled on your hand some more until you were pressed against his side. His body radiates warmth and power. His smell was that of the hearth and firewood. It was intoxicating.

“Please announce the news that y/n is engaged. I will see to it that this war can finally end on peaceful terms.” Ares declared. Your parents looked at each other before they looked at you. You were still in shock of the events happening, but you gave them a reassuring nod. It was the start of something unforgettable.

Ares had kept his word and made sure the war ended. He revealed himself to the armies of Greece and declared your kingdom under his protection. Soon the armies dispersed and left your land barren for the first time in five years. The princess y/n was finally claimed, and Ares was the one who got her hand in marriage.

You spent most of your time enjoying the freedom you had once again. You were able to take strolls out in the gardens and pick more flowers for your bedroom. Ares had been occupied with the ending of the war, but he made sure to visit when he had the chance. He was witty, sarcastic, and everything a god should be. He was radiant and you quickly grew infatuated with him. He joined you on your strolls to the garden and helped you pick flowers. It had been months now since he first arrived at your castle, declaring that he would marry you. The wedding preparations were going as fast as they could after the end of a war.

You picked up a lily that you found and smelled it. The aroma made you sigh in delight. Arms suddenly encircled your waist and a strong chest pressed against your back. You kept the flower close to your face as you were turned to face the perpetrator. Ares glanced down at you and noticed the petals hiding the blush on your cheeks. He chuckled to himself and slowly moved the flower away from your face. He traced your features with his fingers and the gesture had your knees weak.

“We are intended to be married, yet you still blush in my presence.” He said.

“You are a god and I am a mere mortal. I still do not understand why you chose me as your prize.” You confessed.

He grew suddenly serious and you were afraid you had said something offensive. You opened your mouth to apologize when he leaned down to kiss you. His lips were as warm as the rest of him, and their softness made you melt against him. He grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him so his burning chest was against yours. You realized that he was always warm as if he was aflame. Your hands twitched before they reached for his shoulders. He sighed against your lips as they moved with practice and ease. His silky hair brushed against your fingers as you held onto his shoulders for support.

When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours and cupped your cheek. His thumb stroked against the blush still present on your skin. You blinked up at him, still in awe of the kiss he placed on your lips.

“I’ve heard about you for some time now. I knew of your beauty first and was intrigued. Then I watched over you and saw how truly cared for your people. You’d put their happiness over yours in a heartbeat. I admire that, you’d make a fine queen.” He said softly.

You let out a breath and used your grip on his shoulders to drag his addicting lips back to yours. You felt bold as you stood on the tips of your toes and crashed your lips against his. His shock only lasted a second before he cupped your face with both hands. The kiss was more intense than the first, a clear longing present in his tongue as it brushed against your lip. Electricity shot down to your toes as you granted him passage, and you didn’t know if kissing you was enjoyable due to your inexperience. His tongue prodded at yours and coaxed it into a dance that had your legs shaking.

Finally breaking apart, you looked into his deep green eyes once again. His mouth was pulled into a mischievous smirk, and you gave him a small smile in return. If he was to be your husband, you figured you could enjoy the pleasantries that came with your marriage.

“You make me feel like a mortal barely plunging into maturity. I can barely control myself around you.” Ares whispered.

“I am to be your wife, please don’t hold back.” You replied. Your eyes were sultry and he quickly grabbed your arm before pulling you back into the castle. Your chest was full of fluttering monarchs at the prospect of him finally letting go and indulging himself in you.

Servants and soldiers watched you with silent eyes as the god of war dragged you to your chambers. Your blush was evident, and you thanked his siblings for watching over you and placing your parents in another part of the castle.

The door to your bedroom was pushed open and once it closed Ares pushed your back against it. You huffed at the slight force and impact before your lips were once again trapped against his. He snaked his knee between your knees and pressed it against you. You gasped at the feeling and decided to be bold again as you grind down against his thigh. He groaned against your mouth before departing from it. He placed kisses along your jaw and sucked on the space just beneath it. He continued to place searing kisses on your neck as he used his leg to further drive you up the door.

“I won’t take you here, not until you have the security of our marriage as comfort. But there are other things we can do.” Ares mumbled into your neck. He pulled back to look at you, flustered and with lust swirling in your eyes. He suddenly reached under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his lithe waist and he carried you towards your bed.

He gently placed you on the soft cushion and began to slowly untie your linen dress. You stroked his arms and admired the muscle that rippled under the skin like strong waves in a storm. Once your dress was untied, he pulled it up and you took the indication to sit up. He took the dress up and over your head as you lifted your arms. The dress fluttered onto the floor beside your bed as you laid back down. You were told all your life that your beauty could rival Helen’s, but you didn’t believe it until the god in front of you stared at you like you placed the cosmos in the sky.

He leaned down and began to place kisses down your chest until he reached your chest. He whispered praise against your skin as he took one into his mouth and held the other. You took in a sharp breath and let out a low whine as he worked you into oblivion. His tongue was running over your nipple and you squirmed beneath his strong body as he massaged the other. He finally relented and switched breasts until he had you moaning. He smirked up at you as you gasped in the air you desperately needed.

“I’ve barely just begun and you’re already so responsive. I can’t wait for our waiting night.” The god quipped. He trailed his lips lower until it got to the undergarments that covered you. He pulled them down from your hips and his eyes sparkled at how wet you were already. He placed kisses against your inner thighs as he pulled the piece of fabric off of your legs. Then he breathed against you until he placed his mouth on your clit. You threw your head back and cried out. You’ve touched yourself and are aware of what you like and don’t. But all of your preferences were forgotten as he ate you out like a starved man. He moaned against you as your hands reached down to pull on his hair. He licked and sucked on your clit until you were writhing in pleasure, but it wasn’t enough.

“Ares, please…” you whined.

“Use your words, darling. What do you need?” He said.

Your chest heaved as he continued to suck your clothes making you take longer to respond. “Need your fingers inside. Wanna feel them inside please.”

Evergreen eyes looked up at you, and the sight of the god of war between your thighs had you losing your breath. His hand resting on one of your legs came up to your entrance. He erotically licked his lips and slowly eased them into you. Your head was thrown back as you moaned into your pillow. He began to pump his long fingers until his hand was in up to his knuckle. He began to make a motion upwards that had the tips of his fingers press against a spot within you that made you yelp. He grinned up at you as he began to twist and push against the same spot. There was a pressure in your abdomen as he continued to pleasure you. Then his mouth was on you again and you were crying out his name.

“Ares! Yes, right there! Please, please make me cum. I want to cum, let me cum please.” You cried. Your pleading words increased his efforts and you moaned loudly. His hair was still gripped between your fingers and his unoccupied hand was digging bruises into your hip. You felt scorching hot pleasure shoot from your core to the rest of your body.

“Cum for me, y/n. Show me how good I make you feel.” Ares growled beneath you.

One final push and suck had you opening your mouth in a silent scream. The pressure in you finally released making you feel white hot pleasure. Your legs shook as Ares continued his ministrations, prolonging your orgasm into the realm of overstimulation. You whimpered once you came down from your high, pulling against his hair to indicate you were done. He looked up at you and he licked his lips as if the very ambrosia that gave him sustenance was placed within you. He licked his fingers in the same manner, and you felt your body heat up again at the display. He crawled up your body and captured your lips in a searing kiss. You tasted your essence and didn’t mind as his tongue pushed against yours.

He pulled away and laid beside you as he took you into his arms. “That was just a glimpse into the pleasure I can bring to you. When we are married, I’ll lay my claim on you in the most passionate way.”

You smiled up at him and placed your hands on his chest. This was barely the beginning of your life with him, and you couldn’t deny the want and need the thrummed within you. An Olympian, the very god of war chose you as his. You were ready to see what else that entailed.

#aot fanfiction #aot manga #aot anime #aot x reader #attack on titan #eren jäger #eren x you #eren x reader #anime #fanfic #aot fandom

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themuselesswriter · 3 years

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The Serpent and The Desert Shark

Characters: Original female character, Troy Otto, Jake otto, Jeremiah Otto, Nick Clark, Madison Clark, Alicia Clark, Coop, Mike Trimbol

Summary: Troy Otto is the well-known psychopath of Broke Jaw Ranch, only he truly isn't, and once a complete stranger arrives out of nowhere he begins to explore a whole side of himself, he has no idea how to process his feelings and to his own bad luck, the woman has more baggage than him.

Join the adventures of Troy Otto while he discovers what it's like to be crushing over someone, and May's crazy past that sounds more of a badly written fanfiction than a past.

Word count: 21076

Warnings: death, abuse, drugs addiction, usual apocalyptic problems

A/N: I had this sitting in my drafts for a while now so I decided to curse you with the curse of wasting ten minutes of your lives with another weird fic about a female Original character taking over a show plot and making it all about her, btw I suck at self-advertising so... I hope you guys enjoy it and let me know what you think! PS: This isn’t abandoned, more will be published soon!

Credits: viking - polarr filter by me, photos from Pinterest

————————————Teaser———————————

It was a normal day, as normal as an apocalyptic life can be in the Broke Jaw Ranch, everyone was busy running their errands, sustaining their sanctuary, earning their keeps, and Troy was no different, just because he was their leader's son doesn’t mean he lived like some sort of a high born, he wasn't his older brother, as the leader of the militia he had to set an example of how dedicated he was to their people, twice the work, twice the pressure and the responsibility.

Sweat dripping from his forehead as he knelt in front of the hole in the fence, a boar managed to make and destroy some of the crops, a work of art, Troy thought, it was fascinating how the animal only took what it needed, how it found out the weakest spot in their fence, hidden and fragile, if he didn’t trip in front of it by mistake yesterday he would’ve never found out and the animal would’ve continued the little mischief, ripping them of their rashes.

“Troy” a voice interrupted his peacefulness, he looked up at the familiar face, Coop, he squinted his eyes to shield them from the sun “what is it?” The other man seemed distressed and nervous, Troy noted however, Troy wasn't known of being a patient man “well, good thing we have all day” he said sarcastically, Coop took a breath “a woman just showed up out of nowhere at the gates” he said with a careful look, studying his leader’s expressions, Troy, unimpressed “a dead one?” The other shook his head “no, alive, bleeding but alive” he answered “my dad?”, “he thinks she’s a threat” he replied.

The blond groaned and stood up tall, placing his pieces of equipment aside, he took off his protective gloves and wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand “lead the way, let’s go see who that mystery woman is” Coop nodded and the two walked to the crowd, his father and brother were bickering while the woman glared at them from behind the gates, and as Troy walked closer the words became clearer to him.

“We can’t just leave her dad” jake fought, big Otto wasn’t a fan of his son's comment “she’s from the borders, I will not have a filthy Mexican in my lands!” Unphased, Troy decided to look at the woman instead, her brown hair lifted in a ponytail, her eyes green and angry, he’s never seen anyone that looked quite angry to be at the Ranch rather than happy or scared, her skin was milk and she was injured, she wasn’t older than he was, stabbed in her lower abdomen, he took a step closer to the gate “what’s your name, Ma’am?”

The woman looked at the youngest Otto, then back at the two arguing “May” she replied coldly “Okay miss May…?” He asked waiting for her to fill the blanks “it doesn’t matter” she replied, Troy, chuckled “I guess it doesn’t, my dad thinks you’re Mexican, are you?” He asked again as the two men continued their argument, their words are mere noises to Troy, he could care-less of what they had to say “I’m an American citizen, I was in Baha for a business deal”

Troy nodded understandingly then told the men to open the gates for her, his father cursed at him “she’s not Mexican and she’s injured, you’re the one who said we don’t leave women stranded” he explained, his father wasn’t happy about it at all “she stays in the cells until she recovers and Troy… she’s your responsibility” he then left the site “I’m sorry about my dad, he’s a survivalist, he thinks every stranger is a threat” Jake said when the coast was clear “he’s right” the woman replied, sending everyone to a state of silence.

“I’m jake and this is my brother Troy” the older introduced, but the woman just stared at them with zero interest “we should get you to the infirmary” the brunette said, desperately trying to kill the awkward silence “no need, just get me booze and bandages” she said firmly “your wound might get infected and you might die” the blond one replied “It won’t” she insisted.

The two boys shared a look as if they were communicating among themselves to figure out what to do with the woman “alright, I’ll take her to the cells, you get her the stuff, if she dies in the cells it’s on her” the one who’s named Troy said, already moving to grab the woman’s arm, she glared at him and pushed his hand away “I’ll walk myself” she hissed, the brothers shared a look again, Jake nodded at his brother then the blond started walking, the woman followed.

They remained quiet, no words were said, the brunette woman looked all around her, noticing the weird looks she was getting from the habitants, answering them with scowls, this place looked like heaven during the time of apocalypse, her old place was a huge storage unite, she’s never seen a farm that survived the dead for so long, those people were a bunch of lucky assholes.

“You know… most of the people would be thankful instead of being hostile” the blond man started, gaining a scoff “thankful? Your dad was going to leave me for dead just because I came from Baha” she replied, pressing her hand to the wound, part of her wondered for how long they’d have to walk, but another wasn’t going to show weakness, she needed them to fear her, those people were strangers, their intentions were unknown “well, we don’t get visitors very often, you see, this place is nirvana and many try to take it from us, we have to be careful”

He tried to explain but the woman said nothing, too focused on the pain in her abdomen, he stopped in front of a large building and talked to a guy in military clothing before a door was open, he motioned for her to follow him and so she did, he opened a cell gate for her and she walked in, immediately sitting on the bench, resting her legs “it would’ve been easier if you went to the infirmary first” the blond said as he closed the door, looking at her from behind the bars “I’m here to take what I need and leave” she replied “and what is it that you need?” she shrugged “a clean wound, a bed and few meals until I recover”

“What makes you think we’d provide that?” Troy said amused “I wouldn’t be here if you wanted me dead” the man smiled at her and nodded “you’re something” he shook his head in disbelief before he walked out, leaving the woman with her own thoughts.

#fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fear the walking dead #ftwd #original character #troy otto #jake otto #jeremiah otto #nick clark #madison clark #alicia clark #coop #gloria ftwd #luciana galvez #Museless AO3

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timothypines · 3 years

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The Fire of Achilles (Essay)

“He was like a flame himself. He glittered, drew eyes.” (pg. 43, Miller) Throughout the novel The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller and the epic poem The Iliad, Achilles is often compared to fire. In The Iliad he is referred to as “brilliant Achilles”—meaning to sparkle with light or luster; however, this comparison is not always positive, as the destructive side of fire is not forgotten when describing his unstoppable rage. The double-sided nature of fire perfectly encapsulates Achilles. The brightness and openness he emulates, much like the welcoming of a controlled fire, attracts the soldiers to him, while uncontrolled his rage can destroy armies like a forest fire pushed by rushing wind. But while most people can only see the war in him, the rage in him, he would never have gotten as far as he had without his gentle warmth.

The Song of Achilles shows much more of the softer side of Achilles’ flame, however, I do not think this makes Madeline Miller’s interpretation any more or less correct in the characterization of Achilles; rather, it deepens what is shown to us in The Iliad. In the early moments of the book (The Song of Achilles), it is shown that just as Achilles speaks his mind freely and absolutely, he expects the same from all others; this leads to him being overly trusting in many ways. “He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?” (pg. 44, Miller). This is seen in The Iliad also, in his rage against Agamemnon when the king refused to return the priest’s daughter after the priest offered ransom. Most would never speak such things against a king, but he did not fear a thing, no, he was completely honest with Agamemnon, reminding the king that it was he who was needed, he who was asked to fight, “It wasn’t the Trojan spearmen who brought me here to fight. The Trojans never did me damage… we all followed you, to please you, to fight for you, to win your honor back from the Trojans.” (pg. 82, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). Yes, the dishonoring of him is what causes this great rage, but his honesty is part of that too. But even though this rage appears to come from unbreakable pride, I feel that it came not from a place of pride, but rather rage at Agamemnon for not being at all reasonable. While he keeps his honor close to him, he is not prideful of his abilities. “‘I will be the best warrior of my generation.’ It sounded like something a child would claim, in make-believe. But he said it as simply as if he were giving his name.” (pg. 38, Miller). In this sense, I agree with Miller’s interpretation of Achilles’ feeling in this moment and how even though his honor is important to him, he is not particularly prideful. This rage, I feel, comes more from a great feeling of unfairness, which Achilles seems to value more than anyone else in the army. Agamemnon made the mistake of not returning the priest’s daughter, out of his unyielding pride, and now he is unwilling to admit to his mistake and is instead punishing Achilles, who was the only one trying to end the great plague. I am in no way saying that Achilles’ actions to call the gods to punish the entire army so relentlessly were justified, however, his feelings of rage toward Agamemnon cannot be blamed on just himself, and therefore, neither can the punishment that falls upon the army.

It seems silly to try to talk about Achilles and leave out what he loves most. Now, in The Iliad, before we get to the aftermath of the death of Patroclus, it could be fair to assume that what Achilles loves most is his honor; damage to his honor is what caused him to call for the army’s suffering and destruction, the very army he had been fighting with for nine years. However, it is very clear that after the death of Patroclus that it is he whom he loves most. Once Patroclus has died, Achilles does not care to act honorably, he does not care if Agamemnon apologizes, he simply wants the person who took his love from him to suffer. Even his own life does not seem precious to him anymore. For the brief moments that Patroclus is shown in the epic, his character is made very clear. He appears to be kind, gentle, to carry himself with a strong grace. No one has ill-will towards him; he is a good man universally in the eyes of the kings and soldiers. This is what makes his death so impactful. This version of Patroclus that we see in The Iliad I feel is lacking when reading The Song of Achilles. In the epic, Patroclus can fight, he is quite good at it and it does not feel a surprise, “And then and there the Achaeans might have taken Troy, her towering gates toppling under Patroclus’ power heading the vanguard, storming on with his spear.” (pg. 435, Book 16: Patroclus Fights and Dies, Homer). The Patroclus we find in The Song of Achilles is awkward, unwilling to fight, even just before this moment at Troy, “The wheels gave a little lurch, and I staggered, my spears rattling. ‘Balance them,’ he told me. ‘It will be easier.’ Everyone waited as I awkwardly transferred one spear to my left hand, swiping my helmet askew as I did so.” (pg. 327, Miller) When reading The Iliad, I felt none of this from Patroclus. While it may have been surprising that he ended up at the wall of Troy, it certainly wasn’t surprising that he had fought and fought well. I will say that both works made it heart-wrenching to see Patroclus slaughtering people, however, the epic held more integrity than the novel had. This can especially be seen when Patroclus and Hector meet on the battlefield. This is the interaction we get from The Iliad, “‘Hector! Now is your time to glory to the skies… now the victory is yours. A gift of the son of Cronus, Zeus—Apollo too—they brought me down with all their deathless ease, they are the ones who tore the armor off my back… You came third, and all you could do was finish off my life…” (pg. 440, Book 16: Patroclus Fights and Dies, Homer). And this is what we get from The Song of Achilles, “He is coming to kill me. Hector… He must live because his life, I think as I scrape backwards over the grass, is the final dam before Achilles’ own blood will flow. Desperately, I turn to the men around me and scrabble at their knees. Please, I croak. Please.” (pg. 334-335, Miller). Although Achilles’ stubbornness killed both versions of Patroclus, at least in The Iliad Patroclus died strong in himself, while the Patroclus from The Song of Achilles died a shell, lacking any self, just filled with thoughts of the fire that is Achilles.

One thing that no version of the story could ever take away is how much Achilles loves Patroclus (even if they decide to make them simply cousins for some reason). It is devastating to read Achilles discover that his lover is dead; this is not lacking in either version of the war. Something I especially enjoyed from The Song of Achilles is how much more deeply Miller built the relationship. While reading I could really tell that Patroclus was Achilles’ heart; he was the only one who was immune to Achilles’ rage and the only one who had a chance of getting through to him. “I had found a way through the endless corridors of his pride and fury. I would save the men; I would save him from himself.” (pg. 325, Miller). The building of their relationship before this moment where Patroclus begs for Achilles to fight made for a deeper understanding as to why, after so long, after so much suffering of the Achaeans, Achilles was willing to do something to help, no matter what that was. In The Iliad we are given a mention of how close they are and that is supposed to reason Achilles’ willingness to bend slightly. This deeper understanding of their relationship also makes Achilles’ reaction to Patroclus’ death all the more painful to watch happen and his actions during the beginning of his morning also make more sense to the reader.

Achilles’ relationship with the war of Troy is somehow both extremely complicated and overly simple. It is complicated in terms of what he should bring into the war, what he owes Menelaus and Agamemnon, and how fate plays into it all. It is simple, however, when it comes to him having to perform the act of war itself. I feel that what Miller added to the story regarding this area really deepened and strengthened Achilles’ character; she really tried to show the struggle in Achilles when he was dealing with all of these complexities that came with the politics of the war, between both the mortals and gods. This is the war he was fated to have such a large part of; he was to kill the Trojan’s greatest hero, Hector. But fate isn’t the only thing forcing him to back and fight in the war against Troy, the Achaean kings he fights along side with also feel entitled to him and his abilities. In the end, however, Achilles does not feel attached to the war in actuality. “‘The Trojans never did me damage.’” (pg. 82, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). He doesn’t hold any rage toward the Trojans, that is until Hector kills Patroclus, and even then, his true rage is only toward Hector, it is only the magnitude of it that takes down the mountains of Trojans he slaughters. He is in a war he was expected to be in simply because of that fact, he was expected to fight. When discussing the war with Patroclus, Patroclus asks if he is afraid to fight, Achilles answers, “‘No… This is what I was born for.’” (pg. 220, Miller). So, if he was fated to be in the war, the Achaeans can only win if he fights, and every Greek kingdom expects him to fight, then what does he owe to his fellow Greeks? To Menelaus and Agamemnon? Simply put, in reality he owes them nothing, his father doesn’t even force him to go, telling him it’s his choice (The Song of Achilles), however, the issue and complexity doesn’t come from what he actually owes the kings, but from what they believe he owes them. Here are two interactions between Achilles and Agamemnon from both works. “Agamemnon stepped forward. He opened his hands in a gesture of welcome and stood regally expectant, waiting for the bows, obeisance, and oaths of loyalty he was owed. It was Achilles’ place to kneel and offer them. He did not kneel. He did not call out a greeting to the great king, or incline his head or offer a gift. He did nothing but stand straight, chin proudly lifted, before them all. Agamemnon’s jaw tightened.” (pg. 194, Miller). “‘This soldier wants to tower over the armies, he wants to rule over all, to lord it over all, give out orders to every man in sight. Well, there’s one, I trust, who will never yield to him! What if the everlasting gods have made a spearman of him? Have they entitled him to hurl abuse at me?’

‘Yes!’—blazing Achilles broke in quickly— ‘What a worthless, burnt-out coward I’d be called if I would submit to you and all your orders, whatever you blurt out.’” (pg. 87, Book 1: The Rage of Achilles, Homer). It doesn’t just matter what Achilles feels he owes Agamemnon because the king feels he is owed not only Achilles’ spear, but his total loyalty and an oath of such.

Despite this complexity with his motivations and responsibility to fight, when it comes to the fighting itself, it is as simple as breathing for him. As told in The Song of Achilles, “What he lived for were the charges, a cohort of men thundering towards him. There, amidst twenty stabbing swords he could finally, truly fight… With a fevered impossible grace he fought off ten, fifteen, twenty-five men. This, at last, is what I can really do.” (pg. 240, Miller). The war wasn’t truly a conflict for him, the true war was in the politics of men and gods; this notion agrees with what is shown in the epic.

While the men in power may not particularly like Achilles, the soldiers of the Achaean army do indeed, from the very beginning (at least in the interpretation that is The Song of Achilles). Here is the moment he introduces himself to the entire army, “‘I am Achilles, son of Peleus, god-born, best of the Greeks,’ he said. ‘I have come to bring you victory.’ A second startled silence, then the men roared their approval. Pride became us—heroes were never modest.” (pg. 194, Miller). Miller choosing to have the soldiers have these types of feelings towards Achilles makes sense. Up until the moment he declares he will no longer fight for the Achaeans, he is their hero, the one they look to and follow; in a society that values glory and heroes above almost all else, second only to the gods, he most-likely would have been viewed that way by the general public, those uninvolved in politics. An example of how deep this goes is shown just before the war begins, as the Phthians are sailing towards Troy’s beaches, “We stood at the prow with Phoinix and Automedon, watching the shore draw closer. Idly, Achilles tossed and caught his spear. The oarsmen had begun to set their strokes by it, the steady, repetitive slap of wood against his palm.” (pg. 212, Miller). Even subconsciously the men are following Achilles’ spear.

Achilles isn’t the only person for whom Miller develops a good relationship with the common soldiers—this is done for Patroclus as well. I also agree with her decision to do this; it helps solidify the emotions the people feel toward Patroclus which are only mentioned and implied in The Iliad. Miller decided to make Patroclus a healer, “I developed a reputation, a standing in the camp. I was asked for, known for my quick hands and how little pain I caused… I began to surprise Achilles, calling out to these men as we walked through the camp. I was always gratified at how they would raise a hand in return, point to a scar that had healed over well.” (pg. 261, Miller). This use of his character makes sense in my mind when regarding the character shown to us in the epic; being a gentle and kind man. It also makes his motivations when trying to convince Achilles to fight all the more authentic, “All around me are men carrying fallen comrades, limping on makeshift crutches, or crawling through the sand, dragging broken limbs behind them. I know them—their torsos full of scars my ointments have packed and sealed.” (pg. 319, Miller). So, even though I do disapprove of Miller’s decision to make Patroclus seem too awkward and weak to fight, I cannot say her making a healer of Patroclus is without any merit.

“What has Hector ever done to me?” This phrase is echoed throughout The Song of Achilles, creating a sort of foreshadowing sprinkled throughout the novel. This sentiment rings familiar from The Iliad where he expresses that he holds no feelings of hatred nor resentment towards the Trojans. The role that Hector plays in The Song of Achilles is slightly different than seen in the epic, though this is unsurprising as the novel is from the perspective of Patroclus and therefore cannot show much of Hector. Despite the lack of Hector, however, Miller included moments that are reminiscent of what we saw of Hector in The Iliad. Here is a domestic moment shared between Hector and his family when he returns from fighting, “shining Hector reached down for his son—but the boy recoiled, cringing against his nurse’s full breast, screaming out at the sight of his own father, terrified by the flashing bronze, the horsehair crest, the great ridge of the helmet nodding, bristling terror—so it struck his eyes. And his loving father laughed, his mother laughed as well, and glorious Hector, quickly lifting the helmet from his head, set it down on the ground, fiery in the sunlight, and raising his son he kissed him,” (pg. 211, Book 6: Hector Returns to Troy, Homer). Now here is a moment between Achilles and Patroclus when Achilles is coming back from battle, “I woke to his nose on mine, pressing insistently against me as I struggled from the webbing of my dreams. He smelled sharp and strange, and for a moment I was almost revolted at this creature that clung to me and shoved its face against mine. But then he sat back on his heels and was Achilles again.” (pg. 222, Miller). These are two moments of domesticity between warriors, great heroes, and the loved ones they returned to. In these moments war is more real, and it is harder to separate the men on the field and the men that return home.

None the less, the phrase “what has Hector ever done to me?” is also meant to show Achilles’ active struggle against his fate that came with the war. He wants glory but is unwilling to make sacrifices to gain it. It is only once Hector does personally harm him by killing Patroclus that he does not care to avoid fate, in fact he does not care about glory or honor after this. In a way, it is Patroclus’ sacrifice that gives Achilles glory, which is ironic seeing as he does not fight for glory anymore, but revenge. This can be best seen in how he treats Hector’s body after he defeats him. “He rises at dawn to drag Hector’s body around the walls of the city for all of Troy to see. He does it again at midday, and again at evening. He does not see the Greeks begin to avert their eyes from him. He does not see the lips thinning in disapproval as he passes.” (pg. 346, Miller). “The memories flooded over him, live tears flowing, and now he’d lie on his side, now flat on his back, now facedown again. At last he’d leap to his feet, wander in anguish, aimless along the surf, and dawn on dawn flaming over the sea and shore would find him pacing. Then he’d yoke his racing team to the chariot-harness, lash the corpse of Hector behind the car for dragging and haul him three times round the dead Patroclus’ tomb, and then he’d rest again in his tents and leave the body sprawled facedown in the dust. But Apollo pitied Hector—dead man though he was—and warded all corruption off from Hector’s corpse…” (pg. 589, Book 24: Achilles and Priam, Homer). In The Song of Achilles the Greeks, and gods, are not pleased. In The Iliad the gods see this as a disgrace.

Where Achilles redeems himself greatly in The Iliad is not as significant in The Song of Achilles which left me extremely disappointed. The moment when Achilles is meant to show what a great character he is and how willing he is to forgive, even after such a significant loss, is in Book 24: Achilles and Priam. It is here when Priam and Achilles share a very vulnerable moment with each other in which they hold no contempt towards one another and the people they have taken from each other, but they cry, together, for the horrible losses they have endured in this long war. Miller makes this moment so much less vulnerable and emotional, making it feel significantly less important and character defining as it had been in the epic. Here is the moment as shared in The Iliad, “‘I put to my lips the hands of the man who killed my son.’ Those words stirred withing Achilles a deep desire to grieve for his own father. Taking the old man’s hand he gently moved him back. And overpowered by memory both men gave way to grief. Priam wept freely for man-killing Hector, throbbing, crouching before Achilles’ feet as Achilles wept himself, now for his father, now for Patroclus once again, and their sobbing rose and fell throughout the house.” (pg. 605, Book 24: Achilles and Priam, Homer). And this is the very same interaction as written in The Song of Achilles, “‘…it is worth my life, if there is a chance my son’s soul may be at rest.’ Achilles’ eyes fill; he looks away so the old man will not see.” (pg. 350, Miller). In Miller’s version there is not even a mention of the agreement that is come to in the epic that allows Priam to host a full funeral for Hector. This left Achilles feeling cold and unfeeling, which goes completely against his entire characterization in both the novel and the epic. For me, the watering down and diminishing of the conversation between Achilles and Priam was the biggest misstep in Miller’s novel and was a major disappointment especially since I felt she characterized Achilles so well for the majority of the novel.

“His anger was incandescent, a fire under his skin.” (pg. 283, Miller) The comparing of Achilles to flame and fire strikes most true. He is never an emotionless man, never achieving a moment of utter stillness, instead he is always flickering under the surface. Even in times of calm he radiates warmth, and in times of great anger he rages in a great blaze. It is fire that is the perfect essence of Achilles. But this is what also makes him so controversial in the eyes of modern men. Some today still find themselves drawn to his wild flame and the brilliance of it, while others see the ash trails of his destruction and feel he is no good man, no hero. Achilles himself, I think, would agree with the sentiment that he isn’t a hero. In the end with Priam he felt shame for how he treated Hector’s body, his greatest love died because he couldn’t let go of his honor. In class people questioned why Achilles is remembered the hero and not Hector or Diomedes. I think Achilles achieved the fame he has because he is a good man who let his emotions drive him to do bad things, things looked down upon even in times of war. However, in the end, he redeems himself. He is a brilliant, shining character with intense emotions who manages to redeem himself—of course he has become the main hero of the story. Madeline Miller, in my opinion, did a very good job with the interpretation of his character, however, there were a few missteps with him and other things that were very important to his development. But despite these missteps, she has managed to bring Achilles’ light back into the lives of modern people, which is a wonderful thing. “As if he heard me, he smiled, and his face was like the sun.” (pg. 47, Miller)

#essay #literary #writing #greek mythology #achilles #the song of achilles #the iliad #literary critique #homer #madeleine miller

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virtuann · 4 years

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Escaping Nekrotafeyo

Have dis little something I wrote;

“Just do it!”

“Okay. Fine.. Hngh. oh man.. haha it worked! We'll have this ship up and running in no time!”

“Knew you could do it Troy. Hide the parts near her grave.”

“The grave? Um.. you sure?”

“If he finds the parts he'll destroy them and we'll be stuck here forever. The grave is the only place on this planet he won't go. Don't you want it to be a surprise Troy?”

The bigger twin looked at the smaller one with a loss of words. He didn't want to go there. It was the twins’ mother after all.

“But.. what if he will..?”, he carefully asked.

“Just go hide them behind the rocks or something.. I'll distract him if he's gonna look for you.”, Tyreen told him.

He thought about it with a heavy heart but just shook it off and agreed with his sister's plan.

“All right.. I'll go..”

“Good. I'll go and make a checklist for everything we'll need.”, and off she went. Her boots throwing sand into the light wind and carrying it off.

His eyes followed her. Her heavy jacket that she threw over her shoulders waving with every movement.

So he stood up with the ship part in his hand, dusted off his pants and looked into the distance. Taking in the sight. Like he always did when he was there, which was often.

He glanced up to his little hideaway. To a big rock which he climbed on every now and then. To be alone, all by himself and no one else. Mostly when he had a rough day he'd climb up there and just sit in the sun and enjoying the sight. He would sit there all night, glancing at the stars that wandered over the horizon of his home planet. Which, again, was quite often.

He got the feeling that he would soon go up there again.

It was a chill evening on Nekrotafeyo. The twins’ birth place. Their parents made it a home for them when they got here. Although for Troy and Tyreen it mostly felt more like a prison.

Troy didn't really care. He was here, with his family, he was alive and that's what he wanted. He enjoyed the quiet hours where he was alone. But also enjoyed time with his family. When his mom once sat on the rock with him for example. She looked for him and found him there, hugging his knees. The night was cold but her presence made him feel all warm and actually wanted inside. He didn't want this night to end but it sadly did.

The twins only had themselves, their parents and the creatures living there. The only humans on this planet to be exact.

When they were younger it turned out that the kids are not like normal human beings. They were sirens. Both of them. Troy became attached to Tyreen in the womb of her mother and so he became the first male siren which had red instead of blue tattoos. Since they were conjoined, Troy never had a right arm. And he never felt complete. More like a burden. His mother knew. She always did and showed him love whenever she had the chance to.

This lead to fighting between the twins. Tyreen felt left out, which was never the case. Leda loved them both equally, but Troy was the one who got to see and feel it more often.

At the age of 7 their tattoos showed up. Their father Typhon was a vault hunter so he was familiar with the stories that sirens were the most powerful beings in the galaxy. There could only ever be 6 sirens at once. More of them would damage the galaxy with their power.

Typhon and Leda, their mother, came to this planet to find the homeworld of the eridians. They successfully did it, killed the vault monster, entered its vault and 9 months later, Troy and Tyreen were born. 2 sirens at once, 2 dangerous beings in their arms. They swore to protect them. From the companies, the bandits and bounty Hunters that would kill the sirens for a big amount of money.

The kids had to figure out what power they've got. They got curious and tried to focus on doing something with their power. Such as trying to lift things up without touching them, to fly or to hack into their dads devices by just thinking about it. But nothing worked.

Nothing, until this fateful day.

Tyreen had fallen over a rock when she was on a little walk outside, making her knee bleed.

Troy, Typhon and Leda were at their makeshift home inside one of the planet’s temples. Then Tyreen came in, cheeks wet and eyes red from crying.

Leda was by her side at first, Typhon followed shortly after her. Troy stood up and came a little closer to his crying sister too.

Tyreen was a bit grumpy so she turned away angrily when Leda scolded her for not being careful again. Tyreen kept turning away from her, but Leda worriedly touched her arm to turn her back around. So the kid tried to get her mom's arm off of her.

That was the moment the siren powers showed up the first time.

Tyreen’s ability was to leech the living. In other words, to kill people and creatures within seconds.

The following hours, days and even years have changed the rest of the family. It just didn't feel complete anymore.

Tyreen saw that it dramatically changed her brother. It damaged them all.

They lost their mother on that day.

And now he had to go to the place he never wanted to go to again. He knew where it was but never went there. All those years without her have been.. rough for him.

He carried a photo of her around with him all the time. It was in a pocket of his jacket for all those years. But after her death he didn't dare to get rid of it and was too scared to accidentally look at it and think of her again. It hurt him too much.

Still standing in the sand, looking over the scenery in front of him, he chose to get going and put the parts that fit in his pockets and carried the biggest.

The boots of his leaving a trail of floating sand behind him. Around him are cliffs splitting their ways here and there. Not too many to get lost and too less to call it a canyon. The red roots coming out of the ground between plants everywhere. There are more rocks than plants on Nekrotafeyo. And the rest is either buried under all this sand or was drowned by the water.

Since many dangerous creatures had their home in this root forests as he called it, he had a gun by his side. Just a pistol but that's better than going out without one. A knife was his first choice to use but he often cut himself in the fingers so Leda gave him a pistol instead. A Jakobs one. With a rose carved into the wooden handle.

Troy didn't care what company made it. It was a gift from his mother for him and that was reason enough to hold the pistol dearly to himself. In fact he always had it with him. While sleeping it was under his pillow and when he got up he immediately clasped it to his trousers like a makeshift holster.

This time there were not that many creatures in his way to the temple. To save bullets and to not attract any others he just sneaked away from a few.

After making his way through glowing plants and roots that were under his feet and hanging above him he reached the stairs that led towards the temple. The closer he got to it the more uncomfortable he felt.

In front of the boy was a way through more roots and sand. Some structures buried between them here and there. His ice blue eyes went up to a statue that was left behind by the eridians hundreds of years ago before they went extinct. It was one of many but they kept giving Troy a feeling of being watched through them.

Without giving it more thought, he carried on.

The twins went to this temple so often that he knew where he had to go even if it was nighttime.

It looked so massive, so well built. So impressive. It pulled him closer every time Troy got here. It was something magical.

And there he was, right in front of the entrance. The eridians shut the doors so his parents had to blow a hole into the doors that were looking like rocks to get curious eyes away from the buildings they've made. Either way, Typhon and Leda were too curious to just leave it be.

So he entered. His boots echoing three times, four times in the big hallway. Red lights that gave the temple a nice touch. Red. Just like his tattoos. At the end of the hall was an elevator that led deeper into the temple. Hesitantly he used his hand to activate it, putting the electronic part down for it.

Being lifted up, he cautious glanced back to the entrance a few times before getting onto the next floor.

A bit deeper into the building and he's almost there. The great hall with the vault gate is in front of him. Before him is the vault monsters body coming out of the ground. Rotten flesh and spikes on it that have been there for years. Smaller creatures have bitten off some parts which makes the ribcage of the beast noticeable. It was huge.

Then he got to the top floor. The vault gate. And the monsters gigantic head dangling above him. Its lifeless body being there for years, going through floors and walls, tearing up this whole place, gave this scenery a horrible touch. Just looking at it would give Troy a cold shower down his back everytime.

His eyes slowly and carefully moved to the left side where the structure was just a wall of natural rocks. Or at least they seemed to be. His legs moving him towards it slowly. His inner self fought against his movements, with no use. Troy stood there, glancing back once again. Then the hidden door opened for him to enter. The rocks were just an image and are now nothing more than a blue holographic light.

He looked at the part in his hand and thought about leaving it where he was standing. But Tyreen would be mad if she would find them there instead of hidden somewhere. Even more if Typhon found them. Troy didn't even know why Tyreen didn't want him to see them. She told him that they were fixing the ship for him after all.

The black haired male didn't question it. He was supposed to do it and he's going to.

Taking a deep breath, his foot took a step through the hologram. The other one followed. His insides felt heavy and like a knot. He couldn't stop now.

Going down the way that was built like a big balcony to the building, Troy felt nervous, his hand and legs shaking with every step of the way.

Turning around the corner, without looking up, the sun touched his face. The warmth of it didn't make the situation better. Troy felt uneasy and almost dropped the parts and left without a glance back. But he was brave, he was strong. So he continued his way.

Ice blue eyes were never set on the grave while he was there. He felt unworthy to even be here.

When he had come there, he was alone. And it was only once. Shortly after her death. Typhon saw him going through the hologram once on his own so he left him be. After that he never went there again.

He slowly passed the grave with cautious footsteps. Behind it was some kind of a tree. Or just overgrown roots that became a big one. He knelt behind it, carefully set the parts down and began digging out a hole in the sand. When he got the last part out of his pocket the photo of her flew out with it and landed on the ground. Troy's hand quickly snatched it with his hand on the ground.

It was his fast reaction that made him catch it but he was scared to lift it up again. Nonetheless, he did and put it back into his pocket without looking at it. His hand staying in his pocket a bit before pulling it out gave him some warmth for a split second but also the feeling of loneliness.

The parts were now hidden beneath the roots and Troy felt a bit relieved after doing it. But he had to pass the grave again. The angst about this came back. Slowly standing up and brushing the sand off of him he started moving back to what his family has called “home”.

Although he wished he didn't, he stopped in his tracks. His heart was beating fast, his knees getting wobbly and a knot was forming in his stomach. So there he stood. A few feet away from the grave. His back turned towards it.

He took a deep breath and turned around. Foot after foot being carefully set on the ground his heart pushed him towards the now resting mother. After a while his eyes slowly moved to the grave.

He swallowed hard, his adam's apple moving with it. It hurt him just looking at his mother's resting place. His blue eyes moving towards it every now and then just to turn his head away again.

“I.. I-I'm sorry, mom.. I didn't want to disturb you..”

He felt guilty for just being there and not letting his mother rest in peace.

His mind was strong, but his heart was stronger. He carefully stepped closer. His hand was shaky and he shifted his weight from left to right. Again, his heart was stronger and let him go down onto his knees and let his hand rest on his thigh. Pushing it down to hold still and calm down.

“Mom..? I'm.. I'm sorry for not.. coming here that often.”

He looked up at her grave as if he was waiting for an answer but continued when he didn't hear a thing coming back from her.

“I was just.. scared. I.. I-I didn't want to.. disturb your peace..”

He shifted his body to sit more comfortably on the hard stone beneath him.

“Things have c-changed.. since you're.. no longer h-here.. Tyreen has grown up, Pa has got more quiet and I.. well…”

His eyes sadly looked at his right side.

“All I'm doing is being a bother to both of them.. They just.. don't care about me as much as you, mom..”

His strong hand gripped the fabric of his jacket to calm down internally. A deep breath escaped his lips.

“I.. Miss you, mom. Life isn't the same without you.. I wish I had.. “

He looked around.

..”brought something to give you but.. “

A sweet, little glowing flower met his gaze.

“I'll be right back..”

Setting the plant into the hole he digged, a proud smile appeared on Troy's face, although it faded shortly after.

He sat back down and pushed the dirt off his clothes.

“There we go.. I hope you like it mom.”

Now the grave had a glowing plant next to it, giving it a nicer look.

“I know, I know it's nothing special but.. that's all I can offer right now..”

Troy set his flesh hand carefully on the hard and cold ground in front of him as if he'd hold hers.

“I love you, mom…”

“It's time. Do you have everything you want, Troy? No coming back.”

“No coming back? I.. I thought you said we were fixing the ship for him. You lied!”

“I told you a story. Stories are just lies we want to believe. What dad tells us? THOSE are the lies. So - you comin’, or not?”

“Tch. Like I have a choice.”

“True. Listen Troy. There's nothing for us here. C’mon let's take off before he finds us.”

“Where are we going?”

“Pandora.”

That was it. They had their chance to leave. It felt good to him. To finally have a chance to get off this planet - get out of this prison they called their “home” for so long.

But before they went off he had to do one last thing.

“Ty, how much time do we have? Before.. you know.. we'll leave?”

His sister shot him a slight glare.

“Troy. Ruin this plan and I'll go without you.”

“Come on I just need a few minutes!”

Crossing her arms, Tyreen looked off into the distance in thought.

“Please, Ty.”

She got a glance at the pistol Leda gave him years ago.

“You're still carrying this thing around..?”

He took it in his hands.

“It's not just a thing it's the last damn gift our mother gave me before.. you know.”

“Don't. Just. Don't.”

Her back was turned towards Troy.

“Will you give me some time? I'll hurry.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I'll be back in time.”

…

“Good. If not, I'm leaving you here.”

With that, he took off, his pistol held in his strong hand.

Out of breath because of the sprint, he reached the grave once again. Quickly, he got down on his knees.

“So.. this is it.. Me and Ty are finally gonna leave this planet. I can't wait to explore everything! But.. I don't want to leave you behind, mom.. and the thought that I have no other option hurts.”

“I gotta hurry.. so.. I wanted to.. check up on you.. for the last time probably..”

“We are finally getting somewhere. We've got so much to explore! But… I'll miss this place too. It was our home after all. And I definitely won't forget you, mom.. I-I.. I’ll miss you..”

“Troy?”

His head quickly turned towards the source of the voice.

Typhon. His dad was there.

“Dad? What- What are you doin’ here?”

“Looking for ya, son! And what is this?”

He pointed at the plant.

“Did you put that here? Your.. mother would have loved it.”

When he turned around, Troy was gone and he only heard footsteps running through the great hall.

“Troy!!”

The only time Typhon would go to the grave had to be the last time for Troy to say goodbye to his mother.

“Troy? Why are you-?”

“Dad’s chasing me. Come on, we gotta go!”

With a strong grip on his sister's hand he led them into the ship, closing the doors behind them, leaving their dad outside. Being able to hear him punch the metal door.

“You can't leave, you two! It's too dangerous out there! You will-”

He was blown a few feet back because of the thrusters of the ship that now lifted the spaceship off the ground.

Typhon could only watch how the spaceship left the planets’ sky and went into orbit.

“What have I done..?”

A hand with glowing red tattoos touched the cold glass of the ship that showed the stars and planets of the galaxy.

The other one - one made of metal - held a picture. It wasn't the best mechanical arm he would be able to build, but the resources weren't enough for a more high tech one.

The picture of his mom. The smiling woman he loved, his heart held dearly. The woman he'd never forget and never would have the chance to see again.

The tattoed arm touched the picture, stroking the old paper ever so lightly.

The speakers went online.

“Troy? We're almost there. Come to the bridge! You gotta see this!”

The picture disappeared in his pocket of his jacket, where an echo of his dad was hidden and he curiously got up from his bed.

The twins on the bridge, the ship in their control and their faces staring in awe at the planet they saw below.

“Is this..?”

“Yep. That's Pandora. We're here.”

#borderlands 3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #borderlands 3 calypso twins #calypso twins #borderlands3 #borderlands #fanfiction #i guess?#if tales from the Borderlands 2 isn't about the twins imma cry

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fairie-gothmother · 4 years

Text

In The Shadow of Starlight, Part 1: The Fall

A convoy of technical vehicles sped through the desert towards a recently sighted pillar of fire. Octavia looked out the vehicle’s backseat window as they raced toward a rising plume of smoke in the distance. The sun hovered just above the horizon. Orange light cast long shadows that stretched over the dust dunes. Pandora was beautiful when everything on it wasn’t trying to kill you.

It had only been four days since the Calypso Twins had stolen the powers of the legendary Firehawk. Four days! And the Crimson Raiders were responding to distress calls nonstop. Octavia had barely kicked her feet up after returning from the last one before she received the message to rejoin the convoy. Reports poured in from all across the planet. With their limited manpower, it was a struggle to keep up.

So much had changed recently between the warring factions. Octavia recapped the events in her head to keep things straight.

The Calypso Twins were self-proclaimed gods leading a cult called the Children of the Vault. Tryeen Calypso- one of six powerfully magical beings called sirens- could leech the life force from any living thing, draining them until nothing remained but a hollow husk. She managed to absorb the powers belonging to the commander of the Crimson Raiders, another siren named Lilith, famously known as the Firehawk.

Tyreen was having fun with her newly acquired powers by teleporting her brainwashed cultists around everywhere in a telltale pillar of fire, spreading their influence by broadcasting videos of their raids on the Echo net.

Troy Calypso was the propaganda mastermind who operated mostly behind the scenes, editing videos of murderous raids and turning them into slapstick jokes, air horns and all. His weapon of choice was an enormous sword wielded in a cybernetic arm. Although he spent most of his time out of the spotlight, Troy proved to be equally as brutal as his sister.

In short, the Calypsos were powerful monsters with hordes of mindless followers at their disposal, hell-bent on becoming the brightest stars in the sky while watching the universe burn at their feet.

The Crimson Raiders were doing everything they could to keep that from happening. That included Octavia. She fidgeted with the long sleeves of her shirt. Her anxiety sat heavy in her stomach like a chunk of eridium. She held up her arm to check the device attached to her wrist for what must have been the twelfth time. Straps secure, poison darts loaded, compression mechanism functional, safety off. Oops. She flicked the safety switch on and pulled her sleeve back over it. The last thing she needed was to accidentally shoot a poison dart at anyone.

She always hated being asked to come along on these calls. She wasn’t much of a fighter. Ah, who was she kidding? She was damn near useless. Octavia set her medical bag onto her lap to remind herself why they needed her there. The Crimson Raiders fought the bad guys, and Octavia patched up the good guys. She didn’t claim to be a doctor, nor was she legally allowed to. She was an herbalist. Ever since Dr. Zed went missing, Octavia stepped in as the primary medic. What she wouldn’t give to be back in her greenhouse right now.

Lilith looked back from the driver’s seat. “I know that look. Are you psyching yourself out?”

“As always. Is it that obvious?” Octavia thought she was holding herself together better than last time. Of course, Lilith always picked up on little things like that. Not much gets past the commander of the Crimson Raiders. Maybe intuition comes with the job.

Lilith smiled. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’ll clean up this mess and be back up in Sanctuary in no time.” Her golden eyes glinted as she drove, fiery red hair slightly muted with dust that settled everywhere on this planet. It was still strange to see uniformly fair skin on her arm which was once wrapped in blue glowing siren marks. No one called Lilith the Firehawk anymore, avoiding what that implied. Even though she was no longer a siren, she continued to live up to her legendary status.

The technical’s radio crackled. “We’re almost there,” said a female voice. “Let’s stop here outside the entrance.”

There already? Octavia looked out the window at the camp before them. Its high scrap metal fence made it impossible to see inside. The Children of the Vault were probably tearing the place apart shouting the Twin Gods’ praises.

Lilith picked up the radio’s microphone and responded, “Copy that, Maya.” The technical came to a stop. Lilith grabbed an SMG from the passenger’s seat. Turning once again to Octavia, she asked, “You ready?”

Octavia squeaked, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” She gulped in an attempt to force her heart down from her throat and opened the door.

Before them stood a rundown camp that looked abandoned. Smoke billowed from inside. It was relatively quiet. No bandits screaming, no gun fire, no explosions; just a distant metallic screech. Crimson Raider soldiers filed out of the technicals parked beside them.

Lieutenant Cramer stood at the ready. He was an older man that exuded pure military discipline. If you got out of line, he was the one to whip you back into shape. And he enjoyed doing it.

Maya’s electric blue hair and siren marks made her stand out like an orchid the desert. A hood was pulled over her head, coat flowing behind her in the breeze as she walked swiftly over to Lilith.

“Strange, it’s never this calm,” said Maya.

“Stay on your toes. By now, we should know better than to underestimate them,” Lilith warned.

Once the whole group gathered around, Lilith gave everyone their instructions. “Maya, you and I will stay outside with teams Beta and Charley. Octavia, wait in the technical, and be on standby. Lieutenant Cramer, take team Alpha through the front gate. Stay alert and keep an eye out for survivors. I wanna see everyone back in Sanctuary at the end of the day. Let’s do this.” The soldiers spread out. Lilith gave a nod to Lieutenant Cramer. The battle scarred veteran nodded in acknowledgement. He began giving orders to his team and used hand gestures that Octavia wasn’t familiar with.

Octavia climbed into the front seat of the technical as instructed. She took a deep breath steadying her nerves. She was definitely going to her greenhouse for some kragweed after this. The view from the windshield gave a better vantage point of the area. She gripped her dart gun concealed on her wrist, praying she wouldn’t have to use it.

Team Alpha was about to make their move when Cramer held up his fist signaling to halt. The screeching sound had grown so loud it made Octavia want to grind her teeth together. Maya held her hand in front of her, fingertips sparking and siren marks flaring to life. All eyes and guns were on the entrance prepared to meet what was about to emerge. Showtime. The gates swung open.

The hunched figure of a man limped out dragging a heap of machinery behind him. Wires sparked from the twisted metal as it scraped along the ground. Upon first glance, it was easy to miss that the machinery was actually attached to the man; a cybernetic arm that threatened to tear itself from the shoulder. Blood stained the dirt behind him in a dotted trail as he hobbled forward. The screeching stopped when the figure paused and looked up. Oh, shit.

Lilith’s eyes widened in horror. “What the hell,” she whispered under her breath.

Troy Calypso.

The once mighty God King himself stood before them in a mangled mess. He’d been stripped of his ornate coat and oversized sword. His ribs slid feebly beneath tanned skin as his breath rattled inside his bare chest. The iconic side-swooped hairstyle had fallen; his black hair soaked in blood and stuck to the side of his face. One side of his modified jaw slacked as if hanging from a broken hinge.

Octavia had briefly seen Troy in the cult’s live streams. Countless people died at this man’s hands as he laughed and broadcast their deaths. That same man now stood in front of them broken and bleeding, and Octavia was paralyzed with shock.

She jumped as Lilith broke the silence. Lilith called out to him, “What happened?”

Troy lifted his gaze. His icy blue eyes scanned across the teams of Raiders, passing over Octavia making her blood run cold. After focusing on Lilith, he cocked his head to the side and started to laugh which quickly turned into a wet cough. He gasped for air, then spat onto the ground. Gold capped canines glinted through a bloody smirk. “What, this?” He glanced down to his mechanical arm as it popped sending a shower of sparks bursting from it. “Ah, y’know. Got denounced, excommunicated, and left for dead in the middle of nowhere. How was your day?”

Lilith was stunned. She seemed to be at a loss for words at his flippant response. The expression on her face was more confusion than fear. Octavia wished she could say to same for herself.

Maya pressed further, “Excommunicated? Are you saying you got thrown out of the Children of the Vault?”

“Yeah, well. Guess I overstepped my boundaries with the God Queen. She labeled me a heretic, and our followers turned on me. Not really much I could do to fight back. Must be nice,” Troy pointed to Maya with his remaining human arm covered in unmistakable red glowing marks, “to be a functional siren.”

No, it couldn’t be. Troy Calypso was a siren? Octavia was far from being an expert, but it was common knowledge that sirens were always female. This would make the first male siren known in history. Male sirens were unheard of, thought to be impossible.

Maya lowered her voice to Lilith, speaking just loud enough for Octavia to overhear. “This doesn’t feel right. It could be a trap. What do we do?” They didn’t seem to be surprised at this revelation. Did they already know?

“I’m not sure. He’s in pretty bad shape. Do you think Tyreen would do this to her own brother to pull one over on us?” Lilith concluded.

‘Pretty bad shape’ was a drastic understatement. No one would willingly do this to themselves, especially someone as egocentric as Troy. Something was definitely off here. He must have done something pretty bad to get disowned and banished by his twin sister. Octavia shuddered at the thought.

Octavia jumped from the vehicle. Lilith and Maya turned to her after hearing her feet hit the dirt. “If he doesn’t get medical attention soon, he’s going to die,” Octavia interjected. “The COV is unpredictable, but I don’t think they’d go so far as to beat one of their Gods within an inch of his life just to trick us.” After receiving questioning looks, she added, “Th-that’s just my opinion.”

Lilith was quiet for a moment, deep in thought before reaching a decision. “Bring him in for questioning.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Maya’s voice echoed. After being shushed by Lilith, she continued in a strained whisper, “This guy is dangerous. There’s no way we can take him to Sanctuary. He could be lying.”

“Then we keep a close eye on him.” Lilith returned her attention to Troy. He hadn’t moved, standing in a growing pool of blood and oil. He simply waited for the Crimson Raiders to decide his fate as if he lacked the strength to do anything else. “Octavia, can you keep him from bleeding out?”

“Of course,” she responded. That was her job, and she was damn good at it. Although- “I don’t know much about cybernetics.”

“We should talk to Ellie. Luckily, she’s stationed at an outpost nearby. We’ll take Troy there until we can decide how to move forward,” said Lilith. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. We’ll figure it out.”

Maya stopped glaring as if she didn’t realize she was doing it. “Sorry,” she said and directed the glare at Troy instead.

What the hell were they getting into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello, Tumblr! I hope you enjoyed part 1 of my new ‘In The Shadow Of Starlight’ series. Shout out to @border-spam for the Calypso Twins Prompts. ‘Heretic’ was such a huge inspiration that it influenced me to create an entire story of my own. (All the shorts can also be found on their AO3.) I will post a few more chapters regardless, but if enough of you like the series, I’ll keep it going.

Thanks for reading my garbage!

#troy calypso #borderlands3 #redemption #fanfic #fanfiction #Troy #calypso #au #in the shadow of starlight

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sharpnothashtag · 4 years

Text

The Good Ship CrushWay, Chapter 27

Bev, exhausted from a day of surgery and tutoring, collapses in her bed. Seven of Nine immediately enters her quarters.

Bev: We just had a 17 hour day, Seven. What could you possibly need? Seven: I wanted to update you on the number of Borg we have in the recovery chamber. Bev: And that couldn’t wait until morning? Seven: There are surgeries in progress right now. The number might change. Bev: FiNe. (is so tired she starts to change in front of Seven and prepare her bed for the evening) Seven: (in proper Seven fashion, unphased) We have 20 humanoids recovering from surgery right now. Erin is able to speak in full sentences and sit up on her own now. I predict she will make a full recovery. Bev: (wearing her blankets as capes) Splendid. Now go away. Seven: (on autopilot, not budging) Counselor Troi reports that her counselors are beginning week 2 of their studies, and the results in conventional trauma volunteers are promising. Bev: (in the middle of a hot milk toddy, in a comfy nighty, sitting on the bed) Brilliant. Leave. Seven: The Doctor--(interrupted by the sight of KJ coming out of the bathroom. KJ sees the look on Bev’s face of pure exhaustion.) KJ: Seven, you’re dismissed. That’s Starfleet for “Get out.” Seven: (as if back on Voyager) Yes, Captain. (turns and leaves)

KJ snickers and lays down next to a weary Bev. Bev rolls over to face KJ.

Bev: Tell me about your trip here. I’m really glad to see you. (small kiss) KJ: (kisses back briefly) Bev, we can talk about that tomorrow when you’re not asleep with your eyes open. Bev: No, (yawn) no. I want to know about your day. What about your mother? (through a yawn) What did she say about u--(sleep)

KJ smiles. She kisses Bev on the forehead as if to say, “Sleep well; I love you.” She rolls over and tries to fall asleep. As she does, visions of the last week fill her head. She flashes back.

Gretchen Janeway: Katie. My Katie. KJ: Hi, Mom. (they hug for a while. from the hug) GJ: I thought I’d never see you again. KJ: (confused) You’ve seen me since I got back from the Delta Quadrant. GJ: (incredulously) Are you forgetting you fought the Borg since then? KJ: Well...I, uh--I guess I forgot you knew about what was going on. GJ: (finally letting the hug go) Katie, I’m old, but I’m not blind. Or deaf. Do you know how many people ask me if we’re related when I’m out walking Rocco and Molly? (on cue, two large Irish setters emerge from behind the dog gate and tackle KJ) KJ: (laughing) I am so glad to see you guys! (petting, loving on, and playing with them) GJ: (sitting down on the floor) They’ve missed you so much. (Beat) She asks about you, you know? KJ: (a look as if her blood ran cold) You mean she woke up? GJ: It’s touch and go. The last time she was awake, though, I told her how you were coming home. KJ: After all the damage done, she still remembers me. GJ: You’re her sister. Of course she does. KJ: But her brain...it’s being eaten, cell by cell. GJ: You don’t have to put it that way. KJ: Yes, I do. That’s what’s happening. GJ: Just because that’s the science of it doesn’t mean you have to actually phrase it that way. KJ: What would you rather me say? Hmm? Would you rather me say that my baby sister tried to kill herself? That she was dead for an hour? That the doctors thought they saved her? GJ: They did save her, Kathryn. KJ: She had a stroke! GJ: One of their interns had asked to be in on the original surgery. She wanted to know exactly how to repair a spine from that kind of fall. She didn’t know she was sick. KJ: Is that supposed to make me feel better? GJ: The intern was immediately terminated from her position. Phoebe was supposed to make a full recovery. They spent another full day in surgery to try to make sure they cleared all signs of the virus. KJ: Phoebe is literally being eaten alive, inside out, by an infection. GJ: WHY do you have to say it like that?! KJ: BECAUSE. (struggling, trying not to sob) If I say it the way you want me to say it, I’m going to lose all my shit. GJ: (taking her to the couch gently. Molly whines at KJ because she knows she’s upset. KJ pets her absently and goes to the couch. Molly hops up on the couch with her and tries to distract her.) Katie, come on. Phoebe is dying, yes. She won’t be with us anymore. The way the doctors talk, it won’t be long now. Before too long, she’ll be completely wasted away in front of us. But the way I see it, this way, I get to say goodbye. KJ: What do you mean? GJ: If she would have succeeded, I would have never gotten the chance to tell her I love her one last time. I never would have gotten to replicate her her favorite breakfast, or help her paint, or dictate a story she came up with. I have cherished the last few years. And now that you’ve come home, I want you to cherish this time with her, too. KJ: What do I do? GJ: She’s your sister. Treat her like you would normally. KJ: Okay.

GJ and KJ join hands. They walk to a room. The door opens on a very sick woman. She’s completely emaciated; her collarbone juts out. She’s in a lot of pain, but upon seeing KJ, she smiles broadly. Rocco goes to her with a proud sense of loyalty.

Phoebe Janeway: Katie! KJ: (chuckling in spite of herself) Hey there, Pheebs. (looking around, she sees a portrait of her, standing on a starship bridge with her hands on her hips.) What’s this? PJ: Didn’t you know? KJ: Know what? GJ: Oh, Katie. You’d better sit down.

KJ in the present wakes up in tears. She goes to the living area. She replicates a fuzzy blanket and some coffee. She takes a few sips of coffee and then, lying down on the couch, starts a few breathing exercises. They don’t work, and she continues to try to cry quietly.

Bev wakes up to go to the bathroom. When she sees KJ isn’t in bed, she gets up to look for her.

Bev: Kate? KJ: (sniffling) Yeah? Bev: (going to her on the couch) Kate! What’s wrong? KJ: (sobbing profusely) My sister killed herself because of me. Bev: What? No. (obviously still exhausted) What happened? KJ: Three years ago, when Voyager was declared lost, Starfleet command asked my sister to paint a portrait of me to hang at headquarters. She went up to the roof of her apartment building, and she began to paint. Hours later, when she was done, she sat back to look at the painting. My “death” weighed so heavily on her that she threw herself off the roof. Bev: Oh no, Kate.(stroking her hair) KJ: Someone found her immediately and got her to medical. Her spine and skull were severely fractured, but the doctors got right to it. One of the interns asked to assist in the surgery for first hand experience of how to fix a spine and skull that were so badly fractured. She didn’t realize she was very ill until halfway through the surgery. She became ill within a sterile environment with an extremely vulnerable patient unconscious before her. The doctors did all they could to clean her wounds out, but the day after her surgery was over, she had a massive stroke. The viral parasite was in place, and there was nothing they could do to remove it. Bev: Viral parasite? KJ: Basically, it’s a strain of a virus so vicious that it’s comparable to a parasite. (Bev nods) while I was home, she told me all this. Bev: and you think if you wouldn’t have left, she wouldn’t be like this. KJ: she would be alive and well and able to be my maid of honor if I get married. But she’s...not. She’s dead. (rocking back and forth, sobbing profusely) Bev: Computer, replicate weighted blanket, ten pounds, jersey knit. (Bev retrieves the blanket and places it over KJ’s shoulders. KJ relaxes a bit, but still collapses into a puddle of tears in Bev’s lap.) Kate, I am always going to be here for you. The late nights, the tears? I signed on for that, too. I will be there at the funeral, right by your side. Nothing is more important to me than you right now, right here. So cry all you need to. I’m going to shut up now and just hold you for as long as it takes. I love you.

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streets-in-paradise · 4 years

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Battle Scars

Troy 2004 fanfiction

Characters: Hector, sister oc ( it can also be read as a reader insert since i haven’t named her yet and there are no mayor descriptions)

Word Count: 2101

Genre: Angst Comfort - Fluff

Relationships : Platonic - Family.

Summary: Paris is determined to fight Menelaus. His siblings are concerned with the high chances of his death and his younger sister wants to take his place. Hector comforts her and warns her about some less discussed consecuences of battle. ( I suck at writing summaries.)

Triggers: Mentions of war and typical war involved violence. (not much. Don’t worry because it is not gory)

Disclaimers: This is my first attempt of writing fanfict to post. English is not my native language, i translated it to english with the help of an online translator.

Tags: @hrisity12 (tag you because i think you will want to see this)

I hope you enjoy this and thanks for reading

The night after the start of the war had already fallen. The palace was quiet, a silent atmosphere that was nothing more than the mix of grief and exhaustion surrounded the entire place. Pacing around the hallways, Hector seemed to be the only person around, unable to allow himself to have some rest. He was looking for Paris, after the scandal created by his proposition of fighting against Menelaus and the lethal risks involved for him in that reckless idea he felt the need of having a serious conversation with him.

Unfortunately, his brother was not the only one who needed his words and company that time. In his way he crossed ways first with Helen, stopping a grief induced attempt of scaping in a desperate try to stop the war. After comforting his sister in law, he was approached by his younger sister. The young lady was rageful and worried in the same amount. Without hesitation, she let go all the thoughts that were troubling her and vented to her brother.

“Paris is the worst swordsman I have ever seen. How can you allow this? He can’t do that, i will not allow it. Why can’t I fight in his place?” she snapped.

Seeing her state, Hector decided to stop his search for Paris and have a talk with her. The last time they had a few words was that morning in the armory when she begged him to let her fight and stumbled across his refusal. He thought that,after that short altercate in which no one had the time to explain themselves and with the news about Paris worrying both to the core, they needed some time alone.

“You know you can’t do that. It would hurt his honour. He can’t let his sister fight his own battles “ he tried to explain.

“Do you really think Paris cares for his honour? He is doing it out of guilt. I can’t let him die.“ she asserted

“ It is his choice” he stated.

“ What about my choice of fighting this morning? I am the little girl so it is correct to take away my will to choose? “ she replied, her tone getting progressively more enraged.” Helen is a trojan princess now, let a trojan woman defend her freedom to choose her own fate. She is not a fighter but she has a sister willing to do it for her. I will be defending her freedom, not Paris’s right to possess her.”

“ I will not let you get involved in actual combat for the first time against the King of Sparta. That man fought all his life.”

“ But it is fine to send Paris to his death? It would be his first combat as well but with half of my training as backup. He never cared for this sort of thing, the only weapon he handles with a considerable talent is the bow. He can’t show up to a single combat with bow and arrows and he is terrible with swords.”

“Don’t put me in the situation of being the one who has to choose between you two which one of my siblings will be sacrificed.”

“ Of course, because you already decided it.”

That thoughtless reply was more of what the man could handle. Abandoning his conciliatory tone, Hector allowed himself to let his own concernings go and said exactly what was going through his mind.

“Do you think i want to burn our brother’s body?? I love him as much as i love you. I can’t allow you to fight, it is not your right to die in his place.”

“ How can you be so sure i’m going to die? Is your trust in me so small and weak?”she asked, confused by the switch in her brother’s approach.

“Real life is not like training in the safe space provided by the security of our walls. Battle is screams, blood,sweat, excrements and desperation. Nothing more. Your skills are worthy of trust but you are still very young and naive. You think you will go out there and end up crowned as trojan champion after doing some heroic act. That sort of attitude can get you killed.” he explained in the most honest and realistic way he could use without upsetting her more.

“Menelaus is a slow old beast. I’m young, fast and flexible. I’m a better choice than Paris for that combat and you know it.” she insisted.

“I may be aware of it but i don’t care. “ Hector replied. The only way to go with this sort of conversation, especially considering the stubbornness of his sister on the topic, was through full honesty.

He decided he was going to give her a complete explanation of his reasons on that choice.

“Since the first time you picked a sword i told myself i would let you have your fun but i would also protect you from what would be waiting outside if you actually tried to pursue that path.”

The princess listened carefully and, imagining the route the conversation was heading, spoke her mind.

“Death? That 's all? Your greatest fear is for me to end up dead in the battlefield? I am not afraid of it. I will die with glory if it saves our brother. Stories of my sacrifice will be tell all around our country and i will live in them. “

Hector was visibly angry this time. He wasn’t able to let himself believe what he was hearing.

“That is nonsense. Stories? You are asking me to let you die with stories as consolation? The songs of the bards are party entertainment, they aren’t worth your life “

“Even with the result of my death the outcome is good. If i leave my mark in history men will notice they need to change their ways. My death will save Paris and inspire more shieldmaidens.” she explained

“Had you realized who you are sounding like? That is exactly the sort of pointless nonsense i heard from Achilles. It is not what i taught you.” he warned her

“You taught me about sacrifice for my family and my country. That is your moral code, and it is the exact thing you don’t let me practice.” she complained, hurt by feelings of injustice.

Becoming desperate witnessing how nothing seemed to make her understand, he tried to show her understandment of her point of view and spoke from his own feelings and fears.

“I don’t want to lose you! I’m not even talking about death when i say it. That is indeed a big fear of mine regarding you but it is not the only one. I will not be talking about death now.” he said, lowering his tone trying to sound more calm to show her that his anger was not related to a misunderstandment of her point. “ Real combat, a battle in the middle of a war unleashed at our gates ... It is a terrible event to witness. I would not wish that to my worst enemy. It changes you, leaves scars on you that you would have to carry your whole life. Not just the physical ones, in your inside. Your mind and your heart are not the same after you survive your first battle. I hate to fight, it consumes you. Why would i want you to go through my same suffering? I don’t forbid you to fight because you are a girl and i am some traditionalist who can’t come across to understand your will to challenge our ways. You know i am not like that, i wouldn’t had let you get involved in combat training sessions in the first place.”

The girl seemed less upset in her approach after hearing him.

“You said it was a good way to wake some sort of interest in Paris and it was part of his formal education. We were very hard to separate back then.”

“And you still are. Menelaus would find you both sticked to each other in combat if i wouldn’t interfere in your choices.” he teased . She smiled briefly while hearing him.

“ Combat has a terrible effect on people.I don’t wish such a terrible fate for you.” Hector stated, going back to his point. “As long as i live i will protect you from it. I love your sweet enthusiasm, your kindness and concern for our people. I already know you sneaked out to help in the expedition I sent to look for people in the camps. I should be mad about it but i am not because in that action you showed who you are. You are caring, you are full of hope and life. I love you as you are, Troy loves you as you are. Don’t ask me to take that away from you.”

The words of her brother had a clear effect, she was on the edge of tears.

“ But i want to help you!! I want to share the weight of the war with you.” she yelled. “It is not fair for you to carry it all on your own and you know well Paris will not help”

“He is trying” he said, trying to comfort her

“He will kill himself!!” she shouted while tears started falling through her cheeks

“ I promise i will help him as much as i can.” he reassured her

“It is not enough, i want to help you”

“Your cheerful welcomes after every battle are more helpful to me than the strength of your arm.”

With her feelings overwhelming her, the young lady hugged her brother tightly

“I want to fight for you and for our people. I love you so much, it hurts me to see how you work so hard on your own for all of us.”

Hector caressed her cheeks to clean her tears.

“Do you want to know why it’s said that Achilles is a better warrior than me?” he asked in a trivial tone

“ Because it is said that he is the son of a sea goddess?” she answered in a slightly doubtful way.

“ That is what people who have never stepped into combat believe. What i saw in him today, he is so good because he doesn’t care about anything. It’s clear that the scars war left on him took over and at some point he stopped caring. He has no mercy, no respect. He talks of war like it’s a game. When he is fighting he stops existing as a man and becomes only the tool war requires him to be. He became desensitized to all the death surrounding him. His only concern is to win glory because, once this lifestyle takes everything from you, that’s all what’s left for you to collect. He is a broken man, an extreme example of what war makes on soldiers.” he explained

“ You are my moral guide, my example of behaviour. I would never allow myself to get lost like that because i have you.”

“ And i am not the almighty hero you see in me. I am another man changed by war. I fight hard to stay in my path, to remain as myself. I don’t want to look at you one day and see just a shade of the kind, lifeful girl you are now.” he confessed.

“ I have to assume you are protecting me from myself then?” she asked, without the connotations of assertiveness in her ways previously displayed. She felt regret for the rude ways in which her anger made her judge him

“I am, even when you don’t notice it.”

“ I don’t want our countrymen to die protecting my spirits.”

“I love you and i can’t allow it. Call me selfish if you want but even i have the right to a bit of selfishness on occasions.”

After hearing her usually selfless brother admitting he was incapable of an impartial view of the issue when she was involved she was done with the talking. There was nothing more left to say that could mean as much as that. Hector’s life was full of sacrifices, she felt unable to question him. She wasn’t going to complain about the first time she ever heard him thinking of himself to make a choice.

Instead, she thanked him for his concern and told him once more about how much she loved him. Hector kissed her forehead, wished her goodnight, and went to see their brother. He had brief thoughts about the very little time of sleep that was left for him but it didn’t matter. His siblings needed him that night and, as always, he was going to be there for them.

#troy 2004 #troy fanfiction #troy 2004 fanfiction #hector of troy #eric bana #hector fanfiction #eric bana fanfiction

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sirtravisjacksonoftexas · 4 years

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Was Jesus a Mythical Figure based on the Greek Hero Odysseus? Um, NO, and here is why.

Odysseus (Roman Ulysses) was a mythical king of Ithaca who fought in the Trojan War. For 10 years Odysseus and the other Greeks stormed the lands of Troy, soaking its soil with blood and filling its air with the wails of mourning widows and mothers. Despite this, the walls of Troy held, its armies holding its own against the Greek horde. Eventually Odysseus came up with a way to crush Troy once and for all.

The Trojan Horse.

This was a giant hollow wooden horse that was presented to the enemy Trojans as a “peace offering”. Thinking that the Greeks had given up, the Trojans took the horse into Troy, where a massive party was held. However, after almost everyone passed out or went to bed…Greek soldiers poured out of the horse, eventually opening the city gates. The night shook with the collective battle cries of thousands of ferocious Greek warriors, who rushed into the city with murder in their eyes. Arrows and javelins crisscrossed in the air as houses were put to the torch and drunken Trojan soldiers were put to the sword. Civilians fared no better as the city came down, as the Sons of Greece howled in victory.

Odysseus was now a hero, a man admired by all the Greeks. He looked forward to going back home to Ithaca, to his wife Penelope and his son Telemachus. Their faces must have been on his mind as his ship sailed away from the Trojan shore, his battles now behind him.

Or so he thought…

On his way home, Odysseus stumbled upon an island that at first seemed just like that of any other in the Mediterranean region. However, after entering a cave filled with food, they soon discovered that the island was inhabited by cyclopes, one eyed giants with more attitude than a Pitbull that’s just been neutered.

One of these, Polyphemus, actually lived in the cave that Odysseus and his men had found. Enraged, Polyphemus kept them prisoner in the cave, eating several of them. Eventually, Odysseus decided to get Polyphemus drunk, where he would be vulnerable. As Polyphemus drank, he asked Odysseus his name. Odysseus lied, saying that his name was “Nobody” or “Noman” (depending on the translation). Once the brute succumbed to the wine, Odysseus and his men rammed a large, freshly made spear into Polyphemus’ eye. Polyphemus roared like a pride of lions, which prompted his oversized brothers to walk towards his cave, asking him what was going on. Remembering the name Odysseus gave him, Polyphemus became to Greek Mythology what Moe the Bartender is to the Simpsons:

“Noman is killing me by fraud;

no man is killing me by force.”

Hearing the term “Noman”, the other Cyclopes concluded that no one was hurting Polyphemus and that he was sick. Realizing that he’d been dumped, Polyphemus removed the stone door and stood at the opening of the cave, feeling around with his hands to make sure that none of the Greeks escaped. However, Odysseus looked at Polyphemus’s sheep, suddenly getting an idea. He and all his men got underneath the sheep, holding onto their fleece for dear life as the beasts crawled under the wrathful cyclops, who didn’t bother to check their undersides. Later, as Polyphemus tore the top of a mountain off and threw both it and a temper tantrum, Odysseus called out to him from his ship, revealing his true name.

Bad move.

You see, Polyphemus wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill fantasy monster; he was the son of Poseidon, wrathful god of the sea.

To avenge his son, Poseidon condemns Odysseus to wander the sea for ten years. During this time Odysseus has many adventures, encountering anything from ghosts and ogres to goddesses and sea monsters. Eventually, he reaches home, where he finds that dangerous men are putting pressure on his wife Penelope to marry one among them. Together with Telemachus, Odysseus slays them, regaining control of his homeland.

The story of Odysseus is one of the greatest tales of Greek Mythology. Odysseus is a thinking hero, one who uses his mind instead of brute force to tackle obstacles of every conceivable kind. He is no son of a god, but a man of mortal parents who braves both beasts and the divine in order to make his way home. But did his story inspire the creation of new gods? Indeed, was he the basis for Jesus Christ? Was Jesus a mythical figure based on this Greek hero?

Let’s see why this isn’t the case.

1. Incarnate God?

No, Odysseus was all mortal.

2. Son of God?

No, both his parents were mortal.

3. Trinity?

No, once again, he was a mortal man. He was not a god, let alone a person within a trinity.

4. Born of a virgin?

No, his parents had sex.

5. Star proclaimed his birth?

No.

6. Visited by wise men after his birth?

No.

7. Someone sought his death after he was born?

No.

8. Taught in a temple as a boy?

No.

9. Baptized?

No.

10. Tempted by the Devil?

No.

11. King?

Yes, Odysseus was a king. Jesus is too, though not of any earthly kingdom (John 18:36-37). He is the true King of the Jews (Isaiah 9:6-7, Matthew 2:2, Luke 23:3, John 1:49-50, 18:36-37) as well as the divine king (Revelation 19:16).

BTW: so, what? Are we going to say that Odysseus was based on Gilgamesh, Minos, Saul or Solomon, because they, like Odysseus, were also kings?

12. Carpenter?

Yes, just like Jesus…and countless other people throughout history, big deal. There were also a lot of kings. Once again… are we going to say that Odysseus was based on Gilgamesh, Minos, Saul or Solomon, because they, like Odysseus, were also kings?

13. Preacher?

No.

14. Prophet?

No.

15. Miracle worker?

No. Odysseus did eat a plant called Moly that made him immune to the Witch Goddess Circe’s powers, but this a far cry from performing a miracle. Was the Dread Pirate Roberts a miracle worker when he swallowed a magic pill that brought him back from being “mostly dead” in the movie “Princess Bride”?

Was Alice of “Alice in Wonderland” a miracle worker when she ate food that made her grow and drank a potion that made her shrink?

Ingesting a magic pill or magic food and potions doesn’t make them miracle workers, anymore than ingesting a real life pill makes a mechanic a doctor.

16. Multiplied bread and fish?

No, see above.

17. Walked on water?

No, see point 15 again.

18. Raised the dead?

No. Once again, point 15.

19. Healed the sick?

No. Once again, Point 15!

20. Cast out demons?

NO! POINT 15!!!!

21: Had supernatural enemies?

Oh wow! Supernatural enemies? That’s very hard to find in stories about heroes from both religious texts and myths!

I mean, that’s got to be so RARE!

Who would have thought?

Okay reader: time to do an eyeroll. Just get it out of your system, it helps when being exposed to Jesus Mythicist stupidity.

22. Had disciples?

No, he had soldiers, and they numbered far more than twelve (he had an army).

23. His “followers” acted Foolishly at times?

Yes, but once again, remember that Odysseus had soldiers, while Jesus had Disciples (meaning “students” in Greek).

24. Debated religious leaders of his day?

No.

25. Betrayed?

Odysseus was no stranger when it came to betrayal.

Once, when his last ship (the others being destroyed) reached the Island of the Sun God Helios, he made his crew swear not to kill any of Helios’ sacred cattle on the island. He had been warned by the ghost of the prophet Tiresias that if they killed them, then a catastrophe would occur. His men swore, but while Odysseus slept, Eurylochus, one of his soldiers, convinced the others to kill the cattle. Facing starvation, the men broke their vow. This ticked off Helios, which in turn ticked off Zeus, and…A storm at sea killed the rest of Odysseus’ men.

Odysseus was also betrayed by the suitors, men who wanted to marry Penelope. Their acts of rape and inhospitality was a stain on his honor. They had also tried to kill his son, and had even led some of his servant women to commit crimes against the state. Later, when he revealed himself to the suitors, Melanthius, one of his own goatherds, supplied them with weapons.

Jesus likewise was betrayed by Judas over thirty pieces of silver. A similarity…but not enough for Jesus Mythicists to make their case.

Indeed, how many people in the world have been betrayed?

26. Betrayer died soon after?

Eurylochus and the rest of Odysseus’ men died soon after killing Helios’ cattle. Likewise, Melanthius died soon after providing the suitors with weapons. However, both the suitors and the servant women carried out their betrayal for years before being stopped by Odysseus. Indeed, Melanthius had been allied with them for a while before the day when he gave them weapons to fight Ulysses.

27. Crucified?

No, Odysseus died of old age. In one version, he died defending his shepherds from Telegonus, his son by Circe. Telegonus afterwards learned that the man he killed was his father, who he had been searching for. In other versions he was exiled, in one dying of old age, in another his fate unknown. In the Odyssey, it indicates that his life will have a happy, fairy tale-style ending.

There is not one version where he is crucified.

Some Jesus Mythicists might state “but the story where he goes to Italy, one where his final fate is not known…he could have been crucified! It’s a possibility!!!”

Actually, no. You see, for one, such an argument would be an Appeal to Possibility, a logical fallacy where one tries to state that something is true because it is possible. Might as well say that he was mauled by a bear, because it’s possible, or hunted down by the Sirens because it is possible, or struck by Zeus’ thunderbolts because it’s possible, or clubbed to death by a prostitute in retaliation for him not paying her adequately enough because hey, its possible.

All of these possibilities hold the same amount of weight.

None.

Two, it’s also an Appeal to Ignorance fallacy, accepting something as true based on lack of evidence that shows otherwise. Imagine if someone not only claimed that a giant clone of Zooey Deschanel is in a secret underground government lab, but that, since this claim is not disproven, therefore it is true!

And three, it’s actually NOT possible, because the story of Odysseus existed before the invention of crucifixion. Crucifixion was invented in Persia in the 6th century BC. Homer’s Odyssey, on the other hand, was written about the 8th-7th century BC. True, Plutarch, who mentions the version of Odysseus going to exile in Italy, wrote in the second century, but let’s remember…he wrote in the second century. When was the New Testament written?

First century AD.

Now, you may be wondering where Jesus Mythicists got the idea that Odysseus was crucified.

Prepare to shake your head.

Odysseus once had to sail pass the isle of Anthemoessa, home of the Sirens. Sirens were singing sea nymphs who had the heads of women and the bodies of birds.

If you can imagine Katy Perry and a young Dolly Parton with the bodies of oversized eagles or hawks, you get an idea of what they would have been like.

However, their singing voices were even better than those of Parton or Perry. Indeed, their voices were enchanted, luring men toward Anthemoessa’s rocky shore. This led to a lot of ships sinking and a lot of men drowning, their bodies consumed by the Sirens. Wanting to avoid the same fate, Odysseus has his men stuff their ears with wax, which rendered them immune to the Siren’s allure. However, Odysseus had his men tie him to his ships mast, so that he could safely hear the sirens. Their song was so beautiful, so hypnotizing, that his men had to put stronger straps on him. After sailing to a safe distance, Odysseus was freed from the mast.

The following is an ancient Greek vase that depicts this mythological story:

Here is a closer look:

This is their proof that Odysseus was crucified.

Um…somebody forgot to tell them that being tied to a ship’s mas doesn’t = crucifixion.

Indeed, he wasn’t even being executed; he was simply being strapped down so that he could safely listen to the siren’s song.

Now, some Jesus Mythicists will try to point out similarities between these two events; Odysseus is strapped to a ship’s mast, which is both made of wood like a cross and with a similar shape to that of a cross (especially so with the sails rolled up), all the while standing straight up. Likewise, Jesus is nailed to a wooden cross, which is lifted straight up, Jesus body being vertical as well. Both are in anguish during this (Jesus due to pain, Odysseus due to not being able to go to the Sirens).

Parallel, right?

Wrong.

Crucifixion not only was a death penalty in Jesus’ time, but, as previously stated, it was being used to execute criminals since the 6th century BC. If the Gospel writers were making the story of Christ’s death up, why would they draw inspiration for the crucifixion from Odysseus being tied to a ship’s mast…instead of crucifixion itself, which was a common form of execution at the time? Remember, Odysseus wasn’t crucified; he was simply tied to a ship’s mast.

He…didn’t…die.

Now, some will counter this by saying that some ancient Christians made comparisons between Odysseus’ being tied to a mast and Jesus being crucified. However, this doesn’t mean that Christians were inspired by Odysseus’ tale to invent the crucifixion of Christ, any more than historians making comparisons between Alexander the Great and Achilles (both of whom share many parallels with each other) means that historians were inspired by Achilles to invent Alexander the Great. Andre the Giant, the late professional wrestler, bore many striking similarities with the mythic Hercules. If I note these similarities(which I did in another article, see the sources section below)...does it mean that I think that Andre the Giant didn’t therefore exist? No, it just means that I noted their similarities. I likewise wrote an article on the fem chatbot Tay, noting its striking similarities with Frankenstein’s monster (as well as with many other similar creatures in cinema, folklore and myth. See sources section below). Does that mean that I therefore think that Tay was a fictional character, not a real computer program? Anybody reading my article on Tay would know that wasn’t the case. Heck, people have compared the sinking of the Mignonette to “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym of Nantucket” by Edgar Allan Poe, due to both also sharing many parallels (Poe’s novel predates it by decades). Does this mean that someone was inspired by Poe’s novel to invent the story of the Mignonette? Likewise, many have compared the Titanic disaster to the novella “Futility/Wreck of the Titan” by Morgan Robertson, both of which also share many parallels (Robertson’s book written 14 years before the Titanic was put to sea). Does this mean that someone was inspired by Robertson’s book to invent a fictitious Titanic?

Then why would Christians making a comparison between Jesus’ crucifixion and Odysseus being tied to a mast be evidence that Christians were inspired by the latter to come up with the former?

Keep in mind; the three examples I’ve cited above have FAR, FAR, FAR, FAR, FAR, FAR more parallels between them than Jesus’ crucifixion and Odysseus’ being tied to a mast have. Indeed, the similarities between Christ’s crucifixion and Odysseus being tied to a mast are far outweighed by the fact that one was a crucifixion and the other is not, one is an execution, the other an attempt to avoid death yet still hear the Siren’s song. One’s nailed to a cross to die for our sins, another is tied to a mast in order to both learn and survive a mystery.

Yep, they’re about as similar as Reese Witherspoon and Alice Cooper.

Folks, there is no crucifixion here, let alone something that inspired it.

28. Went to the Underworld?

Yes, Odysseus did, though he didn’t die in order to go there. He went there while still alive so that he could speak with Tiresias. After Jesus died, he went to the “heart of the earth” (meaning Hades (Old Testament “Sheol”), the abode of the dead) for three days (Matthew 12:40, Acts 2:27-31). One could say that they both went to Hades, due to the fact that the Hebrews borrowed the Greek name for the Underworld, replacing Sheol with it, but the differences in the story are far more startling than the similarities. Odysseus went to the Underworld while alive and left, while Jesus died, went there, and then resurrected.

29. Resurrected?

No, see points 27 and 28

30. Ascended into Heaven?

No.

31. Second coming?

Odysseus did return to Ithaca, just as Jesus will return one day to earth. However, Odysseus returned, while Jesus will return. There is not an enormous amount of theological significance to Odysseus returning to Ithaca as there is with Jesus returning to Earth. Its more akin to Robin Hood’s return from the Crusades than Jesus’ Second Coming.

33. Went in supernatural disguise?

After Odysseus returned to Ithaca, Athena disguised him as an old man, which allowed him to go unrecognized by the suitors. This was done to save his life; the suitors would have killed Odysseus if they saw him returning home. His true identity was later revealed when, out of all the suitors, only he was able to bend his own bow (one that he left in Ithaca before sailing off to the Trojan War) and firing an arrow through the heads of twelve axe handles. After this, both Odysseus and his son slew the suitors. Likewise, after Jesus resurrected, he encountered Mary Magdalene, who didn’t recognize him until he called her name (John 20:11-18). Later, he also encountered two other followers of his on the Road to Emmaus, neither of which recognized him at first, courtesy of divine power (Luke 24:13-16). After striking up a conversation with them, Jesus sat with them at dinner. As he blessed the bread, broke it and gave it to both, the men suddenly recognized who he was...only for Jesus to vanish (Luke 24:17-31). Just as Odysseus showed signs of who he was while disguised (i.e. stringing the bow and firing it through the twelve axes), Jesus showed his unparalled knowledge of the scriptures with the men on the road to Emmaus, who felt their hearts burn as he spoke (Luke 24:25-32).

Admittedly, there is a striking similarity between Odysseus and Jesus in this regard.

However...so what?

As I mentioned in point 27, there have been many occasions in history where a historical figure or event bore numerous striking parallels with myths or fictional tales. This isn’t evidence that the historicity of those individuals or events should be called into question. Whose going to deny the historical existence of the Titanic, Mignonette, Andre the Giant, Tay or Alexander the Great because they were prefigured by mythic or fictional accounts that bore striking similarities with them?

Indeed, with all the mythic characters and stories, with all the historical figures and events that have occurred in the world, one would expect that eventually, some historical figure or event would arise that would bear parallels with mythical figures and tales, or vice versa.

This isn’t evidence of borrowing or inspiration.

Its evidence of math.

And, as we’ve already seen in most of the other points, Odysseus and Jesus really don’t parallel each other that well.

Indeed, they mostly don’t parallel at all.

34. Reign in a future age?

No, he reigned on earth in the remote past.

The connection between Jesus and Odysseus is spurious, and yet people still promote the idea. Indeed, Dennis R. Macdonald, a scholar who wrote “The Homeric Epics and the Gospel of Mark”, not only claims in his book that much of Jesus’ story is derived from that of Odysseus, but also from other elements found in Homer’s works. Indeed, he even claims that the story of Jesus walking on water was derived from Homeric stories of Hermes…flying over water.

I’m not making this up. He actually wrote this.

He also wrote that the story of Jesus death was partially inspired by the death of Hector in the Iliad (who was slain by Achilles in battle, not crucified), and that John the Baptist’s death was inspired by myth of King Agamemnon’s death! Now, let’s look at that last one, shall we? Agamemnon was killed by his wife Queen Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus (some accounts its Aegisthus and twenty other men). In some ancient sources, he was killed while taking a bath. In one version, Clytemnestra threw a net on him and then twisted it, before Aegisthus swung his sword or axe (in the version where her lover has a sword, Clytemnestra strikes Agamemnon with the axe afterwards). In another version of the death-while-bathing myth, Agamemnon is wearing a shirt with sleeves that are sown up, which likewise renders him helpless against the axe). Other sources state that he was killed while sitting at a table. The only similarities between his death and that of John the Baptist is that they were killed by royalty (Aegisthus ruled Mycenae) and they were both beheaded. An interesting parallel…until you realize that beheading was a form of punishment in ancient Greece and Rome and that kings could and did command that some people be beheaded. I could also mention that Herod Antipas, who had John the Baptist beheaded, was not actually a king, bur a Tetrarch, a ruler over a quarter of a province or region (the Romans also used it to refer to someone who ruled over any portion of the empire). Though the author of the Gospel of Mark used the term “king” for Herod Antipas, he was either using the word loosely, or being sarcastic. Indeed, his wife Herodias planned to make him a real king. When Herod Antipas appealed for the title of king, he was rewarded by the Romans with exile to Gaul. Thus, he wasn’t royalty.

And yet…Agamemnon’s death was supposed to be the basis for that of John the Baptist…

Just as Odysseus was supposed to be the basis for Jesus…

Can you say “WRONG”?

Folks, Jesus wasn’t based or even inspired by Odysseus, let alone Homer’s Odyssey or Iliad. Jesus is a historical figure, not a mythical figure. Jesus is real, not a figment of Homeric tales.

Jesus is the real deal.

Sources:

“The Odyssey” by Homer (Translated by Samuel Butler), 87-96, 110-111, 122-30, 177-78, 226-35

https://www.theoi.com/Text/HomerOdyssey9.html

https://www.theoi.com/Text/HomerOdyssey22.html

“The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Mythology” by Arthur Cotterell and Rachel Storm, 17, 19-20, 34, 60, 66-67, 74, 76, 78-79, 88

“The Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology” by Pierre Grimal, 19-20, 25-27, 300-06

https://www.blueletterbible.org/faq/don_stewart/don_stewart_1336.cfm

“Homer's Odyssey and the Near East” By Bruce Louden, 277

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Homer_s_Odyssey_and_the_Near_East/AKDfiWrXAx8C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Suitors%2BBetrayed%2BOdysseus&pg=PA277&printsec=frontcover

“Women, Crime and Punishment in Ancient Law and Society Volume 2: Ancient Greece” By Elisabeth Meier Tetlow, 25

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Women_Crime_and_Punishment_in_Ancient_La/3fnsWhZkq74C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Suitors%2BBetrayed%2BOdysseus&pg=PA25&printsec=frontcover

https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofEngland/Robin-Hood/

https://www.theoi.com/Pontios/Seirenes.html

“Jesus, Paul, and Power Rhetoric, Ritual, and Metaphor in Ancient Mediterranean Christianity” By Rick F. Talbott and S. Scott Bartchy, 143

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Jesus_Paul_and_Power/yxJTAwAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Odysseus%2BMast%2BJesus%2Bcrucified&pg=PA143&printsec=frontcover

https://sirtravisjacksonoftexas.tumblr.com/post/628287347439665153/alexander-the-great-and-achilles-examining-the

https://sirtravisjacksonoftexas.tumblr.com/post/628113211750776832/do-supposed-parallels-between-the-gospels-and

https://www.britannica.com/topic/crucifixion-capital-punishment

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Odyssey-epic-by-Homer

https://www.ancient.eu/odysseus/

https://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2000/2000.09.16/

https://www.logicallyfallacious.com/logicalfallacies/Argument-from-Ignorance

https://www.logicallyfallacious.com/logicalfallacies/Appeal-to-Possibility

“Encyclopedia of Women in the Ancient World” By Joyce E. Salisbury, 66

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Encyclopedia_of_Women_in_the_Ancient_Wor/HF0m3spOebcC?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Agamemnon%2Bbeheaded&pg=PA66&printsec=frontcover

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Beheading

https://www.britannica.com/topic/beheading

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Mortal_Republic/P2RPDwAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=Pompey+beheaded&pg=PT206&printsec=frontcover

“The IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament” by Craig S. Keener, 85, 150-51.

https://www.livius.org/articles/person/herod-antipas/

“Bible Understanding Made Easy: Volume 3: Mark’s Gospel” By Anthony L. Norwood, 23

https://books.google.com/books?id=g2DkENMbNnoC&newbks=0&printsec=frontcover&pg=PA23&dq=tetrarch+roman+empire&hl=en&source=newbks_fb#v=onepage&q=tetrarch%20roman%20empire&f=false

https://www.britannica.com/topic/tetrarch-ancient-Greek-official

“Clash of the Gods” documentary series: “Odysseus: Curse of the Sea” and “Odysseus: Warrior’s Revenge” episodes

“The Portable Seminary: A Master’s Level Overview In One Volume”” by David Horton (General Editor), 281

“Quaestiones Graecae” (The Greek Questions) by Plutarch, section 14

http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2008.01.0215%3Asection%3D14

http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A2008.01.0215

https://sirtravisjacksonoftexas.tumblr.com/post/615781564580773888/was-jesus-a-fictional-character-based-on-pagan

https://sirtravisjacksonoftexas.tumblr.com/post/624904287995265024/do-so-called-similarities-between-jesus-and

“The Princess Bride” film

“Alice in Wonderland” Disney cartoon.

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alwaysbemymaybe-phff · 7 years

Text

Chapter 21

Hover

It is going to be a wonderful day in England; Prince Harry is getting married.

“Your Royal Highness, you asked for me?”

“Troy.” Harry breathed turning away from the window he was previously staring out at and looking at his secretary. “Did you get it?”

The secretary smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.” He said walking over towards the prince. “Her plane leaves in three hours.” He continued picking up the military coat laying quite hastily on top of Harry’s bed before walking over to the obviously torn prince. “Shall I help you?”

“I need a few more minutes.” Harry waved him off and Troy nodded before leaving the room leaving the coat back on top of the bed neatly. She’s leaving. He thought looking back out the window. From afar, he can see the sea of civilians waiting by the gates; all hoping to have a glimpse of the Royal Wedding. But that’s all it is for Harry, a Royal Wedding. It’s not a wedding about love but it is a wedding of duty- his duty to his family and nation.

He bit his bottom lip; what he did to Bella is unforgivable. He’s an asshole. Undoubtedly. But, he had to choose. The whole world knows that he’s going to marry Meghan, the whole world is expecting it and he couldn’t push himself to embarrass his family by backing out. However, a week passed after he last saw Bella and he realized how his choices are wrong; how a loveless marriage can ruin his family more in the long run. Another divorce in the Royal Family. He can already see the headlines.

Truthfully and obviously, he regrets everything he had done. He chose to get married to a woman he doesn’t love anymore and he left the one that he’s ready to die for. It’s a fucked up thing. Well, I am fucked up. He thought sourly as he took his eyes off the window and turned to look at his military uniform that he will wear to the wedding.

Bella stood by the lake staring at the water remembering the time when she went skinny dipping with Harry vividly. Regrets? She doesn’t have any. For her, the time she spent with Harry was worth it. As she thought numerous times before and after every reckless thing she had done, I’m a dead man anyway. Although a bit upset that Harry left her last week without a proper goodbye, she figured that it’s for the best. She glanced at her watch and saw that it’s already 5:30 in the morning. By six, the wedding ceremony will be happening.

“Sweetheart, are you ready?”

Will I ever be ready? Bella thought and then turned around to look at her mother who’s smiling at her warmly and she gave a weak one back. “Yes. Are we leaving?”

“Your father is just fixing some things.” Her mother answered and Bella nodded before turning back to the lake once again. Georgia Clarke sighed and walked to the side of her daughter. “What’s bothering you, Bella?”

Bella gave out a huge breath, “Just nervous, mom..” And Harry’s getting married today, mom.

But, even though Georgia won’t say it, she knows her daughter more than anything else. “And you’re bothered about Prince Harry getting married.” She continued her daughter’s statement making Bella turn her head to look at her; she glanced at her daughter with a knowing smile. “Your father and I know..”

“But how..?” Bella trailed off confused; she thought she had been conspicuous, she thought that she’s good at hiding things. Apparently not. And her mother just sighed back and looked away from her straight to the house at the other end of the lake- their house.

“Harry’s constant calls to your office when you were sick and Harry’s secretary keeping in touch with your father gave it away.” The mother finally answered. “At first, we thought that it’s just a normal thing for them to do but I thought differently especially after your stint with the press- that doctor you were with in Sentebale pretending that you two are together, your change when you got back from Sentebale, and then you leaving at the exact day of his wedding. Obviously, he cares deeply for you and you do too.”

Bella shook her head slightly amused at her mother, “I will ruin him if I die, mom.”

“Taking risks is normal, my love. Especially if it’s for the person we love the most.”

“Not when I suddenly die on him.”

Georgia, still not willing to accept the possibility of death imposed on Bella, took Bella’s hand and gripped it tightly. “Don’t say that, please.” She said looking at her daughter who remained looking away from her. “Fight. Please. For your father and I.”

“You know I always will.”

Harry buttoned his uniform slowly. He refused to have anyone with him while he prepared for the wedding; he couldn’t cope with pretending that he’s happy when he couldn’t feel anything anymore. He felt empty and hopeless. Most days since he left Bella, he felt suicidal but still, he fought through it thinking that Bella will hate him if he does die. As he is about to button the last three on his uniform, Harry is taken off his thoughts by a knock on his door.

William, Duke of Cambridge, went inside the room slowly; his face emotionless. “Hey.” He greeted his brother who didn’t bother looking at him. He gingerly took Harry’s cap on top of the table and dusted the top of it. He doesn’t know what to say to his brother. Realizing how he is a part of what pushed Harry to marry, he felt guilty. The past months, he saw the drastic change in Harry. Like Catherine had put it, Harry had lost his light. His will to live. And the more he watched Harry the past few months since he proposed to Meghan and came back from Sentebale, the more he realized that Catherine’s observation is true. “Are you ok, Harry?”

“Yeah.”

The duke sighed and walked over to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, tell me.”

Harry couldn’t tell his brother anymore. He had received too much chastising and judgment from William the past months that he’s absolutely reluctant to open up. And so, he just sighed and turned to look at his brother with a small smile on his face, “How do I look?”

“Like shit.” William scoffed and Harry just shrugged making the former sigh. “I know you’re in love with her.” He finally said making Harry stop mid step for a second but shook his head and continued walking over to his table and taking his pins. “Harry, talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.”

“Stop being difficult.” William finally said firmly making Harry stop from going around like a soulless headless chicken.

The ginger haired prince gave out a huge breath and looked at his brother. “What do you want me to say?”

“What do you want to do?” William asked back making Harry shook his head laughing almost to himself because of the question. “Do you want to run? I will help you if you do.”

“Stop it, Wills.” Harry said exasperated turning to look at his brother fully. “I’m not going to drag you into this mess.”

“Then say something truthful for once!” William finally exploded although he didn’t yell loudly enough for people outside the room to hear. For William, this is not the time for Harry to act stubborn- it certainly is not the time to act all martyr.

“I love her.” Harry finally said sounding more broken than ever and he fell on his bed- sitting on it. “I love Bella. I couldn’t see myself marrying today to another woman. I don’t think I’ll last a year married to Meghan. There, are you happy?”

And William can finally see how ruined Harry is emotionally. He can see and feel the pain and the unsureness in his brother that it hurt him as well. “Harry.” He said walking over to his brother and sitting down beside him. “Why didn’t you back out?”

“I didn’t want to humiliate the family. Granny has had it with mummy and daddy and me backing out of this is going to be much worse for her and especially to daddy now.” He said remembering that his father is now King.

“And you’re willing to sacrifice your life? We could of had fixed this. We still can.”

But Harry thinks William is only saying this out of pity now, “I’ve made up my mind, William.”

“So, we’ll be there tomorrow in San Diego. We’ll meet you in the hospital.” Gerard Clarke said hauling Bella’s luggage at the back of their white Audi Q5. “Your mom and I just need to finish a bit more-“

Bella gave out a laugh and place a hand on her father’s shoulders stopping him, “Dad, I know. I’ll see you in 26 hours.” She said and her father chuckled straightening himself up. Bella looked up at her cabin house and she bit her bottom lip. “I’ll miss this house.”

Doctor Gerard stood beside his daughter and looked up at the house as well before sighing and looking sideward at his daughter. “You’re still coming back.”

“Yeah.” She said smiling and looking up at her dad as well. “I’ll be back.”

“Bella. I’ll help Doctor West. I’ll be there and I promise you I’ll do everything I can to have you wake up.” The father said as his hand reached Bella’s and gripped it tightly. “I’m not letting you die.”

“I know, dad. I know. I trust you.”

But inside, Bella is already trying to make peace of possibly not coming back. She knew that coming to terms with it will help her to cope- or not flip when she is about to get sedated. Still, a part of her is scared- most part of her is. The thought of not waking up scared her. She never got the chance to say goodbye to friends- a permanent goodbye. If the transplant didn’t succeed, they’ll just know that she died through the Obituary and that alone is enough to drive her insane.

“Well, we should go.” Her father suddenly commented when they see Georgia come out of Bella’s house talking to the housekeeper before closing the door behind her. “Come on.” Gerard ushered Bella at the backseat of the car. Before the car started running, Bella took one last glance at the cabin house she loved- praying to see it once again.

Harry stared at the altar intently; he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t feel, he couldn’t even smile. He knew Meghan is walking towards him and the more he knew that she’s drawing closer, the more Bella came into his mind. No, he couldn’t imagine that Bella is the one walking towards him anymore. Reality starts setting in for Harry and he felt William’s arm brush briefly on his back as if soothing him.

But it didn’t soothe him as the thought of possibly not seeing Bella anymore or being able to be near her, touch her, be with her. His reality made his eyes tear up- his heartbeat ring on his ears.

He turned around ready to face the woman waiting to marry him

#royalfanficcentral #prince harry #prince harry fanfiction #phff #fanfiction

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iamastrongchristian-blog · 5 years

Text

The Stronger the Motive the Greater the War Effort

For the which cause I also suffer these things: nevertheless I am not ashamed: for I know whom I HAVE BELIEVED, AND AM PERSUADED that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.

2 Timothy 1:12

The stronger the motive the greater the war effort! The apostle Paul was a highly motivated person. He served the Lord with great passion, travelling all over the world and ministering eternal words of life. Without strong motivation, the war effort is weak. What makes motivation strong? A number of things can drive and motivate the leader. Why was Paul so highly motivated?

1.Paul had seen the Lord. “I knew a man in Christ above fourteen years ago, (whether in the body, I cannot tell; or whether out of the body, I cannot tell: God knoweth;) such an one caught up to the third heaven” (2 Corinthians 12:2).

2.Paul had been to Heaven and knew that Heaven was real. Anyone who has been to Heaven and seen the reality of the glory that awaits us becomes confused on earth, realising that we are running around for nothing on this earth. “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live in the flesh, this is the fruit of my labour: yet what I shall choose I wot not. For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better” (Philippians 1:21-23).

3.Paul had received much mercy from the Lord. This motivated Paul to never give up and to press on with the ministry. “Therefore seeing we have this ministry, as we have received mercy, we faint not” (2 Corinthians 4:1).

4.Paul seemed to be in danger of divine judgment if he did not obey his call. “…for necessity is laid upon me; yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel” (1 Corinthians 9:16).

I once met a soldier who was working for the UN in an African country. He was among the peacekeeping troops who had been sent to that nation to help maintain the peace. I asked how the morale was among the troops. He told me that many of the soldiers had become taxi drivers and some of the soldiers had moved into diamond mining. I was shocked and asked why soldiers would become taxi drivers and diamond miners in a war zone.

He laughed and said, “No one wants to die a foolish death in this foolish war. The politicians, through their wickedness and ineptitude have created a foolish war.

Every soldier asked himself, “Why should I die a foolish death in a foolish war?” These soldiers were highly unmotivated to fight for peace in that country. These unmotivated soldiers were glad to find a few diamonds and do a little business.

The stronger the motivation, the stronger the war effort!

Many ministers are highly unmotivated. Money is a weak driver for ministry. Pleasing a human being cannot motivate you to war a good warfare. There must be an engine inside you that drives from within. The love of God at work within you must be your great motivation.

Why is your church not growing? Many times, the vision, the passion and the zeal for church growth is simply not there. Many pastors do not have growing churches because they do not have a strong drive or motivation for church growth. They simply do not love God enough.

The number one factor that affects your ministry is your love for God. You cannot war a good warfare when you are not internally motivated.

Troy

There are different motives for fighting wars. To gain land and to acquire wealth are some of the common motives for war. Wars that have been fought out of strong motives have a greater effort and force applied.

One famous war, however, was fought out of an even greater motive: a kidnapped wife! The famous Trojan War was fought between Greece and Troy. According to the sources, a visiting prince of Troy, Paris, fell in love with Queen Helen of Sparta. Unfortunately, she was the wife of another man called Menelaus. In spite of being married to Menelaus, she eloped with her new lover, the visiting prince of Troy.

Queen Helen’s husband was outraged that this prince of Troy had abducted his wife. He convinced his brother, who happened to be Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae to lead his armies to Troy to retrieve his wife. King Agamemnon summoned the best warriors such as the legendary Achilles, Odysseus, etc. and led a fleet of over one thousand ships across the Aegean Sea to recapture the Queen Helen. They besieged the city of Troy for ten years because of this woman and her lover, Paris.

The siege of Troy lasted for more than ten years and was punctuated by battles and skirmishes that resulted in the deaths of the Trojan prince Hector and Achilles. Finally, after 10 years, the Greek armies retreated from their camp, leaving a large wooden horse outside the gates of Troy.

After much debate (and unheeded warnings) the people of Troy pulled the mysterious wooden horse into the city. But when night fell, the horse opened up and a group of Greek warriors, led by Odysseus, climbed out and destroyed the city of Troy from within.

In the end, the Greeks slaughtered the Trojans (except for some of the women and children whom they kept or sold as slaves). After the Trojan defeat, only a few of the Greeks returned safely to their homes.

Helen was returned to Sparta to be with her original husband, Menelaus.

The motive for this famous Trojan War was the stealing of Helen the wife of a Spartan king, Menelaus. Ten thousand ships and ten years of fighting was the result of this outrage. The Trojan War was fought between Troy and the Greeks over a man who felt cheated of his wife.

Indeed, the stronger the motives the stronger the war effort. When people are not well motivated, they cannot fight properly.

Does Anyone Love God Today?

Today, the great motive for real ministry is missing. What is the great motive for ministry: the love of God, the love of our Saviour, Jesus Christ! How many people really love the Lord? People do not love God. Most people just want to prosper and have a good life. God is looking for people who really like Him and love Him.

Even I, am afraid of people who want to work for me for money. How nasty it is to relate to people who just want something from you. It is a far better thing to have people who do things out of love. That is the greatest motive you can have for doing anything. Would you like to marry someone who is just thinking of what financial benefits they can get when they marry you? Wouldn’t you want to marry someone who is marrying you because of love?

Pray that God will touch you so that you develop a deep love for Him. Loving God is not the same as coming close to Him when you are in trouble. To love God is to come to Him and like Him because He is God. To love God is to want to be in His presence. To love God is to talk to Him every day. To love God is to be intimate with Jesus Christ. To love God is to have feelings about God, His kingdom and His work. To love God with all your heart is to cry when you speak to Him. To love God is to have deep feelings when you think about God. How many people really love the Lord? How many people even think about God? How many people even wonder how God really feels? If you love God, you will obey Him and serve Him with feeling, with zeal and with passion.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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