#everything mythologically inaccurate

[lturnips]

Someone who doesn't know anything about greek mythology watching Kaos: yh this is probs pretty accurate

Someone who knows a fair bit about greek mythology watching Kaos: this is so inaccurate they have changed everything

Someone who had studied greek mythology watching Kaos: omg omg omg so much of this is so accurate

[nipsyyy]

I hate how patriarchy has even ruined Hindu mythology so specifically to benefit the men.The casual jokes on family WhatsApp groups about how Mahabharat and Ramayan, the worst wars of all time, were fought because of a woman and how women bring ruin everywhere they go,as if they are the root cause of all suffering. Where in fact the women were LITERALLY the victims, one was publicly humiliated, the other kidnapped.The men have misinterpreted the stories so badly that it physically pains me, god went to war not because of women, they went to war FOR them.Because what happened to the women was WRONG,they weren’t to blame, the ones who wronged them were.

I also see a major polarisation in how a huge section of Hindus treat Sita and Draupadi, and it reminds me of the quote “a woman has to do everything right for her to be a victim and a man has to do everything wrong for him to be a culprit.”It breaks my heart at the number of times I’ve heard men say “well Draupadi shouldn’t have disrespected him,aise toh hona hi tha na fir”,first and foremost,that’s an inaccurate narrative promoted by wrong retellings who need to constantly find a reason to blame the victim,she did no such thing and you can find pretty much evidence for it everywhere.But even if she had, it does NOT make it okay for them to publicly disrobe her.This is one more example of the victim blaming culture that I see deep ingrained in the minds of so many of these dumbfuck Hindus who have absolutely no respect for their culture.So next time don’t go to ram mandirs and krishna mandirs if you can’t even truly understand and respect the relevance behind their existence.

[kermitgardel17]

Ehem...sorry I love pathetic worshipful masochist yanderes

Lmao this is a concept I had in mind for a while now and idk if I developed it well but here we gooo

Warning: Cringe and inaccurate Greek Mythology. Fans of mythology pls don't kill me, i tried </3 Also wrote this at 4AM. More under the cut

• Death was lonely and depressing—Thanatos knew that better than anyone. It was his job, after all

• But out of all the souls he guided, why did yours catch his attention? The only one that glowed among all the dull ones

• He was supposed to bring you to the underworld—he knew that. But after seeing into your soul, so pure it touched even his almost non-existent one, he couldn’t understand why you deserved that fate. The thought of you reincarnating as some insect made him...sick

• Thanatos could barely remember the moment he broke the divine laws for the first time, sailing your soul to a safe place where you could reincarnate in peace. He knew Hades would be pissed off, but did he really care at this point?

• So when he was condemned to cease to exist, to be replaced, he reached to where the souls in the Underworld were kept. And, in his last moments, he didn't doubt to break the divine laws twice. Thanatos saw the most alive chance, Asclepius' soul, and ate it hoping to survive the divine punishment

• The other gods were disgusted at his actions, more so that he dared survive and defy them yet again

• So...they banished him to the mortal plane, cutting off his wings and cursing him with immortality

• He lost his identity, his purpose, his place, everything he knew...After his sins, was he even the same person from before?

• He doesn't even remember when his obsession started, only the deep loneliness and longing that enveloped him for the next 1200 years. Even then, he swears your brightness was the only light he could see

• So when his prayers of finally meeting you again were answered, he didn't wait any longer

• Apparently, you were now an adventurer and made a good living out of it. He didn't hesitate to take use of his abilities and disguise himself as a healer. Alyseos alredy had some reputation in town for being able to heal the deepest injuries and even revive the death. Your guild, though hesitant, took him in

• You didn't understand why the others seemed so...intimidated? By him? But he was such a gentle sweetheart with you! Always making sure you eat your three meals and patching up your exhausted body...he may be worse than your mom

• Or, well, at least that's your impression ignoring the literal shrine and detailed anatomy studies of your body he's dedicated you in his room...

• Don't worry if you notice some of your teammates suffering weird pests or acting like zombies after a certain brain surgery...

• Did he mention he loves euthanasia? He could end your friends' suffering if it was too bad <3

• Just never get out of his sight...he might as well go crazy if he has to suffer another millennium without his god

[margaretkart]

The Double Standard in Depicting Greek Gods

It’s honestly baffling how people will bend over backward to justify changing the ethnicity of Greek gods while acknowledging that it would be wrong for other deities. The excuses? “The gods have many interpretations!” or “They’re universal concepts!” But here’s the thing—the Ancient Greeks never portrayed their gods as anything other than Greek. That’s a fact.

Now imagine if someone depicted Guan Yu, a major Chinese deity, as a Black man. Or if Thor, a Norse god, was drawn as a South Asian man. Or if Anubis, an Egyptian deity, was suddenly given blonde hair and blue eyes. People would immediately call it out as disrespectful, inaccurate, and erasing cultural history. And they’d be right. So why is it that when it comes to Greek gods, suddenly everything is up for interpretation?

1. "The Greeks themselves had different depictions!"

Sure, different regions had variations in how they portrayed their gods, but guess what? They were still Greek. Whether Athena was shown in Athenian or Spartan armor, she was never depicted as, say, Egyptian or Persian. Regional differences do not equal changing an entire ethnic identity.

2. "Gods are universal!"

Okay, let’s test that logic. Are Shinto kami “universal”? Would it be acceptable to depict Amaterasu as an Indigenous American deity? Of course not. Every pantheon belongs to a specific culture. The Greek gods were born from Greek mythology, created by Greek people, reflecting Greek values. They weren’t plucked from the void to be reshaped however anyone pleases.

3. "It’s just artistic interpretation!"

Sure, and if someone decided to "artistically interpret" African or Indigenous deities as white, it would be immediately criticized as colonialist erasure. So why doesn’t that same logic apply to Greek mythology? If people actually respected Greek culture, they’d represent its gods accurately instead of making them fit whatever aesthetic they prefer.

4. "Ancient Greece was diverse!"

Yes, Greece had trade and cultural exchanges, but Greek religion remained Greek. No amount of foreigners passing through Athens would make Zeus suddenly look Indian or East Asian. Just like how Egyptian gods stayed Egyptian despite foreign influences, and Norse gods remained Norse despite trade with other cultures.

Greek mythology belongs to Greek culture, just like every other pantheon belongs to its own people. It’s completely valid to call out inaccurate representations, and it’s frustrating that Greek mythology is treated as some open-source fantasy world while other cultures get to have their gods respected. If people genuinely admire Greek mythology, they should respect its origins instead of twisting it into something unrecognizable.

[sunsets-and-crows]

Let The Dead Watch Us Bloom

Chapter 2 - The stranger wife

Words: 6.4K

- - -

The flowers are dying. The gods are listening. And the deal you made in the dark is already binding. The price is written in blood and bones. How will you survive in a world so unlike your own?

Thank you to my gem and beta-reader @diamondtiger for the cover photo! 💎💎💎

Content warnings ⚠️

Hades/Sylus, Persephone/Reader, probably OOC for both, death, grief, eventual smut. Inaccurate use of Greek Mythology.

I'll add to this list as we progress through these chapters but let me know if theres something I missed please!

You were choking on air that wasn’t air. 

Heavy and perfumed, it coated your lungs like velvet: sweet with rot, rich with earth, thick as incense curling from an unseen censer. 

You didn't know where you were. You only knew it was not your bedroom. Not your life.

You sat up slowly, trembling hands slipping over silk the colour of blood. Your body moved, but each shift felt wrong. Your skin burned. Your mouth was dry. Your limbs felt like they’d been sewn together with unfamiliar thread. Everything was wrong.

Your hair, too long. Your skin, too smooth. Your bones felt lighter, your soul somehow heavier.

You gasped, scrambling, “Where-?” you croaked, then stopped.

Because your voice wasn’t your voice.

It was yours. And yet it wasn't. The pitch was too smooth, the timbre too honeyed. You bared your legs, raking your hands along the skin there, searching for any features you would recognise: a scarred knee from riding your bike as a child, a freckle, hell, even a hair. 

But every feature on your body was as unfamiliar as a stranger. 

It came back to you in fragments. A deal with a deity that left you… Well, where did it leave you?

You breathed deeply, the same sticky-sweet scent filling your senses. It was grounding in a way, shaking your frayed nerves and forcing you to focus on what was happening around you, even as you felt the panic creeping up your spine. 

Was it too dramatic to throw up? 

You peered over the edge of the boat as it rocked, 

The water, if it was water, was beyond black. Oily and iridescent, shifting like the surface of a raven’s wing or the belly of a thundercloud. The surface pulsed softly with a current that ran smoothly under the thick and endless river. 

You leaned forward, elbows braced against the edge of the boat, trying to steady yourself as another wave of nausea curled through your stomach. 

You’d thrown up in the back of a taxi once. That had been bad enough.  Vomiting in front of what looked like an ancient, ageless ferryman who hadn’t spoken a word in ten thousand years? Somehow, you sensed that it would go down even worse. 

The waters of the Styx were beautiful in a way. Their endless stretch perfectly reflected the surroundings, distorting everything around you with ripples and pulses. You gazed into the depths, trying to see how deep the river flowed.

Your face, warped, stared back at you. 

Except it wasn’t your face in the slightest. Black hair, piercing green eyes and perfect skin all stared back at you. Familiar, in a way that made your throat close around a scream that threatened to burst forth from between your lips. 

It was her. 

Persephone. 

Her features rippled across the river’s surface, and for one wild moment, you thought she was beneath it, watching you. Waiting.

You jerked back, breath catching in your throat, hand flying to your face like you could wipe her away. But the shape of your cheek, lips, and bones beneath your skin were hers now.

There was no one to see your quiet panic. 

Not a single soul to bear witness to the way the Queen of the Underworld cupped her cheeks and pinched her skin in an effort to ground herself. 

You were alone. 

On a boat. 

In the middle of the river Styx.

On the way to the underworld. 

Gods, you were fucked. 

The ferryman, Charon, stood at the helm of the tiny vessel. He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t looked at you. But you knew.

He was older than memory, older than time. No eyes. No voice. Just that awful silence he wore like a second skin, the press of centuries clinging to him like smoke. His robes whispered as he moved. His hands, bone-white and ancient, gripped the pole with unwavering control. Steady. Every motion was deliberate, ancient. He had ferried thousands before you. He would ferry thousands more after.

The information whipped through your brain, unbidden, unlearned by you. 

You knew his name. Knew his oaths. Knew the exact number of coins once placed on the eyes of the dead to pay for safe passage and how many had tried to cheat him. You knew the rules of this place. The weight of them. The consequence of breaking them. The routes through Elysium. The twisting paths of Tartarus.

You knew it all. 

It was not your knowledge, the way the memories invaded your skull and pressed against the fractured seams of your mind told you as much. This was another thing that belonged to Persephone. They were her memories threading themselves through your mind, like ivy growing unrelentingly through old stone; soft, invasive, and inevitable.  

The goddess had said you'd share them. You hadn’t realised she meant it literally.

They came in flashes. Truth dropped into your skull like coins into a fountain, rippling outward until they changed the shape of you.

And with it came the rage.

Persephone’s rage burst through you, quiet and coiled and long-suffering. A grotesque and villainous husband snatching her from the light and deceiving her with the seeds of a pomegranate. The grief of a thousand springs stolen. The exhaustion of never quite belonging in either world. 

And deeper still, there was something else. Another echo. Something older than memory.

Power.

It licked along your spine, curled at your fingertips. A whisper of seeds buried in your mouth, of vines itching to grow from your footprints. Of life and death intertwined.

You clenched your hands. The boat kept moving. Charon made no sound, no gesture but the slow, steady push of his oar through that endless dark water.

The deal had been made. The ambrosia had sealed it. You had swallowed it down and thought you’d wake from a dream. But you hadn’t. You had woken up in a myth. A prison made of moonlight and smoke.

The wind shifted. You caught the sweet scent of datura mixed with a chilling vibration in the air. Somewhere on the shore, something monstrous began to howl.

You hadn’t realised that your journey was complete until the boat ground to an aching halt beneath you. It groaned, a long, splintering sigh, as it scraped along the shore. Like something carved from bone and old sorrow, reluctant to part with its passenger.

You stepped onto the riverbank, wincing as the soft and yielding earth gave underfoot. It was like grave-damp loam, thick with memory and rot, sucking at the soles of your sandals until they were encased in filth. The same filth clung to the hem of Persephone’s dress, your dress, as the crimson robes darkened with it, turning into something akin to dried blood. 

There was no sun, only a dull, sickly light that hung in the sky like a dying star. The world underneath was bathed in withered greens and bruised violets, hues that were never seen in your realm. The light touched nothing gently, casting shadows without shape, and turning the living grey and the dead luminous.

And somehow, you shone.

The unnatural light slid over your skin like moonlight over marble. It shimmered through your onyx hair. Reflected off your eyes. Persephone’s beauty was worn like a crown you had no right to carry.

The air reeked of soil, salt and something older than both, tasting hot in your lungs and making you want to sneeze from discomfort. 

Before you, the entirety of the underworld stretched out beyond the banks of the Styx, beautiful and endlessly vast. It reminded you of old maps from your favourite childhood books, familiar in a sense.

The River Styx wound down from the mountainside where you stood, carving black veins through the valley below. It split and forked meeting with four other rivers. The Lethe, the Phlegethon, the Cocytus and the Acheron, all converging to form a massive lake, wide as any city. 

You could see it clearly from this height, this ledge of stone and ruin where Charon had dropped you like an offering. The lake sat at the heart of everything, beating as the rivers brought life to everything around it. At least, they should have been. 

You had expected noise. Ravenous screams from souls suffering in Tartarus, endless voices clamouring to be heard over the roar of fire and water. But there was almost perfect silence. Only the wind whispered through the air, and even that seemed afraid to speak.

Persephone’s voice stirred inside you, bitter as wormwood.

 Let it rot for all I care. 

And it had. 

The Asphodel meadows, once said to stretch soft and endless, now lay collapsed across the landscape in a smear of greying ruin. A barren field of half-remembered things. Broken, colourless, withered flowers bent toward the cracked soil. Faded grass rasped in the breeze, dry, lifeless, and brittle.

Nothing bloomed properly.

An almost perfect mirror image of your little plant shop. Broken, dry and dead, the underworld reeked of the same neglect that ruined your livelihood.

It was hideous. Yet somehow, it was beautiful.

There was a ghost of memory clinging to the walls of your mind, begging you to think on it for just a moment, to admire what it had once been. The divine design was still embedded in the soil like perfume on silk, faded and cloying, desperate to be remembered. There was glory here once, a kind of mercy for the souls of the dead.

But the mercy had curdled.

Memories surged up behind your eyes, uninvited and warped. They were not clear thoughts, just feelings—impressions, like stained glass viewed from the wrong side—murky.

A meadow, long ago, with vibrant grass like crushed velvet. Blossoms the colour of wine and cream, blooming like soft stars. A hush of wind so delicate, carrying the perfume of new rain and crushed herbs, a solace in a world of death and destruction.

But even that memory turned to rot. Petals blackened at the edges, air turned sour, and the ground splitting roots like ribs bursting out of old skin.

Roots bursting out like ribs.

Let it die. 

This place does not deserve life. 

He does not deserve life. 

Not from me. 

Your hand clutched at your racing heart, pulses of nausea twisting through your chest, and a grief that did not belong to you catching around your teeth.

“I was wondering how long you were going to stand there, your majesty.”

The soft voice cut through you like the snap of a dry twig.

A girl stood on the path ahead, emerging from where the mountain slope curved down into the beginning of the valley. She appeared young, someone who had died too beautifully and lingered that way for too long, with half-wreathed mist curling and tumbling around her shoulders. A more tangible soul than anyone you had seen down the valley, and seemingly untouched by the same weariness that threaded through the land. Her robes were thin, gossamer silk flowing like smoke behind her. The robes of someone much higher up than the other souls that graced the banks of the great river. 

You didn’t know her, but you knew her. 

Eurydice.

The name bloomed inside of you, blossoming with Persephone’s recognition, a weary familiarity with no warmth or fondness. She was Persephone’s lady-in-waiting. 

She bowed. Barely. Just enough to be proper. Just enough to show she was choosing not to do more.

“Welcome home, my lady,” she said. Her voice was dry, polite, and unmistakably suspicious. 

Her gaze lingered too long. Her head tilted just slightly, like she was reading a smudge in a painting that shouldn’t be there.

You felt as though all your secrets had been laid bare before her, that she could see right through you, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. 

Where were Persephone’s memories now? Surely there should’ve been a script, a routine, a phrase, a tone to mimic. But there was nothing. Eurydice’s face wasn’t attached to any clear memories of conversation, just a sense of quiet contempt. It was like they’d barely spoken. 

You nodded because that was all you could do. You reached for that cold detachment that she seemed to wear like perfume in her memories. 

“Things look… different,” you said. 

Eurydice's lip twitched. Not quite a smile, more like amusement sharpening the edge of her mouth. 

“This way, my lady. We should get you ready for your evening meal. Hades doesn’t like to be kept waiting. As I’m sure you know.” 

Did you know that? 

You weren’t sure of anything, other than the fact that you were so out of your depth, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Not that there would be any place left to go, you were already in the Underworld.

You followed her down a sloping path carved into the hillside. Narrow and crumbling, lined with low walls that might once have framed gardens or orchards. It reminded you of little British hamlets and medieval villages bustling with life and joy. Now they were marked with centuries of ruin.

Flanking the path were pieces of the Underworld. Shadowy plateaus, distant gates, and open pits shrouded in haze. You felt the weight of names pressing behind your eyes. Lethe. Tartarus. The Fields of Punishment. Each one a phantom that might solidify if you stared too long.

You kept walking, wondering if this is how Dorothy felt as she walked her path down the yellow-brick road. 

Probably not, this seemed a lot more daunting. 

The path narrowed as you descended, cutting into the mountainside like a scar, and then widening again as it plateaued off. 

You followed Eurydice along the base of the path, framed by jagged stone and mist, until you arrived at a gate. 

Like everything in the underworld, the gate was timeless and ageless, seemingly grown from the black iron vines that twisted into its monstrous arch. It latticed and spiked, humming with a kind of divine energy that you couldn’t comprehend. Behind it, you caught a glimpse of the main road leading toward the heart of the underworld, a fractured ribbon of stone vanishing into trees. What should have been gardens flanked the path, but like the rest of the land, they lay in ruin. Tangles of thorns and dying hedges hunched low like creatures too weary to stand. 

As you and Eurydice approached the gate, a low rumble vibrated through the soles of your feet. Your memories already understood, but your own mind struggled with the realisation of what the monstrous thing could be. 

Emerging from the mist with slow, deliberate thumps. His body radiated a menace born not just of size, but of age, of being feared for centuries unbroken. His paws were the size of dinner plates, claws curved and cracked, and his fur was dark, almost greying with matted, knotted ash and what looked like dried blood. One head watched you with cold reptilian stillness, the second snarled, low and guttural, lips curled to expose jagged teeth the size of your fingers. And the third… the third was already watching you like it knew something. Something important. 

Cerberus.

He was much bigger than you’d imagined. Bigger than anything had a right to be. He looked more like some cursed warhorse than any creature born of dogs. Massive, monstrous, and stitched together by a god with no concept of restraint. He was all muscle and hard bone, a perfect weapon for violence and keeping out the living. And yet, there was something else in him. Something old and raw. Grief, or loyalty, maybe. The kind carved into you through centuries of solitude and mistreatment. 

You gaped in awe of him, even as he snarled and grumbled. 

Beside you, Eurydice halted, her body tense as the low, warning growl rumbled through Cerberus’ chest like the echo of thunder. 

He moved toward you both, low, deliberate, heads dipping one by one as he crossed the threshold between territory and threat. Three pairs of eyes locked on yours, and for a breathless second, it was like staring into the centre of a storm.

Eurydice reached for your arm, terrified. 

But you weren’t. 

A dog is still a dog, after all; even one with three heads must exhibit some “normal” dog-like behaviours. You loved animals. All animals, even the ones that growled at you, ran away, or bit you. 

You were determined to make this one your friend. To try and heal some of the years of training him to be a tool, rather than a pet. 

You stepped forward, and the big puppy backed up just slightly, teeth bared now on all three heads, foam glistening at the corners of his mouths, hackles raised high and trembling with barely concealed anger.  You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and damp and laced with decay.

But Persephone’s body didn’t flinch.

So neither did you.

“What’s got you all riled up, huh?” you murmured, voice quiet and even, the way you used to speak to sick animals in your shop, strays with infected eyes and fur matted to the skin, feral things that didn’t know what kindness sounded like anymore.

Cerberus snarled. The middle head lurched forward. Eurydice hissed your name like a warning, like a prayer she didn't believe in. 

Cerberus would never truly hurt an immortal or one of the dead, so you were both perfectly safe. But somewhere deep, the part of you that was human wondered if having the soul of a mortal might make you the exception to the rule. 

“Sit,” you commanded, keeping that warmth in your tone, but something in the way you said it pulled taut in the air and the hound froze. 

All three heads went still. 

One blinked. Another growled, a questioning, unsettled noise, as if the sound had slipped out before he could stop it.

A moment passed. 

He almost nodded, and then Cerberus lowered himself to the ground. His hind legs bent first, tucking under himself with a small almost hop, then his front legs joined in, one paw folding delicately beneath the other. 

The stone almost trembled beneath his weight. 

Not quite a proper sit, but at least he wasn’t growling anymore. 

You took a step closer, slow and sure, your gaze steady even as your heartbeat battered your ribs like a bird trying to escape its cage.

“Good boy,” you whispered.

One head tilted toward you, the middle one, with a nicked ear and a scar down the muzzle. His tail twitched with the urge to wag. 

Deciding to push the boat, you reached your hand out to him, open and confident, letting him sniff your scent and get to know you. He would’ve met Persephone before, right? He knew her scent, right?

Cerberus leaned in, cautiously at first, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were offering. Then, fully, burying the weight of his skull into your palm with a rumble that could have been a growl or a purr.

The other heads were not as patient.

The leftmost head shoved his sibling aside, nudging hard against your arm for attention, while the third snarled jealously and wedged his snout beneath your hand, baring his throat in submission.

“Oh,” you laughed, the sound breathless and strange in your ears. “So you’re greedy now, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

The three heads were fighting for affection, batting at each other like puppies in a litter, each trying to climb over one another to get closest to your touch. A low, vibrating growl buzzed through his chest, the kind that spoke of contentment combined with a tail that wagged so powerfully, that the earth rumbled with each slap of it against it. 

“Settle down,” you murmured. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Behind you, Eurydice still hadn’t moved.

Cerberus curled closer, still rumbling contentedly beneath your hand, each head jostling the others for space. Their massive shoulders pressed into your side, and you felt their breath ruffle the hem of your robes like wind through the dead grass.

You turned slightly, just enough to glance back at Eurydice who was still frozen in place. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes, sharp and knowing, had lost what little reverence they once held.

She tilted her head, curls falling over one shoulder.

Then, flatly, like it didn’t matter at all:

“He’s never…” she said, and her voice caught, barely audible. “Well, you're certainly not Persephone, but you must be the goddess of something if he’s reacting like this to you.” 

A pause. Not long enough for denial. Not long enough for excuses.

“She would never greet him like that. And she’s never once called him ‘sweetheart.’”

Eurydice swept past you, her robes whispering across the stone, and opened the gates before you could respond, her voice drifting back like an afterthought. “You’ll want to fix that before dinner, I suppose.”

The palace loomed before you like a memory half-forgotten. Spires of black stone pierced the sky, twisted and jagged like frozen lightning, curved from obsidian and the bones of giants. The gates yawned wide, swallowing you and Eurydice whole as you passed through them. 

You tried to focus on the details. You’d heard that it worked to anchor people in moments of high anxiety, so you listed them in your head. The echo of your sandals as your feet hit the polished stone floors. The scent of smoke and oud clinging to the hallways. The burgundy mosaics beneath your feet. The labyrinth of corridors that Eurydice led you through. 

Nothing worked. Your thoughts skittered uselessly, lost in the weight of the moment prior. 

Of course, she had seen right through you. Who were you kidding? You were nothing like the ageless Goddess of Spring. What did you think was going to happen? 

The truth had spilled, clumsy and raw, from your lips on the walk from the gate. Like a sinner confessing their truth from memory, unsure if any of it would be believed. How Persephone had come to your shop. How she’d offered you salvation. Everything. Or at least, everything you understood.

Eurydice hadn’t said much. She’d just walked beside you, her silence brittle. Until, finally, she broke the tension. 

“Of course she did,” Eurydice said, the words flat as ash. The tone of someone betrayed so many times, it had stopped feeling personal.

“She hates this place. Has since she stepped foot in it. The first crack in the stone was from her sigh of disgust.” 

You didn’t know what to say. So you said nothing. 

“That was your first mistake,” Eurydice chuckled humourlessly. “You were wayyyy too nice. He’s going to see straight through that. You want to be convincing?” She turned slightly, giving you a once-over. “You’ll need to carry yourself like you’ve got a sceptre lodged up your ass.”

Your jaw dropped open. “Should you be saying things like that about a Goddess?” you’d asked, shocked. 

She snorted. “Please. She can’t hear me. Not up in her precious mortal world.”

“But still-”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. What’s she going to do, smite me again? What’s death times two?”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or wince. “Aren’t you worried?”

“About her?” Eurydice shrugged, then tilted her head, voice dropping just slightly. “No. About the others? Maybe. The gods don’t like being criticised. They like obedience. Worship. And silence.”

She looked you dead in the eye for a moment too long.

And then, softer:

“Just… be careful with your kindness, alright? It makes you easy to spot.”

You nodded, mulling it over and then straightening your back a little more. 

The dressing chamber smelled of citrus and sweet herbs, musky and oudy from incense and perfumed oils. It hung heavy in the air, thick like honey. Fabrics pooled across every surface in shades of every colour, black, bruised plum, blood wine, moonlight white, silver, and gold gossamer silk softer than anything you’d ever felt. 

Eurydice didn’t speak. She moved through the fabrics with expert hands, brushing velvet and silk aside like a priest, so used to the ritual it had become second nature. 

Finally, she pulled a black gown from a carved wardrobe and held it up to the candlelight. It shimmered faintly, its surface swallowing the glow of light like a mirror to another world.

A perfect complement to the richness of Persephone’s hair, something that could drink in the sun and never return it. 

“Arms up,” she said, already stepping forward.

You obeyed. The fabric settled over you, clinging in places that made you flush, and flowing so perfectly with the curves of Persephone’s perfect figure. The sleeves swept from your shoulders like raven wings mid-moult. The neckline plunged. The neckline plunged with the waist sculpting itself into your ribs. When you caught your reflection in the nearest mirror, you stopped breathing.

She was beautiful before, in your tiny little shop, surrounded by dead flowers and dreams. But like this, she shone with an otherworldly radiance. It was unnatural, the intensity of a beauty meant to be worshipped and feared. 

“Hair,” Eurydice said next, already behind you, leading you to a vanity. 

Her fingers in Persephone’s curls were quick, precise, and practiced. Braiding like she was weaving armour and crowning you with coils of black and gold. Pins slid through your scalp like thorns through fruit. Your eyes watered, but you held still.

“Is this really necessary?” you asked, hating the way your voice trembled.

Eurydice made a sound low in her throat. Not quite a laugh. “You’re about to dine with a god. With your husband. You have to show up looking like she would.”

She reached for a slender vial on the vanity and poured silver oil into her hands. It glittered like melted stars, catching in the hollows of her palms. She worked it into your skin, your arms, collarbones, and throat until you gleamed with light that came from within. 

The scent was heady, creamy tonka and nutmeg mixing with the Goddess’ natural scent. 

Your skin drank it like water. And when she was finished, you barely recognised yourself.

Power looked back from the mirror.

Painted over your bones. Pressed into your mouth and eyes and all the spaces where fear used to live.

Eurydice stood behind you, her face unreadable. Her eyes flicked to yours in the glass.

“Try to act like you belong here.”

You stared at yourself for a long moment. At the gown. The braids. The liquid gleam of oil on your collarbone. 

“Who exactly is he?” you exhaled.

Eurydice blinked, needing a beat to realise what you were asking about, who you were asking about. “Hades?”

You nodded, averting your eyes to hide the spike of fear you felt. “I mean… I’ve seen him in her memories. Is he really so cruel? So…”

“Grotesque?” Eurydice offered, already turning away to put away the oils. You nodded.  “Mmmm, that makes sense.”

You hesitated. “So is he… like that, I mean?”

She chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be able to see for yourself if you're patient enough. But no, Hades is a God after all, he looks like the rest of them.”

You looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Then why does he look like that in her memories?”

Eurydice leaned against the vanity, folding her arms. “Because that’s what she wanted to see. It’s easier to hate someone if you make them monstrous.”

Your mouth was dry.

“He’s a man, a God. They all have the ability to be monstrous, especially husbands, but he’s not the villain you’re expecting to see.”

She turned away, folding and organising a pile of already folded and organised silks.

You hesitated. You hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t even wanted to think it, but the words clawed their way out all the same. “Do I… what about marital duties?”

Eurydice laughed. A real laugh this time, sharp and unexpected. “Gods, no. He won’t touch you. He never has. Honestly, he’ll probably keep half the room between you so as not to incur her wrath any further. He’s had enough of her ire.”

You blinked. The image of a God shying away from a Goddess was almost laughable, given what you knew about mythology. “What, he’s afraid of her?”

Her smile faded into something harder to name. “He’s not what she says he is.”

You turned back to the mirror, taking yourself in again. The weight of it all. The crown of braids. The sharp bones of your borrowed face.

“And what does he want from me?” you asked, quietly.

Eurydice’s voice softened just slightly. “He wants peace, everyone here wants peace.”

The doors to the dining hall loomed ahead, vast and daunting. They were as beautiful as they were ominous. Twin slabs of obsidian veined with red and gold, each carved with a thousand ancient shapes too faded to name. The handles were sculpted into serpents devouring their own tails, mouths locked in eternal hunger.

Beautiful. Haunting. Fitting for the Underworld.

Eurydice led you as far as the threshold to the antechamber before stopping. She motioned toward the room with the air of someone giving instructions to a guest she wasn’t responsible for.

“You wait in here until you’re announced and then just… sit down and eat what’s put on your plate. Or don’t,” she paused, thinking. “Your choice.” 

Your pulse flared again, sharp as a needle to the chest. Something must have flickered across your face, perhaps panic, or something akin to it, because Eurydice hesitated for half a second.

With a single nod, murmured, “You’ll be fine.”

You wanted her to stay. She knew your secret; she was the only comfort you had in this place, the only thing you had become familiar with.

But before you could say anything, she turned and vanished down the corridor, her footsteps lost to the hush of her robes.

Your fingers twitched. 

You were alone. 

You breathed in deeply, then let it go slowly through your teeth. Again. Again. Just like your therapist taught you. Focus. Name five things you can see.

Doors. 

Stained glass windows. 

Marble floors. 

Wall sconces. 

Dead roses. 

Your hands tingled.

The antechamber was quiet. Unnaturally so. The silence wasn’t empty. It was cold and profound. The walls had memory. They watched and they remembered every step.

Cold crept up your spine. Not the fresh chill of air, but the kind that had been sealed into stone. The kind that soaked into your bones and whispered. You shouldn’t be here.

Gods. It felt like the entire underworld had been carved from your worst fear. Like it saw you. And was waiting for you to see it back.

Your legs were braced like they expected to run. Your fingertips prickled. Electricity danced beneath your skin, crawling over your knuckles, down into your palms.

You rubbed at them, trying to work the pins and needles out of them, needing the sensation to disappear. Dragging your hand across the nearest wall, you tried to shake it off, but the sensation only deepened. The roses were dead, colourless and brittle in a pot by the wall. Their scent had long since faded, yet the thorns remained sharp. Would it be too much to shove them into your fingertips? Would it alleviate the ache? 

You moved towards them instinctively, as a body moves towards an old habit. A low hum resonated behind your ribs. It was almost a feeling but more like sheer need. 

Your fingers grazed the leaves, the dried flowers, and finally, you pressed the pad of your thumb against a single thorn.

The sting never came, but the itch snapped. An electric pulse raced out of your hand like static, like something exhaled. Maybe it was you. A single drop of blood beaded at the puncture and fell into the dry soil.

And the plant breathed.

The petals unfurled into a bruised crimson, lush and heavy, the scent filling the air with sweetness and an almost unnatural perfume of the blooms. 

You staggered back, horrified. The heat of embarrassment flushing your skin.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered.

You didn’t even know how you’d done it, let alone why. One moment your thumb was bleeding, and the next there was breath and bloom. The roses had opened like a pair of lips. Like they’d been waiting for her.

Well, maybe not her. Maybe they had been waiting for you.

Panic swelled, thick and sour at the back of your throat. Someone would notice. Of course they would. The underworld was full of eyes, and a change that vivid would gleam like a beacon. The flowers were too red. Too alive.

They would see. And it would give you away.

It was clear that Persephone would never invoke blooms so beautiful in this place, it reeked of her neglect. So why? Why did it react so beautifully under your hands? Why was it so instinctual? 

You touched it again, hands trembling. "Stop," you whispered, as if words alone could undo what you’d done. You touched the nearest rose and pictured it as it was before, to force it back into its rotten state. Dry, brittle, folded in on itself like a secret too tired to keep living. 

It didn’t work.

The petals only leaned into you, soft and dewy and utterly alive. The scent grew sweeter.

“No no no-” your voice cracked, barely a sound, your fingers fluttering uselessly over their blooms. “I didn’t mean to-”

But the power wasn’t listening.

It wasn’t yours to reason with.

It belonged to the body you now wore, rooted in your bloodstream, and threaded through your bones like new ivy claiming an old wall. It was not something that could be borrowed or worn lightly. It was invasive, permanent, and it was the power that had chosen to react. 

You gripped the edge of the pedestal, trying to slow your breathing.

Persephone’s memories rose in your chest like a flood, slick with rage and decay and things that had grown in places they never should have. You saw her hand outstretched over a field, her fury curling through her fingers, vines tearing through soil like teeth. You felt the ache of it. It felt like grief and surrender. 

She’d tried to kill this place on purpose, but her power hadn’t obeyed. 

Because the power didn’t bow to Persephone’s wants and desires, it obeyed her essence. And that essence had always been to bring life.

You staggered back, breathing like you’d just run from something ancient. Your hands were sticky with oil and magic and rose-pollen. The antechamber swam slightly, shadow thickening at the corners of your vision. You tried to steady yourself, to quiet the magic pulsing beneath your skin.

This wasn’t something you could control. You were a mortal in a borrowed shape, a paper crown on a guillotine block, and if you weren’t careful, the entire Underworld would feel it. You needed to calm down. 

You barely had the thought when a sound broke the silence.

The groan of ancient hinges as the doors were opening.

You spun too quickly, nearly tripping over your own feet, the silks of your gown tangling around your ankles. You tried to stand taller, to steady your breath, to remember how a goddess would carry herself. You were still trembling when the dining hall revealed itself. 

The world stilled to watch you fall.

You stepped forward as if in a trance, your breath shallow in your throat. Every nerve lit up with dread. Persephone’s memories had painted this room in horror.

Stone floors slick with blood. A table piled with bones, a crown of teeth as the centrepiece. She remembered the reek of death curling in her nostrils like smoke. The way she said it always smelled of rot in here, like the Underworld itself was bleeding from the seams.

You braced yourself.

But there was no blood. No bones. Only silence. Only shadow. Only the flicker of golden light playing over obsidian.

The dining hall was cathedral-vast, shadowed and sacred. Obsidian columns rose like the bones of titans, wrapped in gilded vines and etched with stories written in dead tongues. The vaulted ceiling disappeared into ash. Braziers lit the space in slow pulses of gold, casting no warmth, their only purpose was gilding the cold edges of the room in firelight. The air tasted holy, heavy with incense and the quiet weight of expectation. At the centre of it all stretched a table long enough to bridge kingdoms.

At the far end of it, he sat.

He was everything you feared.

And nothing you’d expected.

Hades was nothing like the grotesque tyrant from Persephone’s memories. Not the skeletal, snarling God her rage had painted behind your eyes. 

He was something else entirely.

He reclined in a throne carved from black stone, his posture loose with power, his limbs arranged like he’d never been told no. He was unbearable in his beauty. A weapon forged in starlight and storm.

He wore robes the colour of midnight sins, draped across one shoulder and leaving the other bare, sculpted muscle gilded by candlelight. His bare chest was an artwork of lines and valleys, the planes of him cut sharp and perfect. A chain of obsidian circled his throat, nestled in the hollow like it belonged to no one else.

Rings glinted on his fingers, thick and ancient, each one more beautiful than the last, a perfect complement to his own divine beauty. His hands alone could ruin or resurrect.

Moon-pale skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His lips jutted upwards in a smirk that sent a wave of heat through you. His eyes, Gods his eyes, they dragged over you with the patience of something eternal. Red as old fire. Red as fresh blood spilled in silence.

Those eyes pinned you like a butterfly to velvet.

They didn’t roam. They devoured.

They flicked past you, just briefly, to the cluster of roses still blooming at your back. And when they returned to yours, there was something in them that made your stomach clench.

When he finally spoke, his voice resonated, booming through the room.

“I see you’ve already begun redecorating,” his words came low, warm, and slow. 

And it did something terrible to you—something the Goddess would probably take your head for.

You stood at the edge of his kingdom, wrapped in a body that wasn’t yours, trembling beneath a gaze that didn’t look away. The petals behind you rustled as if they too held their breath.

You were not ready. For this. 

“Darling wife, won’t you take your seat?”

DISCLAIMER: This is heavily inspired by Goddess of Spring, one of the books in the Goddess Summoning series by P.C. Cast.

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback lovelies  ❥

@dramaticalsachan @idkmanimjusthorny @everythingistaken00 @iconoclastoc @napforalifetime

[the-bloody-ruby]

Could you do Yan!Baldwin IV x a fem!reader who has a personality similar to Irish mythology’s Emer (Basically, Emer was said to have the ‘six gifts of womanhood’:beauty, a melodious voice, skill in needlework, eloquence, chastity, and wisdom. But despite having all the trappings of the ‘proper lady’ archetype, Emer was actually sharp-tongued and feisty, doing things like boasting that all the men in ulster would leave their wives if only she encouraged it, at one point insulting King Conocbar (to his face) and then giving all his warriors a tongue lashing, when her husband angers her she arms herself with a dagger and has fifty of her handmaidens don armor and they go confront him, etc)

(Ignore this if you want. I won’t take it personally)

Yan!Baldwin IV X Emer!Reader

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⚠Warnings⚠ historically inaccurate, sibylla being a bitch, forced relationship, slut shaming (not by Baldwin).

✎Note✐ reader is a female in this. This is not the actual historical figure but the figure from KoH movie. Sorry if I didn't match Elmer's personality but it was quite hard to write about her cuz I didn't know about her story and couldn't any videos about her to explain her story so this was written based of your description and my understanding.

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Being the face of the court is no easy job or title. You are the daughter of a high ranking noble in the Frankish Court of Jerusalem but that not what made you the face of high society, it's your six gifts of womenhood.

Beauty.

Melodious voice.

Needlework.

Eloquence

Chastity.

Wisdom.

Being the perfect lady in the eyes of high society according to standards didn't came without hatred.

Haters gonna hate - Probably Y/n.

Up till now, no matter what the other ladies tried to throw at you, you always came at top. No other woman was ever and will ever overshadow you. That includes sibylla, princess sibylla of Jerusalem, the oldest sister of king Baldwin IV of Jerusalem.

Although you did not have the pleasure of meeting his majesty yet, you had the displeasure of meeting her highness sibylla. You and her highness are on everything but good terms.

She hated you. you were everything that she should be as a princess, and also her sweet husband has been given you some glances through almost every ball you attend.

It's not like you mind the attention, you don't love men stares but you love women glares. It's entertainment in it finest form.

One evening, the princess approached with her ladies in waiting following right behind her. "Don't you have any shame?." She asks, her blue eyes stare right into your eyes, you couldn't help but smirk. "Did I do something inappropriate, your majesty?." You replied with mocking, playful tone.

"Yes, you are whoring yourself." Her words wipe the smirk off your face completely. "I don't quite understand, what are you referring to?-" "you know exactly what I'm talking about." She cuts you, getting closer to you.

You decided to play along, if she says you a whore then you will be a whore. "Guy?.. Don't worry dear, he's not my cup of tea... Besides if I really had my eyes set on him, he would not be spending the night by your side every night-" with that her hand comes hard at your cheek, if you could you would stab her with a dagger but unfortunately you would be executed on the stop if you even dared to harm a hair from the Royal blood.

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Despite months passing since that event, your pride was still wounded from the slap. You want revenge and you got an idea on your mind. Christmas is near so a celebration ball is near. It's time to put your needlework skills to the test.

Tonight is the night you execute your plan or you get yourself expected, you either fail miserably or succeed.

Turn by turn noble gave their gifts to his majesty, king Baldwin IV. The finest of Silk fabrics, weapons, jewelry, books and tapestries. As much as it seems like innocent gift giving it was more of trying to gain political favors. Soon enough it was your turn 'come on, Y/n! Remember who you are!!' That ego of yours loves to put you in awkward situations but here we go, you were trying to calm yourself because you are actually.. Nervous.. You thought that your gift was a good idea to leave him interested but from what you see, he didn't react much of the other's lavish presents, it's probably the mask. But Would your gift be enough to leave an impression on him?.. God you should have thought this through, where did your wisdom go!?!...

But you can't just run now! It's your turn for God's sake! It would be more embarrassing if you ran away and as they say, anything is better than nothing..

You bow before looking up at him with that infamous smile of yours "your grace.." You begin, trying to find the right words "it it well known your fondness of chess and accordingly, I brought you chess." You tried not to break out as his eyes stare at you through his mask.. 'God please take my soul away already...' "A-and.. I brought you another gift, a personal one if you would." Ah, that caught his attention, you can feel it.

You went up to him, kneeled down in front of him.. You were never this close to him. You held his hand in yours before kissing the back of his gloved hand then you directly looked into his blue eyes, you felt lost in the moment, forgetting the nobles that are shocked at your boldness, yes you were always this daring but this was too much even for you.

You pulled away your hand as your grab something.. A handkerchief?.. "Your majesty.. Please accept this handkerchief as I had embroidered the coat of arms of our holy Jerusalem.." Ah, kingdom of Jerusalem's cross.. A large central cross with four smaller crosses in each quadrant. It's not a bad gift if you think about since his majesty does value his kingdom but the deeper meaning of the handkerchief is something else.. And it smells nice, is it perfumed?.

You see in Medieval times, gifting handkerchief could mean a love token, especially if embroidered, perfumed and 'personal' gift which matches the description of your lovely gift, it is out right flirting.. You are risking your pride, if he rejects this handkerchief you will be forever the laugh stock of the court and sibylla will forever taunt you- he took it..

He. Took. It

HE. TOOK. IT

One point for Y/n and zero for sibylla.

You finally rose up, you bowed then left, the ball continued with tension.. "Is she aiming for marriage?.." Many whispered, others whispered "probably looking for favor.." But all said "the king accepted it."

As usual Christmas celebration in court lasts for 12 days. In these days your grin never faded no matter what others whispered or what sibylla had to say, ever since his majesty accepted your intimate gift your ego had been fed.

You went out to the grand garden to catch a break from all the gossip, you felt someone behind you. You prepared yourself mentally to yell at this man to get lost but as soon as you turned around you were surprised to find his majesty few steps away from you. It is quite awkward after the handkerchief.

He didn't speak yet his eyes said a lot "the handkerchief you gifted me was made well." He stated, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You smirk and get even closer "I'm pleased that you like it.. I made it myself for you." Your words just more the situation more 'inappropriate' then it already is, if someone from the court saw you the gossiping would never end.. It didn't matter now.. What matters is that it's only you two in this grand garden..

"I'll keep that in mind." He commented before taking off his ruby ring and handing it to you, you simply stared at him with genuine shock. For once it's you who are taken off guard by a man.

At first you thought he only accepted the handkerchief out of pity that you will be forever mocked if he rejected it but now since he gave a ring, a jewelry he previously wore. It means he officially accepted your 'romantic' feelings.

Now if you play your cards right he will be yours, the court will be yours, Jerusalem will be yours. You be more powerful than ever and then not even Sibylla can do anything against you.

You decided to shot your shot "A ring?.. Now my handkerchief seems dull but I expected nothing less from a king." You teased, he hummed "dull? Even small simple things can have deep meanings so don't look down on it just because it's a handkerchief." It feels like he's scolding you and he is.

You glare at him which didn't go unnoticed by him as he stopped his lecture and returned to his looking-through-your-soul stare which made things awkward again before you cut the tension "how is the chess, your grace?." You ask with a smile yet gentle smile, trying to change the topic.

"Huh.. I haven't tried it yet, care enough to join me in a game?." This is your chance to get closer to him, to get to know him better, to understand him better. "It would be my honor, your majesty."

With that you two ended up spending hours playing chess and much to your annoyance he won most all of the time, you don't know how yet it feels like he could read your moves like an open book.

Finally, you managed to win. 1 for y/n, 21 for Baldwin. By the time that happened it is almost midnight and the sounds of music and people talking in the main Hall has faded completely. God, for how long have you been in his office? As you stood to leave he grabbed your wrist gently "what kind of king would I be if I let a lady leave in the middle of the night?." With that you had to stay in the palace for the night.

Soon enough the sun rose up, servants dressed you up and before you could order a carriage, his majesty 'requests' you to join him in breakfast and remember, refusing a King's 'request' is never an option so here you go. "I hope you had a good sleep." He comments as he dig into his breakfast.

"It was alright, thanks for your concern your majesty." You answered, you looked at the food before looking back at him "Will you grant me permission to leave afterwards?." You ask, he stops eating "Why?."

"Do you find displeasure in my company?."

His voice was gentle yet it felt an unsettling feeling in you, why is he acting like this?.. "No.. Is it wrong for me to desire to go home?." You try your best to avoid saying anything that can be twisted into a different meaning.

"Home..?" He stated, before letting out a chuckle. It was soft and gentle like you'd expect.. But it left a bitter taste in your tongue. "This is your home."

This is your home

This. Is. Your. Home.

Four simple words that sent a shiver down your spine, his voice was cold when he said it. "What?." It came out naturally as he holds your hands with his gloved ones, his fingers brush against the Ruby ring you're wearing. "Is there something wrong?.. This is your home now.. Aren't we lovers?." As you attempted to say something he cuts you with placing a piece of bread in your mouth, with that this conversation was left unfinished.

Time passed fast, weeks turned into months and soon enough your wedding day came in spring. You don't understand yourself, you never truly did, you had always thought that once you marry someone with such power like a king, like Baldwin, all your problems would disappear, no one would ever dare to disrespect you, no one will be able to order you around, you would never ever kneel to someone, to sybilla, once again and it's true, that what would happen when you marry him.

But why aren't you happy?, why such emptiness in your heart? Is it about love? No you aren't foolish, in this time and age love is never an option really, love doesn't feed bread, it doesn't pay for luxuries and definitely it doesn't raise you in statues.

Yes Baldwin is a sweetheart, truly. He never raised his hand or voice at you, he may have quite literally held you hostage in his palace but he never treated you badly, in fact he was quite the generous man in his 'hospitality' yet you can't find it in yourself to love him.

At the start you did like him. despite his illness, he is quite the match but his actions lately, as loving as they may be, they couldn't make you feel...

Safe

It felt wrong, this is wrong.

No matter how this may be sugar coated it doesn't change the fact that you are being forced in this relationship! Baldwin didn't ask for your hand! He simply just took it because he can!

You were living in this cage of a palace when he just announced that you two will get married out of nowhere! He doesn't get to do this, right.. He can't.. He doesn't own you..

This... It boils your blood.. You wish to smack the shit of him and run away..

Yet

For once in your life, you truly feel helpless, powerless...

Weak

You hate it but what can you do..? Unfortunately, unfortunately.. Killing the king and running away is not an option.. Killing him would be almost impossible, even if you did, where would you go? The entire kingdom would be looking for you and your family would never help you.

'You have to endure' you tell yourself as you look into the mirror one last time before turning away and head into the door, heading into your inescapable fate.

You have to endure..

You will endure..

And he will by your side till you accept him.. And maybe.. Love him?..

Oh sweetheart Baldwin is no fool.

He knows you don't love him, he can tell. He has some sort of sixth sense that allows him to read people like an open book. After all, thanks to this 'trustful' court with time you will learn to know, to understand when someone is lying to your face with full confidence guy of lusignan

Now, now. Don't keep him waiting, he's waiting for you to become his under the eyes of God, his lawful wife under the eyes of everyone, including sybilla despite her displeasure. Part of him likes to see her pissed

Tonight everyone will wish you long and happy marriage, don't keep them waiting.

May it be blessed ♥︎.

Sorry pookies for not posting for sometime but write block killed me (#×_×)

I got many unfinished darts 😭 but I'll try to finish requests first then I'll start with the series then secondary stuff, I'll try to post about different fandoms but I'm quite scared to do so plz give me advice ♥︎♡

[askhezureviews]

So you have an issue with the Hellaverse not being accurate to Religion so does this mean you have a problem with Disney’s Hercules not being accurate to Greek Mythology?

No, Disney's Hercules isn't comparable because Helluva /Hazbin lore introduced within its own series is actually inaccurate itself. Like the embodiment of Lust and Gluttony being good, for example. Sinners being sent to hell, but not into the sin layers for the sin they're committing. Christian marriage, a concept of god, being used by demons who are against everything heaven/god related.

Disney's Hercules is probably a watered down love letter to Greek Mythology while Hellaboss / Hazbin is a fundamental misunderstanding of the source material they were inspired by.

[alatismeni-theitsa]

In "KAOS" nothing is anything, and everything is wrong

Two disclaimers: I am no stranger to modern art, and I have no issue with queerness in shows, or in my own mythology (I'm Greek). I am also aware that KAOS is a comedy. It's in the gutter of British comedy, but still part of the genre. At least I laughed every time they said "Oh God!". I don't believe this is the same person who wrote the great and amusing "End of the F**king World"! The premise of "The gods in our modern world" appeals to me a lot, so that wasn't my problem either. My general issue with KAOS is its horrible delivery, bad writing, and piss-poor Greek representation.

This is gonna be long and full of stupid gifs, so sit comfortably, grab a coffee or some popcorn and... pame!

The "ILoveGreekMythology" Kid

Art without context is just a pretty thing to look at. Most of the time, this context can be found within the art piece itself, as the artist has taken care to weave it in. KAOS refuses to connect itself to any context besides the names and a few vague powers. It aims to exist outside of those "boring old stories of the Greek myth" and be entirely "fresh and modern". Something impossible when the entire show and the meanings are based on ancient recorded material. In other words, KAOS is so meta that it ends up being nothing. KAOS cannot stand on its own because you need more than the viewers being familiar with the Greek myth basics to pull such a show off.

KAOS tells us "See? I know all the names of the gods, and what they did, and I know all the locations, so I am qualified to tackle this". More or less like any Western kid who takes all their knowledge from PJO and Marvel and proceeds to unironically hate ancient deities and make a girlboss out of Medusa.

Here's a Greek word for you guys, ημιμάθεια, meaning "half-knowledge". Α Greek saying very well declares "Half-knowledge is worse than no knowledge". The confidence of thinking you know enough often leads you to grave mistakes whereas the humility of not knowing prevents you from touching shit that you shouldn't. When you have no idea what the original myth is trying to say and spit on its meaning, knowing a few names and locations is just smoke and mirrors. I don't believe the audience fell for that.

And don't get me started on the "subversions". A good subversion is intriguing and thought-provoking. In KAOS, every twist was hollow - Greek myth related or otherwise.

"What if Euridice doesn't love Orpheus?" I don't know, babe. What if??? What was the point of that? What did you show us? That women's stories are dominated by men and men don't listen to women, perhaps? And you chose to twist... the love story of Orpheus and Euridice to show this?? One of the best and most tragic love stories Greek mythology has to offer?? You just mocked the myth, you didn't make anything profound out of it.

The Greek Stuff (Nothing salvageable)

I was surprised to see they had a Consulting Producer (Georgia Christou) and an Assistant Script Editor (Isabella Yianni) who happen to be Greek. And I stress that because those people probably weren't hired or utilized for being Greek. We are not sure they were involved in cultural decisions because we have no evidence and because shows with no Greek elements can have more Greeks than that on their staff.

Okay, perhaps they took 5 seconds to ask Isabella about a greeting - which they proceeded to say in a wrong intonation 🙄🤌It's where Poseidon says "ya sás" in the Fates, by the way. How he said it sounds more like "for you (pl.)" than "health to you (pl.)".

Surprise! The only Greek actor present (Peter Polycarpou) has less than 5 minutes of screen time and plays the caricature of an immigrant with a thick (and inaccurate Greek) accent. He has a canteen, selling falafel which is not Greek, and Dionysus buys from him an unidentified tortilla wrap (which... is also not Greek, if you haven't caught up).

For the show they brought in actors of Maori, Nigerian and Sierra Leonean, Pakistani, Black American, Latvian-Jewish, Iranian, Egyptian, Indo-Fijian and Malay descent and you tell me it was impossible for them to seek and find an English-speaking, skilled actor of Greek descent in a show regarding Greek heritage. Sometimes I wonder, do y'all hate us so much?

They considered Greeks only to give us a simple (and wrong) greeting and a stereotype. Crumbs, we are supposed to be happy with. By the way, there are over 70.000 Greek immigrants just in the UK, usually in the urban centers, many of them students or fairly young employees in the corporate workforce. Not the largest minority but not hard to spot either.

Another plague of Anglophone shows: Almost everyone's Greek name is shortened. Yes, we know their full names but we are told that we will use the short ones. Greeks and their "long and difficult" names am I right fellas? Because saying "Ariadne" apparently requires 5 years of Greek language training, and no English word ever has more than two syllables.

Coincidentally, short names are cool in Anglophone imaginary universes and the "long" names are not. it's so strange Anglophones never make universes where it's cool for Greek names to be spoken in full hmmm... They don't even want to practice saying a whole Greek name for just 2 minutes in preparation for a show full of Greek names. And don't give me that "Greek is hard" shit when we only talk about a few syllables. If Greek kids can learn English since first grade and people here can sing English songs and spell English names, you have no excuse.

They also said the name "Fotis" means light, which is close enough but... ugh.. It's like saying Sebastian means "respect". I am not sure if they asked anyone or what their research was here. If I had the writers in front of me, I'd be like:

(This character from an all-time favorite Greek show is called Fotis)

They also made the flag of "Krete" an alteration of the Greek flag and the local Cretan flag. Which is the stupidest move, because they had to remove the religious symbol of the cross to make the flag fit the universe. These are flags created based on 1) Christianity 2) the Greek Revolution of 1821.

National Greek flag to the left, local Cretan flag to the right:

Flag of the KAOS' "Krete":

The only time they seriously took into account anything Greek, was the time when they decided to remove the religious symbol of our ethnoreligion AND (from what I could observe) keep the nine stripes?? The nine stripes of our national flag represent the syllables in "Freedom or Death". The colors are from the white foustanela of the mainland attire and the dark blue vraka of the island attire, the clothing of the Revolution fighters. (That's more of a meta explanation but the characteristics of the flag were decided during and nearly after the Revolution.)

I think I don't have to explain it more but it's not a homage to put the nine stripes in an ancient era where they have no meaning, and to replace a cross??? Let's... not replace religious symbols on national flags, okay? Thank you.

Another cultural element they changed was making everyone have a dedicated coin to pay Charon. Orpheus has Euridice's coin, "her coin", and he's meant to put it on her before she got buried. In Greek culture, any coin would do. Sorry that our culture restricts your script, dear writers. I guess you had to bend this too, in order to create a cohesive plot with a semblance of a twist.

Finally, the many "Kerberus" dogs were cute and I can understand the creative decision behind that. However, in a show full of inaccuracies, this made me roll my eyes a little. I think the showrunners know that Kerveros is not a breed of dog, and there can only be one of him because he doesn't have any other "Kerveros" to breed with. On the other hand, as demonstrated from art/writing on the internet, quite a lot of Westerners are not exactly aware of how our monsters work, so forgive my uncertainty 😅

Nothing is Anything

Every element KAOS played with ended up meaningless. In the words of a Lifo article:

“Zeus is a paranoid authoritarian dictator in mid-life crisis who fears losing his power and murders his aides to vent. Hera is a promiscuous goddess who repeatedly betrays Zeus and has mutilated mute priestesses for protection. Dionysos is a spoiled and immature zoomer who, apart from pranks, indulges in orgies with all genders. Poseidon a sadistic god of the sea, who tortures the crew on his ship for fun. Prometheus is gay and killed his lover so he could overthrow Zeus. Orpheus is a famous pop singer and Eurydice does not love him. Theseus is black and gay. The Erinyes are tough-as-nails mechs that look like they stepped out of ‘Sons of Anarchy’. The Fates resemble a three-member jury in a talent show. The Trojans are a terrorist group that acts against the gods. Crete is more reminiscent of California than the Mediterranean.”

The "River Styx" is a sea, the "River Lethe" is a lake, the gods are nothing more than spoiled humans, the Moirai are drag queens, the Cave is a club where you have to take a quiz to enter the underworld, and generally everything is modern, flat, mundane and anticlimactic. The producers aimed to achieve a work so meta that a "river" is now a concept, a metaphor, whatever you have in your heart. And those who want to see a river when we speak of a river are probably uncultured swines and don't understand postmodernism. Never mind that rivers are rivers in Greek mythology for a reason. That's not culturally interesting enough to explore compared to the new, cool approach of not assigning meaning to anything. That totally shows love for the original rich and meaningful material...

And the reason behind all this subversion? Probably the shock factor. They brought the characters to a point where they said "We have to save the world from Zeus" - Zeus! The father of gods, heroes and humans! - just because they could. It gives off a certain type of smugness that I personally don't like. I mean, I would like the smugness and cheekiness of KAOS if it wasn't a vapid and practically meaningless show. As nothing symbolizes anything anymore, we are just led from hollow plot point to hollow plot point.

If you cut it out of any cultural influence and see it as a story then it's... okay, I guess. But when you consider that it's meant to derive from certain material and it fails spectacularly, it's not a good story. It forgets its bases and doesn't play with the ancient elements at all. Disney's Hercules did it better, FFS!

Bad Writing (pt.1)

KAOS is not without recognizable themes but their demonstration is so juvenile and heavy-handed that it fails to influence a viewer of average intelligence. For instance, "Riddy" says to her religious mother "You dedicated your whole life to Hera, what about me?" Okay, KAOS, we get it. At the same time, this theme nulls itself because it turns out that Ridy's mother was right to do what she did, as she had a greater goal in mind. (And this, kiddos, is called Bad Writing, because your themes and scenes contradict each other)

The biggest theme I spotted was a criticism of religion and religious people who say "Do as I say, not as I do" and create exceptions for themselves. Only, it's not a criticism of anything real, in this case. It's a fact that some people in the clergy tend to preach peace and love and then they do harm, but we don't know, for example, that The Goddess of Marriage is a cheater and yet she pressures everyone into strict marriages. By focusing their wrath on divine beings who are not known for their hypocrisy, the creators missed the mark.

I can give KAOS props for how it handled Trojans to reflect real issues regarding how immigrants and war refugees are mistreated and blamed. I'd argue it was the only (nearly) well-done theme in the whole show because it had the least on-the-nose delivery and some genuine/serious scenes. But that's it.

More Bad Writing!

Jeff Goldblum's Zeus is shit. He'd crap his pants in an argument with a stern Greek dad/uncle his age. Is this character supposed to be intimidating? (Laughs in Mediterranean) That's not to say that Goldblum is not a good actor, but this role wasn't for him. The same can be said for the other actors, too. They are competent but they only give off the air of "The Greek gods if they lived in London, from the minds of people who think beards and body hair are an affliction". In addition to being misplaced, the actors cannot show their talent when following a script that resembles a children's book.

Why does THE GOD Dionysus have the maturity of a 15-year-old? I repeat, The God Dionysus. He's a freaking deity, and a very old one at that. He is not a teenager neither in appearance nor in experience. In our culture, he is mystical, mighty, wise. Why did they downgrade him so? Just for the plot? This is not Dionysus just because you named him so.

The dialogue rarely takes itself seriously to the point it has you wondering at times "Do people talk and behave like that?". In a comedy where everything is meant to be already extreme and parodied. Even in comedies, something must occasionally be serious so there is a healthy fluctuation in tone and the funny moments can hit you. In KAOS very few scenes treated their impactful dialogue as it should be treated.

The queerness and diversity (good elements, in general) were worse off for being in KAOS. Like, I want these elements to be there. I'm just sad about the whole situation. It's not enough that the show is shit, now you also give an additional reason for conservatives to shit on diverse and queer characters because they are part of a stupid narrative.

I'm the type of person who doesn't mind the queerness of Astyanax and Theseus being lovers in the context of this specific show but they're still the oddest pairing to me because they're from the most irrelevant myths and eras. Also, Astyanax in my mind is a baby who died tragically, for little reason if we are honest, so to bring him back and make him a love interest is... ekh.

In addition, isn't Astyanax supposed to be crippled after a fall from the city walls when he was a baby? Sorry to change subjects but the show is so convoluted and with so many issues that it's extremely difficult to stay on track with what's wrong.

To the person who thought this show was a good idea:

Whatever. Bye. I'm fucking done.

[ajbullet]

Ok let’s get deep for a second. Probably my favorite line from the PJO show so far is Percy telling his mother “There’s something wrong with my brain!”

Why is this my favorite line? Because I’ve said it to myself so many times.

Now I know I’m Percy’s case, he’s talking about his ADHD and I don’t want to take away from that at all because I know people with ADHD and how serious it is. It’s amazing the representation people are getting because of this show.

But when you think about it, this could apply to any mental illnesses or disorders. I don’t have ADHD or dyslexia but this line still resonated with me so much because I do have depression. There’s no one cause, just the affects and over and over I’ve told myself it’s my fault, I’m making a bigger deal than it is, there’s no reason to feel the way I do. There’s something wrong with my brain.

Again, I in no way want to take away from the representation and struggles of ADHD being presented through the show, but I just wanted to share how powerful it has been to see these kids, who are the same age I was when my depression first developed (in fact this book series got me through the worst of it), struggling to make something of their disabilities and fight through the obstacles they pose because it helps me believe I can too. Just as I hope it does with other people who watch and can in some way relate.

Yes, this show is amazing at bringing our favorite characters to life and showing Greek mythology and everything else we give it credit for, but it’s also giving representation that is so often overlooked or inaccurate. So, thank you.

(Sorry, just woke up this morning not feeling the greatest and wanted to put these thoughts out there. Now back to your regularly scheduled program of…well, me posting other stuff)

[officialdaydreamer00]

✦ If I may ask, is it wrong for a mortal to wish for a god? May my hopes and dreams to embrace Idia be brought to fruition? Or will they just be scattered like stars in the sky..?

I apologize for two Idia asks already, sadly he is on of my favorites ✧

"... Child of mortals, one truth you must understand

To love a god, a great risk you put in your hands

Tragedies shall ensue, for the ichor you lack

For love should a god falls, there is no turning back."

pairing: idia shroud x reader

content: short drabble, hurt/probably no comfort, character death, ichor's effect on humans is probably inaccurately described (on purpose btw), idia has yet to meet his persephone here, angst :) , greek mythology

the oracle speaks — this hurts my soul to write (not really but still)

The Fates cannot save you now. I am sorry, my child.

— you couldn't breathe.

each inhale was a wave of pain you had to endure. your lungs felt like they were burning, it made everything physically hurt to just breathe.

tears poured out from your dulling eyes like rivers, its coolness was like a salve to your burning skin. but it wasn't enough.

what had you done to deserve a fate like this?

"no... no, nonononononono—" you heard a familiar voice muttered, then a pair of arms wrapped around your sore body, cradling you in his hold. "this- this wasn't supposed to happen—"

his cool hand cupped your cheek, sending yet another painful throb to your brain. it took you everything to even open your eyes, bloody lips stretched into a pained smile as you saw his distinctive glowing blue hair. wisps of blue fire caressed your skin, light like feathers.

"i'm sorry, my king." your throat felt dry, the beautiful voice he adored hearing was now reduced to mere rasps. oh, how it felt like godly stabs to his immortal heart, seeing you in such a state.

his mind briefly wandered to just a moment before, when the ichor he spilt had made its way onto your delicate mortal skin. thus, putting you on the line to the underworld for eternity to come. you would be with him, still, it was just not the same.

tears pooled the corner of his eyes, he wondered if this was his fault, or it was a cruel destiny the fates had set for him. his cold lips pressed a kiss on your burning forehead, a grim reminder of your horrible demise.

"you deserve to reach elysium. i will make sure of it." he murmured, holding back his tears as he witnessed the fates snip your cord, ending your suffering at last.

his quiet voice, laced thick with sorrow was the last thing you heard, before you fell into a slumber, never to wake up again.

"I am so sorry, my love."

🏷️ @dove-da-birb, @cave-of-jade, @xen-blank, @lyle-my-beloved, @krenenbaker, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @identity-theft-101, @siren-serenity + idia kissers

remember to reblog if you enjoy my works! ^-^

[catihere]

Moby Dick is one of the most brilliant pieces of literature out there and not for the reasons you think. Sure, it’s a great analysis on the state of the human ego in relationship with nature, but it’s also an absolutely hilarious piece from top to bottom. I mean:

•The kickstarter of the story is that, one day, Ishmael, a relatively ordinary man, gets frustrated with his life and the best solution he finds is to give up on everything and go whale hunting on a ship in the middle of nowhere. 100/100, what a fucking mood

•Ishmael is not even his name. If I remember correctly (I haven’t opened this book in three years), he picked his name himself and it means outcast, reject. Really now, why are no transmascs out there naming themselves Ishmael??

•He’s not even the main character but he’s the only one I care about

•This book probably INVENTED the “there was only one bed” trope. It introduced Queequeg by literally making him lie in the same hotel bed as Ishmael. Peak strangers to lovers if you ask me

•That’s not even it. Ishmael, uncomfortable at first, wakes up surprised by how well he slept. And in a later chapter, they are described to lie together as compared to a husband and wife.

•Also, Queequeg is an enormous Polinesian man with Māori tattoos on his face, who BY THE WAY collects human heads. Yeah, that gave Ishmael a very fun first impression of him

•The author breaks the narrative every few chapters to info dump us about whales (sometimes inaccurately, there was no Google in 1850 so I don’t blame him). Oh, yeah, because Herman Melville accidentally embarked on a whale hunting expedition for few years, so Moby Dick is inspired from his experience. But that’s a story for another time.

•My favorite info dump/conspiracy theory that he has is presented right at the start of the book. It’s about how different heroes of mythology and history, including Hercules and Saint George, might have been actually whale hunters. Ishmael is such a dork I can’t-

And these are only the things that I can say off the top of head, with a faint memory of the book from three years ago, when I binge read it in two days, so please feel free to add on. I fucking love Moby Dick go read it right now

[diejager]

hiiiiii like i've wanted to send u a request for like a while and i'm so happy i finally got u

i sadly forgot my og idea buuuuuut luckily i got a new one cus i'm bestie besties with a lurker who is like a friend with a writer cus they know each other irl and cus she gave me a lil spoilie

i wanna use like what i was told for dis request

like ik the thing is about a champion/warrior and their god and like it's a certain king being absolutely PATHETIC for like the first one (like ik my opinion cus i luv pathetic men and like i wanna know ur ideas about this)

like i love the idea of cod boys being a god or champion cus like y'know the smut that can be made

so could i request my second fav boy soap or even ghost being a SIMP like full on worshipping their god after hunting for their pretty

LUV u darlin and like KEEP ON writing because i am GOBBLIN up everything u and my other favs make but make sure u also rest

Cw: God/Champion stuff??, inaccurate Greek mythology, worshipping, offering/gifts/sacrifice, oracle, tell me if I missed any. Note: this reminds me of… the name’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t remember exactly who wrote about this before. Could you also send me the @ of your writer friend? I’d like to credit them if possible. And thank you! Just make sure to take breaks in between of reading, yeah? You have to rest your eyes every hour or so.

Johnny couldn’t believe his eyes when he stumbled into this small sanctuary outside the sacred precinct, outside any protective walls and guarded cities. Nestled into the side side of a mountain, the marble stones carved intricately in pretty vines and gentle flowers only to be placed in an isolated place. Away from any travellers and warriors, and hidden away from prying eyes of thieves and charlatans. This little, marble shrine made of white marble, painted murals and gold ordained altar - one of the prettiest he’s seen - was left near forgotten, overgrown with fauna and collecting dust. 

And despite that, the statue that stood behind the altar, tall and imposing, curves soft and tunic flattering, the Goddess loomed over him with a shadow of warmth and compassion, much unlike the statues of the ruling Gods and Goddesses he was used to —it was ethereal. Your image was one of love and care, a stark dichotomy to the arrogance and self-importance of Zeus and his siblings. You were welcoming towards him when they spurned him for his foreign appearance: a child of slaves that had bought their freedom, a potent sign of determination and strength.

“Perhaps that Oracle wasn’t crazy,” he gawked at the falling leafage, ribbons of round leaves hiding the entrance, parting like a curtain to the main stage of a theatre.

He had tried his luck with the Oracle of Delphi, in a drunken daze that failed to strip him from his embarrassing misadventures around Delphi’s bars and temple. Johnny had wanted to see what all the fuss was about, the mile long travel many made to see her and her prophesies. He wanted to know if she was a true oracle or a scam, a charlatan like many others, but lo and behold, she was blessed with the sight. 

He still remembered her words, her words spoken from the Gods’ whims, giving him the blessing of finding a Goddess he would willingly kneel to, one that would show him the same love and devotion he gave. She foretold that he would meet a Goddess of Health and Hunting that he wanted to worship, a give and take cycle —of life and death. And here he stood, before the statue of a benevolent Goddess he knew he already loved.

You were a minor Goddess, able to gift your champions with totems and blessings, but not a miracle. Your sacred temple was warm, the air filled with the scent of fresh spring and dewy mornings, candles miraculously lit, wrapping the room in a golden embrace that felt akin to a mother’s kiss. Johnny’s eyes wandered around the room, taking it in while he walked to the altar, he stared at the dusty and empty marble, a sad sight for a Goddess so warm.

He searched around his belt, looking around his clothes and padded leather for an offering to wake you up. Something simply - anything - would work, if only to rouse you from your slumber, be it a year or a century long sleep, he would wake you and dub himself your champion. He picked a pelt, an apt offering for a Goddess of Health and Hunting. It was freshly skinned and cured, brushed with care and killed with sympathy. He wasn’t a ruthless killer or an avaricious hunter, he took what he needed and left what he didn’t. 

Nodding at the brown pelt, he wiped away the dust that had collected and placed it on the marble, taking care to place it flat and straightened the fur. He took a step back to admire the sight, eyes filled with wonder at the sudden glow, bathing him in a calming light. He felt better, his once aching arms gone, his bruises gone and his strength returned. Waking you had brought a blessing, you had healed him of his aches and pains, restoring him to his peak.

“Welcome,” he heard you whisper, your voice sounding like a bird’s song, pretty and awestricking, “Will you become my champion, dear warrior?”

How could he say no at your sweet plea? You were the warmest being he has ever met, your very essence an embrace full of passion. 

“If yer wish me so, Goddess.”

“Thank you,” you chuckled and he’d never felt so lovesick before, his heart so full, yet light.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[cryptidstealingyourcreditcard]

the gang as mythical beings based off of vibes and nothing else:

disclaimer‼️‼️ i do not know everything about different mythologies and i will probably get some things wrong or inaccurate‼️ i am going off of previous knowledge and little to no research‼️

hiccup- titan (god/primordal being/sometimes giant) (greek mythology)

astrid- selkie (seal shapeshifter) (scottish and irish mythology)

fishlegs- faun (half human half goat, forest spirits) (roman mythology)

snotlout- tengu (i’m gonna be honest i don’t know too much about tengu) (bird-like humanoid appearance, could be reincarnated spirits of narcissists) (japanese mythology)

ruff & tuff- seelie fae (considered more “good” than unseelie, tricksters, look human usually) (scottish mythology)

bonus:

dagur- unseelie fae (considered “evil”, tricksters, look human usually) (scottish mythology)

heather- nymph (nature spirit) (greek mythology)

gustav- imp (little humanoids, troublemakers) (german/european mythology)

ryker & viggo- jötun (giants) (norse mythology)

as always, tell me if i get anything wrong!! while i do love and enjoy studying mythology, i have a pretty limited memory and knowledge

mythology was a special interest when i was younger lol

[utilitycaster]

3, 7, 13? 👀

3. answered!

7. I've discussed this before but while I wouldn't ever say I hated Molly, I certainly think my feelings towards him for the past few years have been uncharitable because I was reacting to the Kindest Best Hottest Most Charming Sex God In Exandria fanon version and not the real canonical guy, who is both much more layered than that and also really annoying most of the time but also pretty funny. Like, he is still my least favorite of the Mighty Nein, but as I adore the rest of them that puts him at a solid "he's alright", and again, this is based on his story being cut off.

13. Molly is obviously yes, a blorbofication issue, but I feel Laudna's worse. Like, nothing about her story, overall, feels like it came from her in the end - it's all other people doing everything for her and not even in a way that explores being powerless (which, within the narrative, she objectively isn't anyway), it's more that they have to solve her problems as quickly as possible because they're getting in the way of the moon plot - and as I mentioned in my answer about tedious canon, the parts of her backstory that would actually flesh her out as a character are precisely the ones that were never addressed nor explored. She starts the story a more interesting and pleasant person than she ends it. And if you're like "this character was just a failure of execution and really didn't have to be" people are like "uh, she's literally a girl and silly." Like Molly is a character that makes me go "this is a compelling concept executed well, and it's just not a pesonality I am drawn to, and the fandom has mythologized him in death in a way that is inaccurate to canon" but Laudna is just...Bella Swan.

[please-be-nice-im-sensitive]

Hello!!!!

Spotify is the same username :)

Sideblogs:

@daisy-daisys-ocs my blog dedicated to me rambling about my OCs and their lore.

@cowboy-iliad-au dedicated to the cowboy Iliad au and the lore I wrote for it

@hoziest-noodle dedicated to my love of Hozier

@alcmetus dedicated to Alcestis and Admetus my beloved

@leucothea-helper-of-sailers dedicated to the goddess Leucothea :)

@daisynoodleprincess dedicated to Greek mythology character designs I like

@greekmythologyfamilytreeupdates dedicated to updates on my Greek mythology family tree

@daisydaisysmiles my blog of things that make me happy

and the list of my OC specific blogs click here and for all my OC content go to my pinned tags and click the tag OC :)

to campaigns: I will share, but I can’t donate. I am very sorry. I wish I could help.

I don’t chat with strangers other than in very short conversations

be kind to each other please!!!

no hate, just love please I don’t understand posting anti things because it’s hatred. But I will respect your opinion as long as you don’t hate on things I post. Please loves just be nice

I mostly reblog and am NOT an artist so if something is tagged under “my art” on my page, please tell me so I can fix it. It is definitely an accident

I’m a bi cis girl who uses she/her pronouns. I will respect your preferences and block those who don’t.

i loveeeee patrochilles and am getting into the classics fandom. I am not against retelling of myths as long as it’s not completely unreasonably inaccurate. I am somewhat new (about a year into) to the classics fandom so if I get something wrong please correct me!! (This applies for whatever I say)

I am very sensitive but I try to be as nice as possible but I can mess up with that sometimes because sometimes I can accidentally come across as rude and I want you to know loves that there is a 99% chance it was an accident and I will apologize!!

Achievements on this website so far:

being rated lawful good by postalignments!! @postalignments at this post: https://www.tumblr.com/postalignments/761731492738170880/i-think-i-put-my-previous-ask-on-anonymous-by?source=share

being told I’m going to heaven by @imjesus because of this post: https://www.tumblr.com/im-jesus/762726772724908032/happy-song-recommendations-someone-you-like?source=share

oh btw I may post a few political things and I consider myself progressive so: No hate to anyone at all or you will be blocked <3

btw loves, I’ve been considered good at song recommendations so if you need song advice for tropes or moods or characters in the fandoms I’m in feel free to dm me or send me an ask

sorry that was long and if you’re still reading, have a great day loves!!

P.S, here’s a depression tip for when you’re home alone!!

things I really really like and may talk about a ton!!

genealogy (I’m working on several family trees rn with the biggest being my Greek mythology family tree)

Shakespeare’s “As you like it” mwah mwah mwah I love this show and Rosalind and Orlando represent everything good in the world

Paintings! I like sharing paintings with murals a lot and am quite fond of them!! I’m taking a class in art history next year too!! My favorite art era is roughly 1880-1910

Alcestis and Admetus!! I love love love Greek mythology and these two bring me so much joy, they are truly truly wonderful!

Leucothea!! If only Euripides’s “Ino” was not lost :(. I am a very big fan of this goddess in Greek mythology with both origins, Halia and Ino!

Patrochilles!!! I was actually brought into the classics fandom via the song of Achilles but I now associate the two things as entirely separate (same as I do with Percy Jackson) I love doomed by the narrative so much and truly their story brings me to tears

I LOVE ASKS omg :) also I post a lot of ask games sooo

[slimelover165]

I want to take a second to talk about some of the main criticisms people have with the Moon Knight show—the ones that are actually valid, not just comic purists crying about “accuracy.”

The two biggest issues people bring up are:

Marc’s DID stemming from his brother’s death and his abusive mother instead of the serial killer Nazi who infiltrated his inner circle.

The portrayal of Jake as the “evil” alter.

Now, quick side tangents:

First, it’s hilarious how people will complain about Jake falling into the “evil alter” trope in the same breath that they demand comic accuracy—as if that exact portrayal didn’t come straight from the Bemis run. And when you point that out? Suddenly, that run “sucked” and “shouldn’t have been used.” The cherry-picking is unreal. They want comic accuracy, but only from very specific runs—ones that almost no one can agree on. Which is especially tricky for a character like Moon Knight, who has had some truly terrible runs. (I have been in too many Twitter arguments with comic purists, can you tell?)

Second, people refuse to acknowledge that when Moon Knight was released, Disney and the MCU as a whole were still extremely toned down when it came to violence. The Moon Knight team had to fight just to get that TV-14 rating. And honestly, this show is probably the reason we’re now getting Daredevil with actual violence and longer seasons. Moon Knight pushed the envelope and showed Disney what audiences actually wanted. Just had to put that out there.

Back to my initial rambling—I've never seen Jake as an “evil” alter. In the show, he’s clearly the protector. His violent nature isn’t random; it’s a response to the role he was forced into.

Building on that, I’ve always believed Jake formed from the incident with the Nazi. Marc was terrified in that moment—his safety, his identity, everything was under attack. That kind of trauma could absolutely trigger the creation of a protector alter.

This also strengthens the connection to Marc’s Judaism. Imagine the horror of realizing someone he saw as a close family friend delighted in killing Jews—and told him so, to his face. That kind of direct, personal trauma, coupled with witnessing brutal antisemitic violence, could explain both Jake’s aggression and Marc’s complicated relationship with his faith.

And yet, people give Moon Knight so much shit for not cramming 50 years of comics into six episodes. The comics themselves took 20+ years to name Marc’s DID, and 37 issues before acknowledging his Judaism. Even now, these aspects of his identity are often treated as cameos—quick mentions that have little to no impact on the story. When it does have an impact on the story, it is for drama or to move the story along without being treated like an actual disorder or piece of his identity that affects the way he lives or functions as a human being. 

Not to mention the long history of completely ignoring or outright disrespecting these parts of his identity. Calling him “crazy” or “schizophrenic.” Writing him into a Christmas special. The show handled him with more respect than most of the comics ever did, and if you can’t see that, you’re straight-up blind.

Oh, and let’s not forget: this was also the first piece of Moon Knight media to actually respect his Egyptian roots. The comics? They cherry-picked the mythology, kept whatever served their story, and disrespected an entire culture and their history in the process. But sure, let’s pretend the show was the problem.

Comic purists on Twitter act like the show assasinated his character. In reality, they’re using these technically valid criticisms as a front for their real issue—it’s not their version of Moon Knight. And half the time, they exaggerate how “inaccurate” it even was. Like, let’s be real, a lot of the changes were necessary. Take Steven, for example—he was barely a character in the comics, and what little we knew about him was a comic book cliche. In order for his character to move past the copy accusations and become a long-lasting character, he needed to be changed. 

Let’s be honest—virtually every reasonable issue people have with the show could be solved with more screen time. That’s why I, like most fans, am praying for a second season or even a solo movie. Throwing him straight into crossovers would ruin one of the best aspects of the show: the lingering question of what’s real and what’s not. If they rush his development for the sake of team-ups, we lose all the previous set-up.

Of course, that’s assuming that if he did get more screen time, they’d handle it well… and with MCU writing, that’s never a guarantee.

Anyway, I could rant about Moon Knight forever, but I’ll stop here. Shoutout to @NotHenryDumb on Twitter, who made a fantastic thread on this idea. I’ve had this take for a while, and I just wanted to go deeper into it. I know this would rile up the comic purists and Twitter oomfs alike, but honestly? I’m done with that side of the fandom.The Moon Knight show and character have brought so much joy into my life, and I refuse to let some comic-obsessed gooners ruin my hyperfixation.