literature
Whether written centuries ago or just last year, literary couples show that love is timeless.
Battle of the Boyfriends
Literature has a longstanding tradition of originating or propagating stereotypes. Tropes formed in classical literature are still widely prevalent in today’s wider culture; the wise old sage, the damsel in distress, and the heroic knight are but a few examples of the clichés that continue on in current popular culture. The societal expectations and values surrounding these tropes exist to a lesser extent, but they can still be found in abundance if examining the correct character. A damsel in distress written in the twenty-first century will assuredly have more agency than a similar character written four hundred years prior, but characterization around chivalry and masculinity have largely remained the same. From classic to present-day literature, it is the man’s duty to be loyal to his lady, his family, and above all, his lord. But what is a man to do when his family despises his love’s family? Or when allegiance to his overlord means betrayal to his own house? These are amongst the questions that will be examined in this essay, through the comparison of the male leads of both Romeo and Juliet and Game of Thrones—Romeo Montague and Jon Snow. This paper will juxtapose Romeo and Jon’s respective existences in the chivalric code, and how they embody differing aspects of the code by studying the ultimate of their character arcs. In addition, a section of the body will be dedicated to examining the militaristic presence of Jon’s lover, Daenerys Targaryen, and how her inversion of traditional gender roles leads Jon to make the ultimate sacrifice for his country.
By Lauren Humphreys6 years ago in Humans
Land deficient in sense
Jorgen and Kirstine, a friendly and curious Danish couple, had enough of the Bulgarian big cities. Neither the city centres offered some meaningful experience, neither the churches impressed them, even less the architecture. They were kindly advised by Lonely Planet not to miss the mountains and this is where they were heading to. But not the most famous mountains, no, they were on their way to the mysterious and remote Strandga. The distance was not to be underestimated and they stopped at a pretty seaside town called Sozopol and rented a room from a desperate old lady that was patiently waiting at a New Town bus stop with a sign in her hands: “Rooms 20 lv.”
By Elena Stoyanova Kalcheva6 years ago in Humans
Call it what you'd like
It goes down like a pill. Stubborn and reluctant. But it’s my spinach, my pride that is. It never gets any easier to stomach but you have to do something with it. I cherish the moments I’m not mentally eviscerating myself but… That’s impossible here. I don’t know why I keep coming back. I guess without pride being my vice gluttony would have to do me in. Ugh why is nobody ever here? There’s not even a crowd to blend in with. I don’t really care though, the problem is she’s in there… with him. It would take some crowd to distract me from that though, from her I mean. I could stare through a parade’s worth of bodies without a problem and be able to somehow still notice her every move… She’d still have my undivided attention. I'm not here for that though. I could waste an entire day listing and contemplating everything I love about her. I’m here something a little more selfless, and a shit load more consistent. I’m here for the double choco-chubasaur. Goddamn this diner for naming that masterpiece something so juvenile. It should be recreated in acrylic paint blessing a canvas, carved in marble, and only then offered a name reverent and beautiful. Something to speak to its unmistakably gourmet quality. To order it you should have to make an offering, a sonnet… something. I’m not sure most people share my enthusiasm for it though, So I’ll just continue to ask my ex or one of her lucky colleagues for a fucking “Chubusaur”
By Uneven Mod6 years ago in Humans
For the Love of a Blonde with Sand
It was a dark and stormy afternoon. No, that's not right. Jess looked out the diner window at all the people rushing down Willow Street with the sun dripping its afternoon rays on them like raindrops. The only thing dark and stormy about this day was her attitude. She was a copywriter for a local magazine which was now past tense. She had just been fired from her job an hour before and in an angry and confused haze she'd wandered over to the diner and plopped down in her favorite seat, the corner booth. She liked the corner booth because it had the perfect view of the entire diner with a wide view of Willow Street. She also had a direct line of sight to the front door of her office building; correction, her former office building.
By stephanie owens6 years ago in Humans
Josie's
Our little desert town was a quiet sea of dust. Nothing extraordinary happens; just people existing until they eventually evaporate in the heat. But the aesthetic of the surrounding landscape has drawn all kinds of people to it- from filmmakers and pretentious cliques of artists to those “adventurers” that have never lived in a desert and believe there is some mystical property to it. Maybe there is.
By Violet Vela6 years ago in Humans
Chagrin Delight
One time, in a long time, a feeling of creepy uneasiness came upon him. He tasted this feeling in his mouth and wanted to spit it out. It was more in his mind rotting away every thought that he had of her. His mind could sometimes get the worst of him.
By Bazooka Teaches6 years ago in Humans
Shadows In The Hall
Shadows in the hall. This is the first Chapter in my book. I worked as a LVN for nearly 40 plus years until a fall at work shortened my career. Over time, after the fall, I recieved 2 Hip replacements and a Left Knee replacement, limiting my abilities. Then, in 2003 I was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure, bringing my career to a halt, I was now told because of my condition I would not be able to work around sick people! That was my business!
By Linda Pavlos6 years ago in Humans
THE ONE
“And there you are, the Michael Anderson Special!” I rolled my eyes as Micheal set the plate in front of me. Three years of dating and almost one year of marriage, and one-eyed jacks were still the only thing Michael could cook. He kissed the top of my head and sat down across the table from me. I picked up my fork and started to cut the toast and eat it in small slow bites. Normally, I am hungry for breakfast. I didn’t know if it was all the weird dreams lately, or eggs, again, that had me gagging down my breakfast.
By Alexandria Maxwell6 years ago in Humans
