#apparently Aphrodite only has girls and ares only has boys..... for some reason?

[batcavescolony]

So their is so sO SO much wrong with the Lightning thief movie But I think my two favorite things that don't make sense are

1) apparently Percy's name is just 'Percy' because he needed help to name a third demigod and he had to look at the Greek to get the name 'Perseus'

2) for some reason their are Thirteen thrones on Olympus. It's goes (right to left) Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hera (a decision to put her here of all places), Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Zeus (at the head), Athena, Ares, Demeter, Apollo, Artemis, EMPTY THRONE! Why 13? For Hestia? But she doesn't have a throne she gave it up. For Hades? He also doesn't have one on Olympus!

[arse-crack-thistle]

a firstprince meet-cute

the heroes of olympus au

in which the roman son of apollo meets the greek son of themis

Henry—the quiet son of Apollo and Centurion of the 3rd cohort—leads a team of five demigods through the Long Island woods. Their task: spy on the Greeks and bring information back to Octavian. The golden-haired boy wishes he could’ve refused, but anyone who goes against the Pontifex Maximus gets severely punished and he will not let any harm come to his legionaries. Not again.

The group weaves through the trees, dodging the sight of any patrols. Henry has no idea how he’ll get close enough to hear anything, but he might be able to interpret some battle strategy from the Greek’s night preparations. As his fellow soldiers fan out beside him, Henry inches up the hill. He’d say a prayer to his father if he thought it would help, but he doesn’t. After many unanswered prayers about his sexuality, about his rather fucked up influential family, he doesn’t bother with Apollo anymore.

Henry gestures for his right-hand man—Pez, son of Mercury and the only one who actually knows he’s gay—to peer over the hill with him; the others stay back, keeping watch. The Centurion readies an arrow just in case, while Pez has his hand on the hilt of his blade, and they watch Greek demigods reinforce their buildings, sharpen their weapons, and prepare medical tents. None of them are practicing formations, which doesn’t help Henry or Octavian at all. He has to come back with something, so he puts the arrow away and crawls forward.

This could be really stupid, but he has to try—not for Octavian but for New Rome. It’s the only place that’s felt like home to him. Back in England, there’s his grandmother, the CEO of an underwhelming home goods empire. The stuff is cheap, but they’re still the number one seller back home. His mother and brother have a part in it. His sister ran off a few years back, and he has no idea where she is or if she’s even alive. His father—or rather ex-step-father—hasn’t wanted much to do with him since about three years ago when he found out Henry’s mother had an affair at a music festival fourteen years before.

They had a scandalous divorce, covered by every major news outlet, and Henry found out his true identity when a handsome demigod knocked on his door and told him he was in danger and had to be take to California. Several monsters, a few thousand miles, and a few months with a wolf goddess later, he found himself at Camp Jupiter. Everything that happened to him up until then—the blurry images of creatures at the corner of his eyes every time he turned a corner, the dyslexia that made his passion for writing frustrating, the way he never really fit in with his family—finally made sense. He was a demigod! And when the sign of Apollo appeared over his head after he made his first bullseye at the archery range, he truly felt like he found where he belonged.

Pez whispers for him to come back, but Henry lifts a hand in warning. Just then, someone—a dryad probably—screams an alert to his enemy, and all Underworld breaks loose. His legionaries get in formation behind him, readying themselves for the Greeks. They were taught never to run from a fight, but Henry can’t allow this to happen. He’s been in enough battles to know when he can win and when he can’t. Eventually, they’ll be outnumbered because Octavian won’t send him reinforcements if he can help it. He doesn’t know how violent the Greeks will be, but if they willingly fired on New Rome when their defenses were down, then he can’t take the risk. And he won’t repeat what happened in the Titan war.

Henry orders his soldiers back, telling Pez to take temporary control of the cohort and share the minimal information they gathered with the Pontifex. If they’re to be any casualties tonight, it will only be Henry and the Greeks he can take down with him.

•••

The last thing Alex—the wise-ass son of Themis—wants to do in the middle of the night is go to a counsel meeting at the Big House. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he walks up the creaky steps. Inside, Chiron and the other counsellors gather around a table. It’s times like this he wishes it was a year ago when the children of minor gods were left out of meetings and decision-making. But as soon as he slaps himself awake, he regains his undying need to get involved and raise hell—fair and just hell, of course.

He sits down next to Nora, the temporary head counsellor of the Athena cabin. She’s bouncing in her seat—no doubt high on caffeine and nectar and ready to get back to developing war strategy. She gives him a wink and taps her fingers like she’s back home typing on a computer. Chiron clears his throat and tells the demigods of a Roman scout team that was spotted an hour ago. Unfortunately, most of the soldiers got away, but they did manage to capture one. He’s being held in one of the Big House’s guest rooms.

Now it’s Alex’s turn to bounce. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this. A prisoner of war means they’ll need to get information. There will need to be a lawyer present—or a lawyer in training that is. He can preside over the questioning, be the voice of justice, and maybe even get the Roman to see the right side is his. He can picture it now: Camp Half-Blood safe from the Romans and that dude reformed in his ways, joining them to stop Gaia. Yes, this is his chance to step out of his sister’s shadow.

He volunteers to mediate for whoever is charged with the interview. Alex ignores Chiron’s obvious hesitation; just because he can get a little heated—thank gods Leo isn’t here cracking a dumb pun joke at that, which would inevitably leave them both laughing on the floor—doesn’t mean he can’t be objective. So he hates the Romans’ guts and thinks they should go back to their stuck-up little camp, so what? Once he’s in the real world, going to college, running for congress like his father, he’ll have to deal with a shit-ton of people he doesn’t like. Looking at you, Bitch McConnell.

Just as Chiron decides he, Nora, Will Solace, and reluctantly Alex will talk to the Roman boy, a camper from the Aphrodite cabin bursts through the door and tells him one of the Hephaestus girls accidentally blew up a boy from the Ares cabin. Apparently, armor strapped with projectile explosives wasn’t the best idea. So Chiron declares they will talk to their guest in the morning, and in the meantime, they’ll take shifts in pairs guarding him. Alex raises his hand to get the first watch, but Chiron appoints Drew Tanaka and Connor Stoll. They both roll their eyes at the idea of being stuck together for the next few hours. Alex’s chest deflates.

Ever since his sister left—he and June are some of the rare demigods that have the same mortal and immortal parentage without being twins—the responsibility of the Themis cabin has fallen on his shoulders. He wanted it, of course, but his siblings also elected him to the head counsellor position, thinking he’d follow in June’s footsteps: ruling with truth, justice, and wisdom. Just like their mother.

Back in his cabin, Alex stares at the marble statue of her that presides over her children. Her iconic image—blindfolded, holding a sword in one hand and balancing a scale in the other—reminds him he’s definitely no June.

She was a leader of quests; Alex has never been on one. June was the voice of reason at counsel meetings; he struggles just to sit still, let alone calm a room with one enlightening sentence. When the children of minor gods were finally given their own cabins, there was no question who should run theirs. Now, he hears his siblings whisper whether they should hold another election. Gods, you call out your conservative brothers one time—it was way more than once—and suddenly, you’re imposing your opinion on everyone.

That’s not it though. Alex has never been given a chance to step up. No matter how many times he tries to convince the counsel they should establish a court system at camp—nothing settles an argument like a nice, fair trial—he always gets shot down.

Not anymore. He’s not going to sit back this time. Not when the threat to camp is this great. He’ll get what he needs from that Roman. If June were here, she would’ve been trusted to go ahead without Chiron, so Alex will do the same.

•••

Henry wakes up to angry whispers outside of his door. The twelve Greeks overtook him easily, but he did put up a good fight. At least, he did until he was knocked unconscious. On the table beside his bed, a note sits atop a plate of food.

Eat well. Hydrate. Rest. We’ll speak with you soon. -Chiron

A glass of juice spiked with nectar sits next to the plate. Why would those imbecilic Greeks give him what’s essentially strengthening serum? He intakes his surroundings: a bed, a table, a dresser, and a chair. Window to the left. Only door out to the right. There’s a clean set of clothes at the end of the bed, but Henry would rather go to Tartarus and back than put on another camp’s shirt.

He jimmies the window, but it’s locked and to hard to break. He lightly tries the doorknob, but it’s locked as well. By the sounds of it, three maybe four people argue outside his door. Romans never had this much trouble changing guard shifts. Henry fiddles about the room, looking for anything to 1. unlock the door and 2. use as a weapon. He can handle four Greeks, and he’ll do everything in his power to get back to his cohort.

Henry hears the click of the door unlocking. Gods, they’re thick, aren’t they? He grabs the wooden chair, and as the door swings open, he thwacks the person walking in with it. Just as he suspected, the chair breaks, and he uses one piece to press against the throat of the careless demigod he’s pinned to the floor.

The boy beneath him groans. He’s got light brown skin and dark curly hair, and if Henry weren’t about to kill him, he’d think he was quite cute.

“Gods, can you Greeks do anything with finesse? Even your hero, Percy Jackson, as talented as he may be, flies by the seed of his trousers.” Henry grits his teeth.

“Ha!” the boy coughs out. “Jumping to conclusions, are we? I thought you guys were supposed to be strictly trained soldiers. You miscalculated.”

He points behind him, and when Henry looks up, a girl stands battle-ready with a sword in her hand. The distraction is enough for the boy below to wrap his legs around Henry and flip them. The Greek holds a dagger to his neck.

“Listen here, pretty boy, are we going to talk or am I going to go all American Revolution on your British-ass?” He presses the dagger, and Henry yelps.

The boy’s brown eyes peer into Henry’s, and some strange part of him likes it. The Greek looks about his age and, while clearly not as capable as he, definitely has some fight in him.

“I’d like to see you try, graecus. But be forewarned, if you send me to the Underworld, I’ll drag you and your camp down with me.” He keeps his face plain and uncaring, though he can feel the heat in his cheeks. Apollo help him.

The girl interrupts them to remind her partner what they’re here to do. She sheaths her sword and closes the door.

He’s called Alex. Henry swallows. And they need information.

Alex releases him. The two get up off the ground. No one moves to sit or get more comfortable. The boys just stare at each other, long and cold.

Henry can tell this guy is a complete and total arse, and yet he can’t shake the swirling feeling in his stomach. A memory from a quest eighteen months ago flashes in his mind. In Vegas, a priest of Venus dressed like Elvis told him great tragedy would befall his love life, but with the goddess’s blessing, he’d find happiness again.

He already lost someone. The demigod who found him, Daniel, son of Ceres, his sponsor when he joined the camp, his Centurion. Everything was quiet between them—few words needed for mutual understanding. Daniel brought him fresh lavender; Henry played him a tune on the lute. But then the Titan war came. And Daniel disobeyed the Praetors’ orders to save the boy he loved. Henry barely had time to grieve before he took control of the 3rd cohort and lost four other demigods in the process. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t think of the five who died because of him. Because of love.

No. This feeling he has is the desire to beat the Greeks, nothing more. He doesn’t give a damn about happiness in love or this obnoxiously hot demigod before him. Like even as Alex breaks eye contact first, puts his sheathed dagger in his boot, ruffles his hair, puts his hands on his hips, and sighs, Henry feels nothing. Elvis can go fuck himself.

“So,” Alex says, “what do you have planned, and how can we convince you to stop? We’d really like to prevent another demigod civil war.”

Henry laughs, and even though nothing would make him happier than to stop fighting, to rest as Chiron suggested, he tells Alex, “You’re really a dickhead if you think I’m giving you anything.”

•••

“It was an accident!”

“You expect me to believe with our two camps in a centuries-long feud that the one time we let down our defenses, your lot just attacked us on accident? Right, and I suppose Pluto is actually a sweet guy once you get to know him, too?”

“My buddy Leo was being controlled by Gaia!”

“Your mate Leo should come up with a better lie.”

“You’re impossible!” Gods, Alex really hates this guy. “Nora, can’t we just—”

She shakes her head before he can finish. He’s not really sure what he was going to say. Have Drew come back and charmspeak him? Feed him to the harpies? Pin him down again? Wait—what?

“Listen, dude. We’re really on the same side here. Right now, both Greeks and Romans demigods—our friends—are fighting against a greater threat than the world has seen since the beginning of time. That’s got to count for something,” he says.

The Roman is quiet. Alex hates how he looks like a goddamn prince even after a fight. But maybe he got through to him. After all, it is true. For all the shit he talks about Romans, he knows they’re not bad, just different. They actually have more in common than they’d like to acknowledge. Jason Grace taught him that. If there was ever a Roman WASP he could get behind, it’s Jason.

So Alex tries a different approach. He gestures to the bed. “You want to?” The blond boy stiffens, and Alex clarifies, “Sit?”

“How about we start over?” He sits. Nora takes the opportunity to march to the other side and bellyflops onto the bed. “I’m Alex, son of Themis, the goddess of justice. And you are?”

He watches the Roman look from the undefended door to Alex and back again.

“You could run,” Alex says. “But then we’d have no chance to broker peace. Hera thought she could do it by trading heroes, but I think you and I both know it takes more than one person to heal two armies.”

Power swells in his chest. Alex can’t know for sure, but maybe his mother is looking out for him. This is how he can bring the demigods justice for Gaia’s destruction. June would be the better choice, but Alex is here and he has to try.

“Let’s work together. Or at least, get along long enough for the prophesized seven to come back home,” he says.

The Roman hesitates. Alex can see in his light blue eyes the number of strategies racing through his mind. But ultimately, he decides to sit. Nora snores next to them. Five a.m. and a caffeine/nectar crash will do that to you.

“So your name?” Alex asks. “It’s only fair.” Dumb pun but he winks.

The boy coughs, but then he looks into Alex’s eyes. “I’m—er—Henry, son of Apollo, Centurion of the 3rd cohort.”

so this is a little late but we’re just going to ignore that...

i just finished reading toa a couple of weeks ago, and i can’t stop thinking about it!! so when i saw the meet-cute prompt, i couldn’t resist a percy jackson-ish fic! i hope you enjoyed this little short piece. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[krissy-kat]

PJOverse Headcanons

Pt 3 :-

Michelle

• Daughter of Ares

• Ares met her birth father while he was posing as a high ranking soldier and her father was serving in the war zone as a doctor with no borders

• While they were together, one day Michelle popped out of thin air which made Ares tell her father the truth

• Since her birth father still wanted help people around the world he decided to give Michelle to his sister, a aro-ace, who wanted to adopt a child for some time

• Her father told her mother about Michelle being a demigod

• Michelle was the (begrudgingly) flower girl at his wedding with another doctor with no borders

• Michelle witnessed a monster being killed in the park when she was 6

• Her mother didn't want to lie to her so she told her the truth

• Michelle wanted to go to Camp but her mother told her to wait until she was 10

• When she was nine a monster attacked at her house and her mother was greatly injured saving her

• She went to Camp to learn how to fight (even though she doesn't condone violence) so that she could make sure her mother was never harmed ever

• While at she was at Camp she still was a outcast like her school because she was probably the only Ares child who doesn't like to fight

• When she was ten, she met her godly parent for the first time while her big sister Clarisse and she were making rounds at New York to collect some Camp Necessities

• Michelle only allows Clarrise to call MJ because she is the best half-sister even she thought she complained how MJ doesn't like to fight

• Clarisse decided to tell their father how MJ rather sketch alone in the corner rather than spar with someone even when she probably is the best mace wielder at the Camp

• The next she got a special delivery by Hermes from her dad containing a pencil that with turn whichever colour or shade she has on her mind and doesn't need to be sharpened which turns into a mace when you try pull the rubber on back and a sketch books with infinite pages that turns into a shield

• It was day that Michelle decides that Gods do care about them even if they aren't in their lives as much as they should be

• That was also the year the happy sunshine girl from school came into Camp, turns out she is daughter of literal Sun God

• She was eleven when she met Harley aka the boy who knows Tony Stark around the Camp while the Hephaestus and Ares Cabin teamed up for Chariot Race

• She doesn't like him because he started hanging out with Clarisse and her and this was Clarisse's last year at camp because she turning 21 this year and she wants to start a life with her boyfriend Chris without the demigod shenanigans but

• She promised her she'll keep contact with her somehow, they ended up deciding to go out together for a girls night every two months

• When she returned to Camp next year she realized that Harley wasn't that bad in a nerdy loser kind of way just like Ned and Peter but they didn't need to know it

• Turns out Harley followed Clarisse like Puppy last year because she was the only one who didn't give a dam that he knew Tony Stark and even dissed him when she went to drop him off

• By the end of summer she even let him call MJ

• Next year another one of her classmates came to the Camp, Eugene he was the asshole friend of Ned and Peter she didn't mind him until a month ago he started bullying Peter for no reason

• Normally she didn't pay any attention to rumours but she can make exception for one of her nerdy loser

• The rumours are supposed to be that his parents were always fighting since his father discovered that Eugene wasn't his son but won't divorce

• MJ decided to confirm the theory and the way Eugene dismissed it confirmed her suspicions

• Even though it adds up it doesn't excuse his actions

• So she decided to challenge him for a duel at the end of summer, everyone was surprised because she never challenged anyone

• At the end of summer she destroys him

• Back at school he stopped pushing Peter and resorting to calling him names which was good enough for now but she'll definitely kick his ass next year

• Next summer the things at Camp gets super interesting, apparently Peter's a demigod too and started crushing super hard on Harley and so did Harley

• It was really fun watching Harley and Peter being obvious around each other by the end of summer everyone just wanted one of them to man up and ask each other out even Eugene was frustrated and he and Peter avoided each other like plague

• Next year Peter didn't come to Camp because his Uncle died, Harley was super sad to hear Peter won't be joining them this year

• Everyone was talking about the new hero Spiderman that has patrolling in Queens, Athena Cabin hated him because how could someone willing to associate themselves with spiders be good and for gods knows what reason Eugene was there to defend him with whole Aphrodite Cabin

• The argument got to such a point Chiron put a ban on talking about Spiderman

(I would love to hear you guys headcanons about this Au or Parkner in general so don't hesitate to share)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

[amora-recs]

aristos achaion┊jeon jungkook┊01

des: The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks. (college!AU combined with greek!AU)

note: although this was so hard to come up with and plan out, I LOOOVE it so much! I think this one might be one of my favourites. I tried really hard to not make it too Percy Jackson so I hope it’s ok!! anyway please enjoy <3

word count: 1.5k

 Snitches get stitches. Those three exact words have been preached over for far too many generations at Faraday Institute. Especially when it came to the Ares kids. Those same words also applied in this situation, everyone silently watching as Jungkook kept hammering away at one of the boys’ face. The room felt suffocatingly stuffy, only a few grunts and groans were heard over the party music playing in the speakers, although at the time the funky tunes were nothing more than white noise as no one dared interfere with the altercation going on at the time.

 It hit him all at once the moment he stood up. His head was starting to spin, the metallic taste of blood, an all too familiar tang to him now, filled Jungkook’s mouth as his left eye kept pulsating in pain. He could barely feel his hands, knuckles covered in dark red blood. He could already hear people whispering, making his insides coil in disgust. Couldn’t they just leave? No one asked them to stay and watch him beat up some dudes. His eyes turned around toward his audience, scanning the room for Jimin. Stupid frat parties, he should have never accepted the invite. With no sign of his one companion in sight, he walked out, wincing as the chilly early spring breeze brushed over his bruises.

“Dear Gods, what a fucking psycho. Did he have to overdo it?” asked one of the girls, throwing a few regular glances towards the guys on the floor. “Wasn’t he recently titled Aristos Achaion?”

“Yes, actually,” emphasised Taehyung, one of the Apollo kids, taking another sip of his drink. “The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks.”

 It was true, Jeon Jungkook owned the title of best of the greeks and just like Taehyung said, the Gods, also known as the College Council, themselves gave him that name. It was almost absurd how much power those two words held on campus. The moment everyone heard a son of Ares was the one to become Aristos Achaion many different opinions were shared, most of them bashing on the council for making such a mistake. But just like after the fight, Jungkook preferred to ignore them, accepting the title with a big smile. A smile that slowly but surely was disappearing.

 It was a beautiful night. Everything was silent except for the few grasshoppers and although the air was still chilly, the way the breeze scraped his wounds felt pleasant while the simplistic palette of blues and black the sky was tinted in offered him comfort as he walked alone in the dark. The tranquillity of it all allowed him to sort his agitated thoughts.

 That, or he was just giving himself an awful migraine.

 A sigh escaped his lips as he knocked three times at the door of his best friend, trying his hardest to straighten up his posture. A bashful smile took over his features as soon as the door opened. Along with his smile, his blush also grew wider as he studied her attire. She was wearing a large grey t-shirt, probably bought from the boys’ section, that reached her mid-thighs. His heart started beating just a tad faster as whether or not she was wearing anything under that shirt crossed his mind. He immediately made a mental note to slap himself later. Sleepiness coated her eyes, still not taking into consideration his appearance. No words were exchanged as she welcomed him inside, already searching for the first aid kit. She was more than used to have Jungkook all beat-up knocking at her door. She became his nurse, as he liked to call it.

“Y’know,” Jungkook grunted as he took a seat on the couch. “You shouldn’t open the door dressed like that.” her response came in the form of a yawn, cleaning the bruises on his face first with a wet cloth.

“But I knew it was you knocking.”  

 For some reason, it felt good to hear those words. It made his heart flutter. “Yeah right,” he mouthed, looking down at his injured hands, now cleaned up by her.

 A comfortable silence surrounded them shortly after. Seeing her in front of him made memories from earlier come back in a rush, making Jungkook scrunch his nose in disgust at the repulsive thoughts. The way they dared talk about her made his blood boil and, though painful, clench his fists. He should have mutilated them after what he heard came out of their mouths –

“Why did you pinch me?” he whimpered in pain as he took a hold of his wounded right cheek.

“You were spacing out again.” she simply stated with a smile, gently taking his hand off his cheek. “Now, be a good boy, and let me disinfect your cheek.”

 The antiseptic stung, but like the good boy he silently promised to be, Jungkook said nothing, distracted by the very little distance between them and the flowery smell of her shampoo. For once he was thankful for his swollen cheeks.

“Seriously though,” she stood up, throwing the cotton ball into the bowl she brought. “Aren’t you taking this son of Ares charade too seriously?”

“I can't help it.” he sighed, enjoying the sensation of the band-aid over his wounds. “I mean, it is apparently in my blood.”

 He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the look. And the look only meant one thing. “This whole blood thing seems like a bunch of bullshit to me.” she scoffed, adjusting the last bandage over the knuckles of his right hand.

 Jungkook groaned in exasperation. As much as he loved her, he knew she was still mortal. She wasn’t anything special, a certain chosen one, nor did she possess any sort of sixth sense. She was just a sceptic. A very stubborn one. And who could blame her?

 Demi-gods usually don’t own any fancy otherworldly powers as one would believe. The only gift they were blessed with was their eyes. Or rather their eye colour, to be more exact. A deep shape of brown, able to bore into your soul and warm you up in the best and worst way possible. That was Jungkook’s eye colour and the only way one could tell he has godly blood flowing through his veins.

“Just because you believe it’s bullshit that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“But is it worth it? Everyone hates you.”

 Jungkook suddenly couldn't find his words. He knew he would be lying if he said that wasn’t true. Abhorring the children of Ares became an unspoken tradition. Many believed they were too violent, barbaric even, and always looking for a fight. And like with any other stereotype, that wasn’t true.

“You don’t seem to hate me.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’ve been plotting to kill you this entire time.” she raised her eyebrow with a smirk plastered on her lips.

“For three years?” his question made her giggle, breaking character. It was soft and sweet and it made his ears feel ticklish.

 For Jungkook, times like these were far and rare in-between. Every smile, every laugh, every shed tear, he held it all dear and close to his heart, relishing in the mere joy of the moment. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, not everyone hated the Ares kids.

“Gods,” she sighed dramatically. “Patience, something I’ve noticed you’re quite lacking, is a virtue, my dear child.”

 The next morning he realised he was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for Jungkook to be greeted by an awful amount of scowls first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, hearing all the gasps and whispers made him feel uncomfortable. It felt suffocating and stiff, making his chest hurt. He was in the centre of attention, making him feel conscious about his appearance, his attitude, his everything. Perhaps beating the shit out of those guys wasn’t his most brilliant idea, but skipping class sure seemed like one. Just before he was about to prove his theory, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Jungkook? Are you alright?” asked Jimin, a smile brightening his face. He could already hear the whispers dying down. “Come on, let’s walk together!”

 Not many people liked talking with the children of Ares, let alone befriend one. But Jimin was different. He was nice, charming and caring. He was a son of Aphrodite through and through, and everyone loved him for it. “Yeah,” Jungkook mumbled, silently thanking his friend. “But shouldn’t you head to your own classes?”

“My course doesn’t start until later today, don’t worry.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he didn’t need to look at Jimin to know he had one of the corniest smiles on his face.

“I’m on prophyte business!” he winked, making Jungkook roll his eyes. “Anyway, where did you go last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere?”

 His question made Jungkook turn his head away from him, trying to avoid eye contact. Although only a shade lighter than his eyes, Jimin's eyes held the same intensity, vivid with passion and allure. He knew that if he'd look into his eyes he would start talking in no second. It proved to be a futile attempt as his silence gave Jimin the answer he hoped he wouldn't have to hear.

"You went to her place again?" Jimin whispered, knowing fully well just how much-unwanted attention this would bring.

[vorpalmusings]

Wonder Woman: Child of Clay or Child of Zeus?

Apparently Wonder Woman’s classic origin is disturbing. 

 I really had no idea about this, but there seems to be a contingent of readers who has always found exception with Wonder Woman’s birth- to those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it really is very simple: Diana was a child created out of clay and given birth by the Greek Goddesses in answer to Hippolyta’s prayers for a daughter. This is a consistent origin that is present in the character’s original Golden Age story by Marston as well as in the post-crisis origin by Perez.

This apparently has been regarded as a ‘flaw’ by some people for some time- a disturbing one, to them.  The argument I kept hearing over and over was that, while the intent behind Marston’s origin for Wonder Woman was good, the execution itself was ‘flawed’ and that DC Comics somehow had the wisdom of fixing that flaw.

How was this ‘flaw’ fixed? Well, Brian Azarello rewrote Wonder Woman’s origins by having Diana be nothing more than the offspring of yet another one of Zeus’ innumerable trysts, when he decided to get his jollies off and come down to seduce the queen of the Amazons, Hippolyta. The story about Diana being a clay baby? A made-up tale that Polly cooked up to cover up the affair. 

This, apparently, is better.

This excuse about execution rings singularly hollow, for reasons I will expound upon later in this post. But suffice to say that even a superficial reflection feels inconsistent. To these readers, the concept of an alien Moses analog gaining super-powers from the radiation of our yellow sun while being deathly allergic to the soil of his own birth planet is perfectly logical. Likewise, the existence of magic and the ability to cast spells by simply speaking backwards is credible, as is the notion that a disturbed billionaire decides to fight crime while clad head to toe in a bat costume manages to somehow be terrifying when fighting crime despite of it. 

These readers will also accept a green-skinned teenager who can turn into all of the animals of the animal kingdom and the mythic bestiary, a teenager who obtained these powers after being cured from a virus transmitted by a monkey. They will accept that a man can run at the speed of light, that a god of order can live inside a magic helmet, that a particularly angry house-cat can be chosen by and wield one of the most powerful weapons of destruction in the universe, and that people can come back from the dead...

But  a child being born from clay out of a mother’s longing and the miraculous intervention of patron goddesses is somehow stretching it. 

There is much here that simply doesn’t make any sense.

Summary Executions

Let’s turn now to the critique of ‘execution.’  If we are going to put forth a critique of something’s execution, it is because we perceive that the intent behind a particular concept was not successfully translated into a concrete end product.

What was Marston’s intention behind the creation of Wonder Woman? 

“Not even girls want to be girls so long as our feminine archetype lacks force, strength, and power. Not wanting to be girls, they don't want to be tender, submissive, peace-loving as good women are. Women's strong qualities have become despised because of their weakness.“ -William M. Marston 

Marston had put his finger on the age-old issue of ‘the weaker sex’- that is, of women as a whole conceived and portrayed as weak, infirm people who were constantly dependent on saviors (traditionally male) and upon whose lives they often tied their fortunes. While boys had daring role models like Superman, Batman, and the heroes of pulp and literature accumulated over generations, girls didn’t really have comparable role models on that same scale, but usually models directed towards docility and domesticity.

Wonder Woman was created to not only fill this void, but in many ways to compensate for the generational absence. Everything about her conception was geared towards a female world: the society where she lived was entirely female, the gods with whom they communicated were female, and Diana’s very origin lacked any masculine intervention whatsoever. 

Such parthenogenetic births can be found in Greek mythology: While Zeus brings forth Athena out of his own mind after ingesting her mother (Pindar, Odes), Hera also creates Haephestos without need for sexual procreation (Hesiod, Theogony), and Aphrodite breathed life into Pygmalion’s marble statue after he fell in love with it, giving life to Galatea (Philostephanus, History of Cyprus.)  

Out of the many possible origins that Marston could have chosen, it is my belief that he drew upon the themes found in the story of Galatea because of its underlying symbolism: Marston found himself facing a world that conveyed the message that, without a man, a woman was nothing. To counteract this trend, he chose an origin story for his heroine that carried the message that women could determine their own identity. Just as no man had a hand in creating Diana, women should not be defined by men, especially the men who sought to claim a stake in molding them for their benefit.

 As far as symbolism goes, the execution of the story matches Marston’s intention: in origin, upbringing and culture, Wonder Woman comes from a world untouched by men. This was important to show for Marston because it also conveyed the message that women could run government, could fight, could build and maintain a functioning society- ideas that were regarded with skepticism (and still are in some places, even to this day). 

As a concept, then, it is perfectly sound and, I argue, still very much a necessary part of her character today, due to some predominant attitudes. What, then, can the objection be? If the objection is towards Marston’s prose in the original Golden Age comics, his prose is still very much in line with the style and practice of his day, with a fast clip that emphasized defining moments rather than smooth transitions. And while Perez’s prose may be a little grandiloquent by today’s standards, it is still perfectly capable material for a modern re-telling if DC thinks younger generations will feel alienated by the language.

What, then, is gained by eliminating this origin, as the movie and the comics (even after Rebirth, apparently, if some solicits are to be taken at face value) have done?

There really is very little to be gained. By having Zeus as a father, Diana ends up being no more than a common demigod, the likes of which march in hordes throughout the whole of Greek literature. The bastards of Zeus alone make up a small battalion: Perseus, Herakles, Dionysus, Amphion and Zetheus, Arcas, Tityos, Castsor, Pollux, Helen of Troy, Minos, Myrmidon, Keroassa, Tantalus, Pirithous, Rhadamanthus, Sarpedon, Alagonia, Carnus, Arcesius, Thebe, Epaphus, ARgus, Opus, Lacedaemon, Magnes, Carius, Slymus, Milye and Argus. Demigods in Greek myth are the Smiths of the ancient world, you couldn’t swing a doru around without smacking one of Zeus’ bastard children in the face. 

The one thing in common that all of these demigods have is that Zeus, essentially, seduced their mothers- and in many cases raped them, the thunderer being one of the worst gods when it came to using women as nothing more than as a means to quench his appetites. Indeed, this is exactly how Zeus used Hippolyta in Azarello’s stories: Zeus seldom becomes a ‘father figure’ to the offspring he sires, in most cases walking away after the coupling and remaining an absentee father.

How does this fix anything? If anything, it rather denigrates Diana’s birth, because demigods are all a rather frightfully common occurrence in Greek Myth, whereas parthenogenesis is reserved for extraordinary characters. The intention, also, is different: whereas the siring of a demigod is the (often accidental) consequence of a god using a mortal as a temporary object of pleasure and lust (for Zeus never truly loves, he lusts), the parthenogenetic birth  is an action of pure intention where the birth is an end in itself. 

Azzarello’s Diana is, therefore, changed from an intentional act of creation to an accidental after-effect of Zeus’ spring break with Hippolyta.  This ‘fixes’ nothing, and only creates more problems. In fact, it undermines the original intention to such a degree that this, truly, is the poor execution. 

[An side: The movie manages to get away with altering Diana’s origin by painting a radically different Zeus than the one we are familiar with: He seems to be a more caring, benevolent Zeus than the serial rapist and bona-fide sociopath of myth. Of course, one could say that this is all told as part of Hippolyta’s tale and thus bowdlerized for Diana’s sake, but Ares paints Zeus as being squarely a protector of humanity in their conflict, and he has no reason to paint Zeus in a good light. Nevertheless, the apparently benevolent Zeus of the movie is not the Zeus of the comics, who is written true to type.]

In Conclusion

It is very hard to conceive of a reason for why Wonder Woman’s classic origin could be considered flawed and disturbing.  The only reason I can fathom, judging from the reaction of those who believe the Zeus origin ‘fixed’ the flaws in Diana’s story, is that the classic origin didn’t involve any men. 

I hate to sound accusatory in this regard, but when we look at all of the different and celebrated origins within the DC Universe, Diana’s origin can be considered pedestrian  when it comes to how out-there some concepts can get. And yet, somehow, the wonder manages to run out and fall short of a miracle baby created by goddesses, which distubs some people. But the God of Thunder seducing and impregnating a woman with his child is somehow less gross and troublesome- probably because there is a father involved, no matter how dysfunctional and absent he may be.

Marston, in the reasoning that led him to create some of Wonder Woman’s strongest moments, held that there were some men who were domineering- men who believed women’s lives needed to be about them and had to be shaped by them. A woman who did not defer to a man’s judgement and advice was, so went popular belief, a woman of loose morals and not someone to be trusted.  In observing the glee certain groups have expressed about ‘the flaw’ being fixed so that a man is directly responsible not only for Diana’s existence but also for her powers (where they had previously been blessings bestowed upon her voluntarily instead of being inherited)  it seems that Marston’s judgement about some individuals was right.

While Greg Rucka’s recently-ended run seems to have established that the New 52 origins were all part of a set of elaborate lies to deceive Diana (and indeed her powers are gifts from ‘the patrons’ instead of some divine heritage), there are rumblings from future solicits down the line that raise the issue of Diana’s “brother” (whom we saw being born in the New 52 reality, after Diana, and who technically speaking shouldn’t exist since he was part of the lie), with mentions of demi-godhood that make me nervous about whether DC will decide to undo all of the good work Rucka spent in untangling Azzarello’s mess and returning Diana to the truth of her character.

We can only hope that these are only red herrings and a few loose threads left of ‘the lies’ to tie up. It would be a shame to lose all of the good work that has been done on Wonder Woman so far.