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crossposting from tumblr bc wow it's really not every day lately that I have a potentially semi-original and at least interesting academic type thought :)

I don’t have access to JSTOR anymore and it’s KILLING ME right now because surely, surely someone has written a peer-reviewed piece about this concept before, no? Or a non peer-reviewed piece?  From the little I can see via Google, there’s some mention in discussing Katherine’s heraldic device of the obvious mythological connection, but mostly people focus on the general symbolism of the pomegranate for fertility, sanctity, etc, obviously good things for a princess/royal family to want connected to themselves.

But KATHERINE, the youngest princess, the beloved of her powerful mother (and let’s not forget her mother and father’s reputations as near to the divine, infinitely blessed, and powerful in their divine favor), sent/taken into a stranger, colder new land (and I am consistently interested in the delightful fact of the different diets of 14th/15th century Spain and England, esp. in that the Spanish had much more fresh fruit and vegetables ahem ahem goddesses of growth and harvest and springtime whaaaat) to be married.

And it’s not a violent abduction like Persephone’s, it’s not a rape, but it’s a political treaty requiring her to be subsumed (and so young - basically from what, age 3? she was titled Princess of Wales) into another kingdom, at the behest of an historically hard and cold king and a young (arguably) sickly prince, a line newly enthroned from desperate civil war, the picture of which altogether is quite deathly and foreboding. And then her husband dies but she cannot leave her new country (she will not leave), and she is tossed about and left to languish and her father and father-in-law haggle over the price of her but she sticks it all out! She becomes the Spanish ambassador, the link between her two worlds, she scrapes and suffers and holds out and her awful awful entry into England turns into her triumph and she is Queened.

I guess this necessarily requires a somewhat subversive view of Persephone, idk? Except that I’m not necessarily arguing that the seemingly placid acceptance of the difficulties/horrors that go along with their marriages and crownings is a positive thing - my least favorite part of the Persephone myth is its classical aspect which negates Hades’ crime and turns the rape into lawful and good marriage.  But the comparison is still there, the powerful ladies who retain power and influence.

Katherine who becomes a tie across all of Europe, Persephone who dispenses advice and judgement in other tales.  In another aspect, the cold queen of the dead, the woman set aside, hidden, her springtime power frozen away, who still commands respect and admiration.  Who still speaks.


Dec. 30th, 2013 11:47 pm
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 Today was the epically winning day of Narnia/LotR xovers. So much perfection from everyone!

LOTR/Narnia, Lucy/Aragorn, I took the stars from my eyes/and then I made a map
"Our stars dance," Lucy says, sighing, and Aragorn finds he cannot look away from the curve of her throat as she looks up at Varda's children. Her bare feet tapping a strange and sparkling rhythm in the grass, and her eyes dart across new constellations.

"I will take you to the Elves," he promises, "and you must dance for them, for they love stars like you."

An addition to yesterday's Lucy/Aragorn...
Lucy watches Aragorn all day -- stolen glances, really, as she moves between patients, trying to emulate the calm of the healers here. They are not only professional but truly serene, a balm to the frantic minds and hearts brought in ever greater numbers from the field, and he is the unassuming beacon in the center of all, and when she catches herself weeping as Eowyn opens her eyes, she doesn't know whether it's out of relief for her friend or simply at the beauty in the returned king's gentle hands. What she knows, in a great purring rush of certainty, is that she needs her own Houses of Healing in Narnia.

LOTR, Eowyn, she is so much more than this
It is good, this life she and Faramir are coaxing out of the earth of Ithilien, both a new adventure and a satisfying duty. Her days are full and her nights happy, and she begins to find a peacefulness in herself that she never thought to feel again. Still, there are days when the White Lady of Rohan, nursing a lingering pain in what was once her shield-arm, cannot keep from dreaming of war and glory.

Narnia, Susan/Edmund, conversion has just left me heathen
It is different in England, certainly - more secretive, more shameful, so that suddenly they find themselves hiding the extent of their lingering affections even from Peter and Lucy. "But after all," as Edmund likes to say as they undress each other, as they lie shivering under ration-thin blankets, as they creep silently and contently from hidden corners, "it really can't be so different."

And Susan smiles and draws him close and whispers, "Once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen."

LOTR/Narnia, Lucy/Aragorn, I took the stars from my eyes/and then I made a map
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So so lovely to come back while this is still going! My favorite ficathon :)

Medieval History, Richard II/Anne of Bohemia + Richard III/Anne Neville, history repeating
"I think...they are saying my husband had me murdered, to make way for his brother's daughter."

"Oh, my dear, there will always be Edwards and Richards and Henrys reigning and marrying and dying; we're out of it now, here at least, for ourselves, we can decide how it went. It was the plague, dear, and he loves you and mourns you."

Narnia, Peter/Lucy, she loves him like the stars
Eowyn knows horn calls, has spent her life in thrall to the gut-wrenching reliefs and pains of clear notes blaring across the Mark. This sound is like none she has ever heard, low and gentle and insistent, a declaration and a challenge and a peace offering all at once. And when she steps outside, the woman winding it lowers her horn and smiles, as if she were sounding it for Eowyn and no one else.
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3 - Ancient World History, Historical RPF, Greek Myth )A brothel is a convent is a palace, in many ways. She has already pleased her new husband, over and over, weaving into place the fates of herself and her daughter and her vision of God. She stands before the throne and breathes deeply, steadying herself upon its gilded arm, and dreams of a basilica.

[Historical RPF, Anne Boleyn/Francis I, she learned many lessons at the French court]
They all think she is only one of his whores, like her sister before her, a pretty and useless English mare. But the lessons he conducts for her by moonlight are not all about satisfying and being satisfied - they talk about whatever has been on Francis' mind, about ships, about crops (though she shudders away from knowledge of husbandry, for she will not be a simple gentleman farmer's daughter, wife). Some nights, when Anne leaves, she has to remember to tousle her hair and unlace her dress, because, of course, she is only a whore.

[Greek mythology, Hades/Persephone, you can't make the snow fall in summer/or make him not want her/not leave her behind]
"And you will keep safe?" He does not ask - "will you come back?" - but she smiles sadly anyway, and hands him a black flower.
"I always do."

Narnia - cw zombies, vampires, comas )
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I tried to cut this to make it less space-consuming on an flist, but the cut-tool was not cooperating, sorry everyone!

[Beowulf, Freawaru, the spear snickers / the wicked arrow / narrowly flickers / and nicks the marrow]
They named her peace-weaver, and so she is. She sits in the hall and helps allot gold and brews mead and at night tells her husband with her body how much she desires him, and for him to keep the alliance. But sometimes, she takes his spear from the wall and tests the strength of her arm, and thinks what else she could have been.

[Beowulf, the wailing woman, heroes have the whole earth as their tomb.]
The voice is hers, but the grief she lends it to is of the entire earth. The sea he swam, the rocks he climbed, the lowliest grasses he ran across - all these and more mourn the passing of a hero. There is a comfort in this universal sharing, even as her own insignificant heart breaks over and over again.

[Game of Thrones, Sansa/Jaime, with the perfect armor/with the perfect dream]
They bring him before the court stripped of his golden armor - the gold cloak is long gone, and the ghost of his hand twitches - and weaponless, but unbound, unsure if he is an enemy of war or a guest. He can't help looking around for weak points, escape routes, but then he looks up and remembers why he is here.
The Queen in the North smiles at him, and stretches out her hand.

[Greek Mythology, Apollo/Hyakinthos, I think I made you up inside my head (Sylvia Plath).]
The West Wind blows cold, sending clouds across Apollo's vision, and by the time the sun god drives through them, the last purple flowers have been torn from their stem and swept away. He warms the earth desperately, tugging at whatever seedlings may be there, grasping the memory of laughter, strong muscle and gentle hands, but none reply. The memories fade a little more - pitiless laughter wafts by on the breeze.

[Greek Mythology/Roman mythology, any god/any Roman version of that god, the ultimate vanity]
"Σ'αγαπώ" Narcissus murmured dreamily, reaching out to touch his reflection.
"Ave," came a voice from the water. "Faciem tuam est divinam."

[Greek Mythology, Aethra + Helen, I wake every morning and pray that I could hate you]
This city is nothing, for all the horse-lords love it so, and she is nothing in it, not quite a slave, not quite a royal prisoner, not quite a maid, nothing like a friend. She helps the littler princesses with their sewing and watches Astyanax sometimes, and avoids Helen. She wouldn't be able to stand facing the woman who tried to do something to break free of this whole cycle.

[Greek Mythology, Hector/Andromache, even Hector Tamer of Horses can make a joke once in a while, you know]
It's early in their marriage, and the city is yet foreign to her, her shining husband barely coalescing from tales of fame to something real. He enters their room to find her buried under the driving gear she was trying to clean for him, in tears of frustration and no small amount of fear, and lifts the heavy leather mess off Andromache with one hand, offering the other to help her up.
"The horses don't much care what it looks like, anyway," he says, and smiles.

[Greek Mythology, Hermione & Andromache, "Tell me about my mother, please."]
Neoptolemus expects them to clash and clearly revels in the keeping of two such noble women, their reputations made intriguing by the war rather than ruined. Hermione plays along well enough, acknowledging Andromache but frostily before the court, making a fuss of begging her husband to send the foreign bitch away. But later, in the women's quarters, unveiled and raw, she falls to her knees before the other woman and asks, "Did you know my mother in Troy?"

[Greek Mythology, Alcestis & Eurydice, the nature of true love]
"It was a choice," Alcestis says, leaning comfortably against the cold rock.
"A snake, for me," Eurydice replies, looking back at the boat which brought her in, head cocked as if to pick up some faint strain. "But," she continues, shaking her head and turning to examine the Underworld, "I could grow to choose it."
[and a second fill bc I can't make up my headcanon]
When they call up shades, men always want to ask them about love.
"I loved my husband so much that I died in his place, to please the gods," Alcestis tells them demurely.
"My husband loved me so much he walked into Hades to seek me out," Eurydice shares, confidentially, a hand on the arm, implying that it's alright if they can't all do the same, if everyone doesn't have that kind of love in them.
By themselves, though, they drink up all the wine spilled in the calling, and share different stories, and ignore their now equally dead husbands, who were weak, who were greedy, who didn't have that kind of love in themselves either, only obsession.

[Greek mythology, Hades/Persephone, my bones are shifting in my skin/and you, my love, are gone]
Spring comes, and takes the Queen back home to her mother like an errant child. The shades yawn, and pull in on themselves, and wait for her to return, tiptoeing around a silent and melancholy Hades. And the god of death watches new roots break down through the earth and reaches up to hold his wife's tendrilled fingers.

[Greek mythology, Hades/Persephone, all I can dream about/is how to make you smile]
They say that the god of death sleeps when his wife is gone, that autumn and the turning of the leaves is not just Demeter's grief but his wakening joy. They say he takes the form of a bear, and hibernates, and when Persephone returns there is a new cub for her to mother, a new life down in the shadows of Dis. They say he dreams, through two whole seasons, of her smile when she took the pomegranate seeds from his hand.

[Greek Mythology, Oenone/Paris, "oh will we pass the test/or just as one loves more and more/will one love less and less"]
She watches him in water and wine, and watches the new wife, too, to see what made him forget her -- it's not difficult; the new wife is, in the way of women, most beautiful, and the way she twines around Alexander suggest an easy intimacy Oenone hadn't shared with him since the birth of their child. Their child - she looks up to where the toddler plays with her sisters and the shepherds, and this is a little grace at least, that Corythus and herself are not in that doomed city.
She watches, and the ships she sent guides for draw closer, and she loves her shepherd more and more.

[greek mythology, ariadne & medea & circe (going with the version of the myths in which Ariadne and medea are both granddaughters of helios, and therefore circe's nieces), stitch and--]
There is a world in which no men come to them asking for salvation, nor offering it, no lonely islands or gods or strings or fleece or children.
They come of age in hard, blood-soaked lands which have eaten adventurers and inventors and their own mad kings.
There is a world where they arrive, blinking in the dazzling sun and sand, upon the island of their aunt, and they keep a house with her, and learn her magic, and they keep in what they will and, like the islands of their birth, eat whatever comes to them that they will not have.

[Canaanite religion, Asherah/Yahweh, breaking up is hard to do.]
El is consummate power, yes, and she took him in the oldest of days as a suitable father for her children, and the coupling has turned out well enough. These days, though, he has begun again one of those power-mad games in which he forsakes most of their creation and her role in it to choose and test a certain people - this happens periodically, but now he seeks to eliminate all other powers. Her name has been wiped from lips and books, and if he comes crawling back again, he'll see that this time it is impossible to forgive.

[Greek/Roman religion; Mithras, Christianity; Mithras is not jealous]
He has been known by many names over the volcano years, the flood years. Aspects of him have been El, YHWH, Zeus, and he has floated in the waters of himself, lowed in the pastures of himself, judged himself and found himself innumerable and all-truthful. These Romans no longer know which parts of the divine they want, nor how they want each part to act, but Mithra is mutable, and knows how to give way gracefully, like the sun from morning to noon to night.[Beauty and the Beast, Belle/Beast, Greek mythology]
She sees from the first that this castle is a labyrinth, that the Beast at its heart is a Minotaur, born of greed and a curse, trapped away for his own safety and that of others. When he doesn't show any real inclination to eat her, she reassesses the story she knows. Then, she finds a thread she can follow and sets out to free him.

[Beauty and the Beast, Belle/Beast, languages]
Her French is immaculate, high or low, her Latin quite passable, and she can even carry a conversation in English, thanks to her multitude of books. He speaks a guttural sort of re-learned aristocratic French, yes, but it is forced out of a voicebox not made for human sounds, and she works hard to hide how difficult he can be to understand.
Sometimes she hears him speaking in an altogether wilder and more lovely language, to himself or to the servants, and she wishes she could make those sounds.
[Arthurian Myth, Guinevere, "Diplomacy, in my own name."]
From the convent she dispatches piles of letters, advice to Orkney, to Avalon, to all corners of Albion. She calls on old favors, promises prayers, deploys every secret and shame and pride she has gathered through the years, for she will not let her own failures and those of others continue their rampage. She signs them, simply, "Guinevere."

[The Mummy series, Evie/Rick, "No harm ever came from--" "No. Just no."]
"But it's a book, Evie, look, I thought you love books!"
She wavers, then, because it is a book, a very nicely old-looking one, with a deliciously old and difficult form of hieryglyphs on the cover that might take her weeks to translate....but it's also a book from a tomb, and she has learned her lesson there, she knows the power both good and harmful in "just peeking" at books.
"I'm the librarian, and I say no, Rick."

[The Mummy/Narnia, Digory and Polly meet up with Rick and Evie on a dig. Hijinks ensue]
"But, Polly, the inscription says it's merely ceremonial," Evie protests as Polly and Digory pull her away from a familiar pedestal bell-and-gong set up, "and Rick and I have been looking for this for months, it's probably the only undamaged one left..."
"Hey, Evie, I found it," Rick yelled, followed by a dusty but surprisingly clear ringing. Digory groaned and Polly clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and from deeper in the cavern a strange thumping began to sound.
[Sistine Chapel ceiling, Libyan Sybil/Prophet Jonah, gaze back at me]
She can feel him, watching her from above - or is it beside? Her sense of space has been off ever since that painter and his assistants dashed her up here; she can feel the curvature where walls meet ceiling, can feel the foundations of the building itself; sometimes she thinks she can feel everything except her own hermited passions. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the plaster and dust of centuries, and looks up.

[Twelfth Night/The Tempest, Viola and Miranda, shipwreck]
Father told her to wait, hidden, and so Miranda does, even if it's up on the bluff and not in their cave. So she sees the pieces of ship wash up, and she sees the various older men set out in groups across the island. But she also sees the young woman, just her age, who takes stock of her surroundings and her loneliness, who rips up an undershirt to bind her breasts, who cuts her hair jagged and short; Miranda watches the young man squint into the salt-sprayed sun and begin to hike into the hills, and she moves to follow.
[Narnia, Susan, social construction of reality]
She asks the priest: what is real? and he hands her a wooden crucifix and says - sacrifice, passion, original sin washed away by divine and human blood - and she grips the tiny cross so hard it splinters into her palm, but what she feels is stone.
She asks the nurse: what is real? and she says - the train's brake failed, it went around the corner much too fast and flew off the rails, and they all died on impact, probably without pain - and she identifies bodies and arranges funerals, but she dreams she is always running, further up and further in, but she is never fast enough.
She asks the trees: what is real? and they say - shhhhhhhh, we are being played upon by the wind, we are drinking sunshine, shhhhhhhh, you are alone and uprooted, shhhhhhh - and she walks away and asks no more.

[Narnia, Pevensies, temporal detente/where clocks are barely breathing/yet no one cares to notice]
There is a moment - no more, no less, and for each of them a different length - where one can feel oneself between worlds. Branches to coats, field to trainstation, the edge of the world to the smallest bedroom - there is a roughness to it, a hook, they say to each other, a catch, something slipping past. As if Narnia doesn't want to let them go, either.
metonomia: (hypatia)

I cannot believe I didn't have a Hypatia/Agora userpic, it was a travesty.  I made two tonight:

I MEAN JUST LOOK AT HER FACE. Plus, last librarian at Alexandria, physicist/geometer/philosopher feels to the max. Yes, I will be watching this movie and crying myself to sleep tonight.

I also made a couple others I think I will get good use out of:

This as my doomed Trojan women icon, because wow this is by far the single best scene in Troy, no words between them, only so much feels and Helen is writhing in guilt but she recognizes that nope she is not the most important person right now and she is the only person to go to Andromache who has just seen her husband killed, my ladiiiiiiiiiiiiiies, my doomed to survive with all they love killed before them beautiful ladies.

And this is one of Gustave Moreau's Death of Sappho paintings, just because it's pretty and mythological-historical, and Sappho!

And a couple more 3SF fills!

[Greek Mythology, Achilles/Iphigenia, the price to pay for glory]
They meet in Hades, and he shines brighter every day with the way his name is already carrying forward into the future. She is a little wisp of a shade, flickering a little every now and then into clearer notice.
But she looks at him, and will not look away, and he feels his glory diminished.

[Narnia, Cor/Aravis, marriage negotiations]
"You'll move into my bedchambers, though, right?"
"Cor, don't be ridiculous, after all the time Lucy spent helping me set up my boudoir, do you really think I'm moving? We'll sleep wherever we please, and that's that, now kiss me and let's go tell the family."

metonomia: (this sudden burst of sunlight)
Time for a roundup of what I have so far, I think!

[Narnia, Susan/Lune, if you are with me I go with joy to my rest]
"He's been calling for the Queen that was, Your Highness, and now for Queen Susan - he wants them to wait for him to catch up."
"Susan, love, don't leave again," the king gasped feverishly.
Oh, Aravis thought, squeezing Cor's hand where it rests on Lune's death-bed, so Corin was right, after all.

[Elementary, Joan Watson, the day my body caught fire the woodland darkened]
She knows the burn of losing someone for whom you are responsible. She thinks she knows what Sherlock feels when he can't stop until he's found a killer, no matter how closed the case.
The day she takes her first case on her own, a case everyone else has forgotten, she learns a new kind of fire has been smoldering inside her.

[anyone, anyone, "the truth is this: / my love for you / is the only empire i will ever build"]
"Why do you stay in Rome, Cesare?" Lucrezia asks one night, all innocent eyes and tousled hair. "By now you could have been an emperor."
"But you are in Rome, my love."

[Narnia, Susan Pevensie, here we are in the waiting room of the world]
"Well," she says, attempting to shake water off and finding herself quite dry. The wood is silent and still but humming with altogether too much emotion for her to categorize. "This is new."

[Supernatural, Cassie Robinson, investigative reporting disguised as fiction]
"Are you Cassie Robinson? Ohmigosh I love all your books, my favorite is the one about the ghost and her mortal lover, where do you get your ideas?"
The fan is young, bright-eyed, and clutching an omnibus of her best-selling hunting novels. Cassie smiles, and signs a book, and remembers why she does this.

[Supernatural, anybody, the Old Gods still breathe]
They think the world's most beloved, most feared, most powerful gods are dead at the hands of an upstart Word. And - technically - those bodies were more manifestation than vessel. But across the world prayers are still answered, curses set, cycles of birth and death and rebirth continue playing out as they always have.

[Bond-Skyfall/Harry Potter: M; Minerva McGonagall; civilian casaulties, collateral damage]
"It happens, we both know that; we've just got to go on anyhow."
"It shouldn't have to happen."
"We both know that, too - biscuit?"

[Downton Abbey/Narnia, the Crawley sisters go to Narnia]
They are Queens, all three of them, queens without husbands or parents or primogeniture, before they even realize how natural and strange this is. "She's so much happier here, have you noticed?" Edith asks Sybil, watching Mary greet petitioners one day. Sybil smiles, and if she's noticed the same thing about Edith, and about herself, well - there's no one here to defend their happiness to, and so she laughs and goes with Edith to visit the Trees.

[Narnia, Susan/Lucy, laughter]
Susan unpins her hair and tucks up her dress and sprints after Lucy into the summer grasses, tackling her sister to the ground with very little dignity and no shame. Lucy retaliates with kissing and tickling, and Susan throws her head back, baring her neck and belly in the manner of their favorite subjects. Lucy kisses her again, more deliberately and with greater abandon, and their laughter rises to the sun.

[Narnia, Lucy/Sea Girl, "among mortal women, know this / from every care / you could release me"]
Lucy sinks down, down, and this water is salty but the fisherdess' arms are the sweetest thing. She has been a queen, and a schoolgirl, a conqueror and an adventurer, but this is the most true. The Sea-Girl's lips collide with hers, another pair of lungs breathing air into hers, and she knows she will likely drown one day, but until then she will not give up this release.
[and then it kept happening]
They think themselves something out of a fairy tale, or a creation story. Land and sea and sky, twisting together, reveling in each other, loving and merging. They become the horizon, indistinguishable where they meet, melting, evaporating, refusing to wholly let go even when they are torn apart by worlds and time.
Some people say it is all part of Queen Lucy's myth, that she sang songs to the stars - so we came up with a star-girl; and she sailed and swam - so we came up with a sea-girl. Lucy hears the stories in True Narnia, realizes this is why people like Tirian and those generations look at her the way they do. It makes her laugh, because in True Narnia she and her girlfriends are inseparable, and none of them are more than they are.

[Narnia, Susan, and you're as loyal as your faith will let you be]
She cannot pray - she never had to in Narnia, finds no use for it here. Churches and temples are lovely, sweet houses or bastions of power, but they are cold and empty no matter how much incense is burned or how many bodies bend and bow.
Susan sits in her room at night, with pictures of her family, and looks at four glowing rings on the floor of a bookshelf, and remembers.

[Greek mythology, Penelope & Clytemnestra, diplomatic relations]
The message, woven in bumps and slurs, comes with a shipment of goods from Ithaca to Mycenae, in a chest of textile samples sent directly to Queen Clytemnestra.
So the war proceeds apace, Cousin, and our husbands will not return for some years yet, by my reckoning. We must ensure our mutual survival in the meantime.
[and continued]
Helen was the beauty of the family, yes. But she was not the only swan-born of the house of Leda, and it was Clytemnestra to whom Penelope had always turned for advice on matters of beauty and seduction and love. It was Clytemnestra who winked from across the room when Odysseus announced that he was giving up his suit of Helen, that he had a different wife in mind.

[Greek mythology, Hermione and Helen, the mother she does not know]
Her Aunt Clytemnestra is not a warm woman, and Hermione is not Iphigenia, but they have muddled along well enough for these ten years. She mostly thinks of herself as motherless, anyway - she has a few memories of Helen, a bright peripheral presence who may or may not have loved her, against years of hearing about the Spartan traitor-whore; it's not easy to determine what she should believe about her mother, so she has given up trying.
This woman who stands before her, renamed her mother and her father's wife and the queen of Sparta, does not look particularly broken, or ruined, or beautiful.

[The Tempest, Prospero and Miranda, her father's daughter, OR; The Tempest (2010 film), Prospera and Miranda, her mother's daughter]
Miranda has studied her father's knowledge for years, openly and in secret - not just Prospero's books but her clothing, her dresses and pants and crowns, the heeled boots that give her height, the staff that plants her solidly to the ground and reaches up to the sky. Prospero is a good father, and a better teacher. When the strange sea-soaked boy washes up onto their shores, Miranda knows exactly what to do.

[Narnia, Lucy, anger]
They do not understand, not one of them, even as Narnians creep fearfully out of hiding and Telmarines burn through the forests. They squabble over who knows best while her people, endangered by hope, continue to die.
Lucy takes up her knife and goes out to fight.

[Till We Have Faces, Psyche and Orual, the gods were in the wrong]
This worship they demand, this sacrifice, cannot hold. Choice is the purest benediction, and Orual does not choose to give up her sister to a cold illusion, and that choice is as sacred as Psyche's body laid out on a mountain.
"Light the lamp," she urges her sister, and she knows that if the gods want to keep their hold on the world, they will accept whatever she chooses to give them.

[Greek Mythology, Andromache & Cassandra, how the Trojans win the war]
Andromache stares at her sister - always more than just by marriage - and tries to understand. Cassandra is clearly not insane - none of the others even think that, they just talk as if she is, and ignore her as if she is - and Andromache can't think of any particular reason not to listen to the younger woman's warnings. The fatherless babe on her hip coos a little in sleep, and she narrows her whole self until she is an arrowpoint of will, and asks Cassandra, "Tell me what we do."

[The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland, Smoking Jacket & Gleam & Key, the loyal ones who wait behind]
They are useful, and they like being useful, and they would never presume to be the same as the Beings among September's companions. They pride themselves on being there when she needs them, and that is that. It doesn't hurt to be left to wait for when they are needed next - not much.

[Greek mythology, Cassandra, the end of the world]
Cassandra stares out from the walls, her watch lonely even amidst the crowd, as the chariot stirs dust toward Troy. Her vision sharpens until she can see the blood gasping from her brother's wounds, can see all the way to his spirit sinking into the dust of the land he loved, can see the cold fields of Hades that are her future. The city in flames creeps across her eyes, but this is not the first time she has watched the world end, and as she begins to wail she prays for it to finally happen.

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Thank you rth for doing this!

Everyone come play!


Jan. 29th, 2013 06:03 pm
metonomia: (Default)
Darlings! Does anyone have downloaded episodes of AsCast? Specifically we ([ profile] starbrowsings and I) are looking for what I think was episode 10.5, the interview with [ profile] animus_wyrmis (wyrm, did I email you a copy of it?)
metonomia: (sea of lilies)
dkajpowejapirjgpaoijthpoij I cannot, y'all, I am still in a state of shock that this fic is done.

Once upon a time (3+ years ago), [ profile] l_a_r_m and I were chatting and she said "shall we ship lucy/ramandu's daughter?" and I said omfg yes we shall, because obviously it is perfect, and clearly the reason Caspian and RD get on so well is partly that they both absolutely adore Lucy, and also of course Caspian and Lucy, partners in dim purple smells, would love the same star's daughter. My feelings could go on forever, but I am so drained and ecstatic and nervous, but I'm ready for people to read it.

when only one was shining

wordcount: 4594
rating: T
summary: She turned away, but with the autumn weather/ Compelled my imagination many days,/ Many days and many hours:/ Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers./ And I wonder how they should have been together! - - - The time spent on Ramandu's island, extended and expanded.
notes: thank you thank you thank you a thousand million thanks and all the love in the world to [ profile] l_a_r_m for the inspiration and [ profile] starbrowsings for a wonderful, helpful and encouraging beta.  Title is from the Wordsworth and summary quote as well as cut text from the Eliot at the end.

weave, weave the sunlight in your hair )

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Alright, [ profile] pencildragon11, this is a post to convince you to read Homer.

Reason 1 : much as I dislike statements like this, Homer is by many angles the instigator of western literary tradition.  Literally everything produced by the Greeks, Romans, and then Roman-influenced Europeans for thousands of years traced back to Homer. He is NOT the first known author/poet/bard/literary creator we know of [that would be Enheduanna, the Sumerian poet/priestess of the 23rd century BC, who is wonderful and amazing and everyone should read her], but he does so much with tying together oral tradition, poetic skill, classical history, and so on that there is no denying his impact and importance.

Reason 2 : FEELINGS. You might know this, just because it's such great trivia, but The Iliad's first line is "Rage!"  It, more so than The Odyssey (and The Aenead, which I'm lumping into this post because Virgil, though politically motivated, was very much for that reason trying to write the Roman continuance of Homer) though both of those have plenty of emotion, is all about, even though in classical times history was motivated by the gods rather than by humans, showing the human emotions and follies and triumphs and weaknesses that surround any 'great' event.  It's Great Men history, but it's also a wonderfully varied examination of humanity that I love for its defiance of the concept of 'universal human nature' [with the caveat that I'm sure someone could construct a universalist argument from Homer, but they would be wrong, so]. Characterization is something that we tend to be taught wasn't a big deal until the novel started popping up, but there is so much of it in Homer.  [And Virgil is awesome with it, too - see Dido.]

Reason 3 : EPICS.  You like LOTR, so you will like the feel of these, which are of course the classic examples of epic poetry.

Reason 4 : The poetry of it all - I suggest either the Alexander Pope or the Robert Fitzgerald translation of The Odyssey - the Fagles is alright, too - for their rendering of the feel of the Greek.  I have less strong feelings on The Iliad versions, but any of those three will also be good choices there.  The language is gorgeous, the fullness of epitaphs and personifications and the tendency to narrate very directly but in such lovely turn of phrase that it becomes both inherently readable (and memorable - that's another thing I like about those translations, particularly Fitzgerald which my classes have used, because the way they translate that feeling of the poetry into English maintains the oral poetry characteristic of being easy to memorize and say) and still fulfilling and satisfying as poetry.

Reasons 5-15 : Odysseus, Patroclus, Nestor, HEKTOR MY DARLING [omfg once you are done with all this you also have to read Chaucer's Troilus and Crisseyde, because it features an awesome female protagonist and it also continually confirms the fact that Hektor is the best person to ever live], Paris, Helen, Priam, ANDROMACHE, CASSANDRA [please also consider Euripides' play The Trojan Women, which is heartrending and beautiful and terrible], Aeneas, Dido, among others. [Also the gods esp in The Iliad are kind of awesome.]

Reason 16 : Gorgeous work with place-identity and scene-setting and all that. TROY - let's talk about the fact that there are TEN LAYERS OF TROY at its archaeological site.  The city that would not die, the city controlling the Black Sea route akljapoeiwjpoihjapoijr.  Also the entirety of Odysseus' journey. Also the thousand ships, the Greek ships on fire, the city burning, the temples razed. THE UNDERWORLD. THE FOUNDING OF ROME.

I could go on and on but I am quickly losing coherency, so :D

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Happy New Year, and all that jazz!  I went with my friend and her cousin to see the Space Needle fireworks, and we ended up right underneath it, so much that I actually got a bit of falling firework debris in my eye, and they were WONDERFUL, just really gorgeously done.  So that was a nice start to the new year (though, really, I still mentally organize my year's by school, so the only super momentous part of it now being 2013 is that I GRADUATE IN LESS THAN HALF A YEAR, WTF).

Anyway, Yuletide reveals happened, so I can post here that I wrote These Gentle Wolves, a Red Riding Hood story for Ladymercury_10, who had awesome prompts (I actually matched them on Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, but they wanted genderswap, girl wonder Red and kjfpaoijewpoaigj I had to).  This very much wants to be longer, but in classic me, concise was the name of the game -- if I did more with it, Red wants a second part in which she is the wolf around the village, and she wants an alternate second part in which she is both wolf and huntsman, and she also wants an entire other side of the story, in which she is raised by Ylva and the humans are the wolvish ones and vice versa. Perhaps one day.

Some recs! I have about ten billion tabs open, so more will probably come later, but for now:

The story written for me, Holy Darkness, a Til We Have Faces fic in which Psyche gets to talk about her experience with the divine, the incomprehensibility of it, the wonder and fear that go hand in hand, and also very much gives HER the agency in deciding to light the lamp, and I just reread it and am still reeling from some of the description that goes into her illusion-palace.

Lunete and Ondine, or The Clever Maiden, which is a CHRETIEN DE TROYES FANFIC IN VERSE. Y'all, it has a FAKE ACADEMIC TRANSLATOR'S NOTE, in which there is bickering over sources, and authorial probability, and homoeroticism! kajepaojoiajepoaijnopitj IT IS EVERYTHING I WANT FROM LIFE. Also, seriously, the way in which it not only ships Lunete and Ondine, but also simply shows a wonderful friendship between two confident and well-developed female characters, is perfection.


THEN THERE WERE THE ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE FICS. Friends, it was a glorious year for mythology fics (greek/roman and elsewise, though I haven't finished reading through any other mythology sections except the greek), and a lot of people were apparently reading my mind and my heart because they gave the world these things:

Grasping at Shadows, which is time-jumping, non-linear, genderqueer Eurydice and Persephone. DEATH GIVES EURYDICE IDENTITY.

go down to the netherworld (plant grapes), which is quite literally greek myth on drugs, and which does some wonderful things with the parallels between Orpheus/Eurydice and Hades/Persephone.

Snakebit, which is PROHIBITION EURYDICE. I cannot, this is seriously one of the best stories I've ever read, the obsession with the music, the alcohol, Persephone/Eurydice, Orpheus (and Eurydice) consumed by his gift, Eurydice seeking her own expression, the DOOM of it all, aoeijapwroijapoiwjrhpoiajtpoiajeiowjahpteij.

GO FORTH AND READ THESE THINGS. (I'm good at rec posts.)

metonomia: (Jo)
Dear Author,

Thank you for wanting to write one of these!!  Mostly I'm just going to be really excited to get a story for any of them, but I do have a couple general requests that I hope will make it easier on you, thought they also just might be confusing, because I like a lot of different types of stories. The point being, I'm pretty sure that I will love just about whatever I get.
General )

Till We Have Faces )

Greek and Roman Mythology )
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell )
Thank you thank you thank you in advance!


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We're not very regular about it, but my friends and I really love, because getting into pre-screenings for free is way better than paying theater prices for a movie :D  Obviously we don't often get the big blockbusters that way, but last week we were scrolling through and nabbed passes to Seven Psychopaths.  I'd only seen one brief preview, so my investment in it was mostly just that it looked somewhat fun, if not quite my usual type of movie, and that I liked a number of the actors (Colin Farrell mmmmmm). 

But it was really really great!  I don't want to spoil it because it was rather twisty and turny, but I liked that it managed to be that sort of dark humor shoot-em-up movie that I anticipated while still doing something novel. Particularly, I loved how surprisingly and essentially (and openly, and very humorously) meta it was.  It definitely tried to excuse its own problems by acknowledging them internally, which isn't really an excuse at all, but it had some poignancy to it and I appreciated that it was there at all.  It was just surprisingly aware, given the genre, and it was nice to get the shock of a fairly big name movie admitting to audiences that it's alright to be critical and to expect more out of it.  They still didn't give us what I might want out of my media, but, again, it was just a surprising added depth that I appreciated.

So, I think I recommend it!  Very fun, pretty thoughtful, and one of the few funny-gory type movies that I've come away from actually liking and wanting to talk about, as opposed to just being underwhelmed or annoyed.
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Y'all might have seen me cackle with glee over the AMC show Hell on Wheels before, but maybe not.  It's one of those odd shows that I am into not through fandom but because my roommates and I saw a preview for it, decided to watch it, and are hooked together, and for which fandom does not really seem to exist (which is way okay because it's also one of those shows that I wouldn't want much of a creative fandom for. I just like squealing over it).  

This is important, because my roommates and I NEVER all love a show this much.  Sure, we watch things together, like the Borgias, New Girl, now the Mindy Project, but in this case we are all irrevocably obsessed. Like, incoherent flailing squeaking noises obsessed.

But seriously, if you haven't been irreparably spoiled, the show is worth a watch.  They are very conscientious about portraying their problematic characters as such, and the mains all have great storylines, the acting is wonderful, the production value is awesome, and it's a lot of fun.

metonomia: (into the utter east)



The basics:
The Blessed Lucy Brocadelli, O.S.D. (also known as the Blessed Lucy of Narni), (Narni, 13 December 1476 - Ferrara, 15 November 1544) was a Dominican tertiary who was famed as a mystic and a stigmatic. She has been venerated by the Roman Catholic Church since 1710. She is known for being the counselor of the Duke of Ferrara, for founding convents in two different and hostile city-states and for her remains being solemnly returned to her home city of Narni on 26 May 1935, 391 years after her death.

In 1491 Lucy became Pietro's legal wife and the mistress of his household, which included a number of servants and a busy social calendar. Despite her busy social schedule as a Countess, Lucy made great efforts to instruct the servants in the Catholic faith and soon became well known locally for her charity to the poor.

Pietro observed Lucy's behavior, and occasional quirks, quite indulgently. He never objected when she gave away clothing and food. Nor when she performed austere penances, which included regularly wearing a hair shirt under her garments and spending most of the night in prayer and helping the poor. He also seemed to have taken in stride the story he was told by the servants that Lucy was often visited in the evenings by Saint Catherine, Saint Agnes, and Saint Agnes of Montepulciano, who helped her make bread for the poor.

However, when one of the servants came up to him one day and told him that Lucy was privately entertaining a handsome young man she appeared to be quite familiar with, he did react. He took up his sword and went to see who this person was. When he arrived, he found Lucy contemplating a large crucifix. The servant told him that the man he had seen Lucy with looked like the figure on the crucifix.


Lucy's departure precipitated a conflict between Ferrara and Viterbo which would continue for two years. Viterbo wanted to keep the famous mystic for themselves, and the Duke wanted her in Ferrara. After extensive correspondence between the parties, on April 15, 1499 Lucy escaped secretly from Viterbo and was officially received in Ferrara on May 7, 1499. Thirteen young girls immediately applied for admission to her new community; the construction of the monastery began in June and was completed two years later, in August 1501. It contained 140 cells for sisters and the novices, but to fill it with suitable vocations proved to be very difficult.

Lucy expressed the wish to have there some of her former friends from Viterbo and Narni. Duke Ercole, in September 1501, sent his messenger to Rome asking for the help of the pope's daughter, Lucrezia Borgia, who was preparing to marry the Duke's son, Alfonso. She collected all eleven candidates whom Lucy had indicated, and sent them as a special wedding present to Lucy and the Duke, a few days ahead of her bridal party. She herself solemnly entered Ferrara on 2 February 1502.[2]

And, how did we not know this already?

She also was possibly a source of inspiration for The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, as Lucy, a girl that believes and can see many things that other people cannot see. Walter Hooper, a biographer of Lewis, has referred to the possible connection.




Sep. 26th, 2012 01:58 pm
metonomia: (Default)
Hey, sorry to anyone who got a spam link message from my yahoo email account - I hadn't logged on for a few days so I just noticed it, but I've changed the password and whatnot so the problem should be fixed!
metonomia: (into the utter east)
So I'm trying to actually finally finish the Lucy/Ramandu's daughter fic that [ profile] l_a_r_m got me started on ummm I think at least two if not more years ago? (holy shit time flies)

Anyway I was flipping back through the latter chapters of Dawn Treader to double check the timing of certain events (why WHY couldn't they have tasted the sweet ocean water BEFORE reaching Ramandu's island?? also it would really help me if Lucy had seen the sea girl before then, too, but whatever)

and guys, this is really the most beautifully written of the whole series.

The wind never failed but it grew gentler every day till at length the waves were little more than ripples, and the ship glided on hour after hour almost as if they were sailing on a lake. And every night they saw that there rose in the east new constellations which no one had ever seen in Narnian and perhaps, as Lucy thought with a mixture of joy and fear, no living eye had seen at all. Those new stars were big and bright and the nights were warm. Most of them slept on deck and talked far into the night or hung over the ship's side watching the luminous dance of the foam thrown up by their bows.
On an evening of startling beauty, when the sunset behind them was so crimson and purple and widely spread that the very sky itself seemed to have grown larger, they came in sight of land on their starboard bow. It came slowly nearer and the light behind them made it look as if the capes and headlands of this new country were all on fire. But presently they were sailing along its coast and its western cape now rose up astern of them, black against the red sky and sharp as if it was cut out of cardboard, and then they could see better what this country was like. It had no mountains but many gentle hills with slopes like pillows. An attractive smell came from it -- what Lucy called "a dim, purple kind of smell", which Edmund said (and Rhince thought) was rot, but Caspian said, "I know what you mean."

Apart from contain the single most beautiful description I have ever read (or at least it is equal to anything else, and wins precedence by being one of the first I remember reading), and simultaneously the most direct and convincing moment of Lucy/Caspian canon, this whole section is just indicative of the feeling throughout the entire book - that Lewis loves what he's writing and wants you to love it, too. It's very boom-de-yada despite being about a fantastical world rather than this one, too, which I appreciate given that he'll come to try to tell us that the endgame of the whole series is the need for and supremacy of the next life.

[Plus also I think there's an argument to be made for the attractive dim purple smell to be that of Ramandu's daughter - obviously Lucy and Caspian are the ones who get it, as they are the ones who fall in love with her.]


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nor shunned the sight of God or angel

January 2014

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