#(and everybody else is a deity if children of hades at all)

[mask131]

Deadly fall: The Grim Reaper

THE GRIM REAPER

Category: World culture / World mythologies

Everybody knows that, when it comes time to personify or embody the concept of Death in fiction, the Grim Reaper appears. Everybody knows what the Grim Reaper looks like: a skeleton dressed in a black robe or cloak with a hood, wielding a scythe, coming to collect the soul of a deceased or to “cut” the life of a person to cause their death.

But while this image is considered to be “universal” today, it wasn’t always the case. In fact, the very concept and idea of a Grim Reaper was conceived in England! In Europe, death as a concept and manifestation was always represented in art through skeletons. Moving, animated skeletons – even dancing skeletons in the case of the “Danse Macabre” motives. These skeletons were often draped in shrouds (which later caused the “white sheets” of the ghosts), but due to black being a color more associated with death, soon the embodiment of death came to be seen as wearing capes or cloaks of this color. Death in particular was VERY personified in England, where he was a traditional character of morality plays as well as of folk songs – but then, Death was only known as “Death”, nothing else. We would have to wait for 1847 and “The Circle of Human Life” for the term “grim reaper” to appear, describing dying as “meeting the grim reaper with his scythe”. Later, the expression became so popular it evolved into the “proper name” of the character, Grim Reaper.

Why a scythe, you might ask? Well originally speaking, it all dates back to Greek mythology. There is the characters of Kronos, the king of Titans and father of Zeus, who was depicted as holding a scythe – he had used it to emasculate his own father (long story). Kronos was turned by the Romans into Saturn, a god of agriculture and fertility, and the scythe symbol was kept. Already depicted as an old man, to show the “ancientness” of this deity, there also came to be a confusion between “Kronos” (the god’s name) and “Chronos”, which is the Greek word for time – this resulted in the well-known figure today of “Father Time”. Kronos devouring his own children to avoid being overtaken was completely counter-interpreted as “Time devouring all” and “Time destroying youth”. And soon, due to a displacement between Time and Death, the scythe of Kronos/Saturn was given to Death, who “reaps” the human souls when they are about to die the same way a reaper reaps the crops once the harvest is ready to be taken. But before the scythe was settled as THE weapon of death, many other instruments and tools were used: you can see medieval depictions of Death showing him wielding swords, spears or pitchforks.

I say “he” because the English language and tradition masculinized Death, something that Germany also did – but it should be remembered that in Latin-speaking countries of Europe, such as France, Spain and Italy, “death” is a female word, and by extension could often be depicted as a female entity. A last inspiration for the formation of the Grim Reaper figure should be mentioned: the Bible. More precisely the Book of Revelation (The Apocalypse). When describing the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, the last one is said to “ride a pale horseman”, and that his name is “Death”. This image of Death as a pale horseman struck DEEPLY popular imagination, which explains why Death is now often seen as a “pale rider”, or as riding a white horse. But again, it is a bit of a twist – as the “pale” of the original text did not mean “white” like people think today, but rather it designated a greenish color, “chloros”, a bit yellow on the side, meant to evoke the color of rot and of a corpse’ putrefaction. The name however was correctly translated as the text says the rider’s name was “Thanatos”, which is the Greek word for Death (as well as the name of their own death god), and the Biblical text even hit the nail even more by adding “and Hades followed him”. It is usually translated as “and Hell followed him”, but “Hades” in Greek was a more neutral word who simply designated the underworld and afterlife in a general way – and even could be used figuratively to talk about a tomb or a grave.

Once the picture of the scythe-wielding skeleton was settled, it quickly spread to the rest of Europe, often replacing local death incarnations.

For example, in Scandinavia the traditional Grim Reaper replaced “Pesta”, a supernatural hag in black hood embodying the plague (she was a death entity that was created during the times of the Black Plague). A descendant of the Norse goddess Hel, Pesta was said to wander into towns with either a broom or a rake, to collect the souls of her victims: if she had a rake, some people in the town would survive, like leaves escaping a rake; but if she had a broom, she would forget and spare no one. But when the Grim Reaper arrived, poor old Pesta was quickly forgotten: in fact, it is from Scandinavia that came to us one of the most memorable and influential depictions of Death on a cinema screen. “The Seventh Seal”, the Swedish film by Bergman. Lithuanians also had their own female incarnation of death replaced by the traditional Grim Reaper: they had the goddess Giltine, an ugly old woman with a long blue nose and a tongue covered with a deadly poison. Interestingly, according to their myth, she used to be a pretty young goddess, and a very pleasant person, but spending seven years locked in a coffin turned her into the monster she is today: meanwhile her sister, Laima, kept her charm, beauty and pleasantness – and she was the goddess of life, destiny, childbirth, marriage and luck.

Of course, while the Grim Reaper figure spread everywhere, it still has numerous local variations (it is Europe after all).

For example, in the French region of Bretagne there is the Ankou (see my posts about him). In Poland, the Grim Reaper is dressed in white, not black, and given their word for death is female (“smierc”), he tends to be a she, a skeletal old woman. In the Netherlands, Death is known as “Magere Hein” (Meager Hein) or “Pietje de Dood” (Peter the Death). And in many European countries, one will note that the behavior of Death or the names given to Death will correspond to those attributed to the devil – as often the fear and hatred of death led people to fuse together or confuse the figure of the devil and the one of the grim reaper.

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A fascinating study of the “Grim Reaper figures” would be the one of Death in Latin America. They have here a very rich series of cultures with very unique interpretations mixing the traditional Grim Reaper imagery with Christian religion. Three main entities come to my mind, all “folk saints” (saints that are not recognized by the Church in any way, but that exist in popular worship and in folklore):

# San Pascualito in Guatemala. The “King of the Graveyard” as he is called, San Pascualito Muerte appears as a skeleton in robes, or a skeleton wearing a crown, often with a scythe. A distortion of the cult of the actual saint known as Paschal Baylon, beyond a cult of death he is invoked and prayed to cure diseases and appease epidemics. His feast day is said to be the 17th of May, and he is usually given candles of different colors depending on what you ask him for (red for love, pink for health ; dark blue for work, light blue for money ; black for revenge, white for protecting children, etc…)

# San La Muerte. Mostly worshiped in Paraguy, with also a presence in north-eastern Argentine and southern Brazil (plus Buenos Aires). “Saint Death” appears as a skeleton with a hooded cloak (usually black and red) wielding a scythe (with sometimes blood on the blade), and is sometimes called “Señor de la Muerte” or Señor de la Buena Muerte, even “San Esqueleto” (Saint Skeleton). Like the previous saint, in exchange for prayers and offerings (one’s own blood, alcohol or precious objects) San La Muerte offers a variety of services : restore love, fortune or health, protect from witchcraft and remove the evil eye, offer good luck when gambling… But unlike San Pascualito, San La Muerte also has an active cult in prisons due to the saint also offering favors related to crime and violence: he can avoid one going to prison, shorten prison sentences, or cause the death of an enemy. Often invoked by brujas (witches) and curanderos (folk healers), San La Muerte’s feast day is the 15th of August.

A very “pagan” element of San La Muerte cult is the fact that the statues of his are the center of said cult, and treated as physical manifestations of the saint. They are consecrated by Catholic priest seven times to become “true” incarnations of the San (and since the Church disapproves and reject San La Muerte, people tend to hide the statue under the image of another saint to get the blessing anyway). These statues are kept on altars and “fed” with the offerings – families usually keep them hidden in their household for the San to bring protection over their families. When someone is favored by the San, they can pass on their protection to another person by giving them their statue of San La Muerte. It is also believed that if the statue is made of special materials, it will be more “powerful”: thus you have San La Muerte statues made out of baby bones, of Christian man bones, of coffin woods, carved in the crucifix that belonged to deceased… Same thing works for various amulets made of bullets (usually those that killed a man, especially a Christian man). These amulets, and tattoos or carvings of San La Muerte in the skin, are said to protect from bodily harm and imprisonment. And unlike other saint cults where you ask, beg, request favors from a saint, in the cult of San La Muerte, you have to “threaten” the saint: you threaten the statue with “hunger” (no offerings) or with “solitude” (banishing it to a dark corner of the house) in exchange for its favors, and once the San grants the favor you “reward” him through his statue (but not too much, as you must keep him “starving” for him to be open to a new deal).

# Santa Muerte is the Mexican manifestation of the “death cult” of Southern America. Santa Muerte (Holy Death/Saint Death), also known as “Our Lady of Holy Death”, Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, is a female folk saint acting as the embodiment of death – a female skeleton with a long robe, holding a scythe and a globe. She is not like other saints a dead human: she IS death itself, taking shape: while the scythe is the typical tool represent her job of cutting the thread of life, the globe represents her dominion over all of earth. Despite her grim appearance, Santa Muerte is actually a benevolent entity who offers healing, protection, financial wellbeing, and a safe travel to the afterlife. Worshiped clandestinely until the 1990s, since then she became a popular public figure. Other attributes of her include the lamp (that she uses to guide us through the darkness, figuratively or literally), the owl (that acts as her messenger), the scale (that represents the divine justice and the equity and impartiality of the will she enacts), and the hourglass (typical Grim Reaper symbol, representing the limited lifespan of a human life – another heritage that the Grim Reaper got from Father Time). Her cult is informal and unorganized, going from a clandestine cult to a highly popular and fast-spreading trend: most people have home shrines dedicated to her, there are special votive candles of different colors to invoke her various favors ; similarly statues of the Santa Muerte are dressed in different colors to pray for different things (white for gratitude, purity and cleansing ; red for love and passion ; green for justice and legal matters ; gold for money, prosperity and economical success…). She receives a special sub-cult as “Señora de la Noche”, Lady of the Night, by those exposed to the dangers of working at night  (taxi drivers, bar owners, prostitutes, policemen…). Her feast day is either the 1st of November or the 15th of August depending on which area you are. Santa Muerte got for a time a bad reputation due to being one of the favorite saints of drug dealers, with her cult spreading to prisons (both among inmates and staff) and her prayers being tied to violent and illegal businesses ; but more recently, she also became the protectress of homosexuals, bisexuals, transgenders, and other queer people of Mexico due to them being outcasts of Christian religion and Mexican society, and Santa Muerte precisely being a non-conforming saint like them: her image is notably used during same-sex marriage ceremonies.

All these folk saints are part of the wider “cult of death” prominent across most Southern America cultures, a cult that is HIGHLY rejected by the Catholic Church, despite these folk saints precisely being created to fit in a Catholic context. It is not so much because they are fictional, or because some of them are clearly “pagan” practices (see San La Muerte), but it is rather because their very existence contradicts the fundamental teaching of Christianity – the one of Resurrection. Through Resurrection, Christ is the one who defeated and vanquished death, and the promise of Heaven by God is the one of an “endless” and “eternal” “true life”, going well beyond our limital physical existence ; the Christian doctrine does insist on death being simply a temporary state, and during Judgement Day, at the end of time, death will be erased as all will be resurrected to live in a state of eternity.

All this concept of death as a temporary thing or a vanquished power, by nature, cannot fit with the worship of death as a saint or holy concept in itself.

#deadly fall #grim reaper #santa muerte #psychopomp #death cult #south american religion #european folklore

[ramrodd]

01 Is Sinaiticus a Fake?

COMMENTARY: Who cares? Christian apologists have missed the most important fact long before any codex gets to Sainai and the question is, where did the first codex transfer the intelligence report from Caesaria to Rome that Tertullian writes that compelled Tiberius to propose making Jesus a legitimate deity to the Senate come from?  How did the Gospel According to Mark get to Rome? By scroll? John Mark didn't write The Gospel According to Mark in Rome: he was it's publicsher in Alexandria some time after Cyprus and before he was reconciled with Paul who was in a dungeon and needed all the moral support he could organize. Cornelius wrote The Gospel According to Mark and was the curator of Quelle, which began as a routine surveillance file on a potential Zealot who had just come out of the closet with the Jewish aesthetic John , aka "The Baptizer". Cornelius was probably the source for the Roman content of the Gospel of Peter, which is a surrmary of the intelligence report that Pilate and Cornelius sent to the Praetorian Guards as quickly as they could after the Resurrection. Coronelius was a combination of Pilate's Chief of Staff and Command Sergeant Major. That's the significance of the associateion "the Italian Cohort" i.e. the Praetorian Guard, Cornelius was a career centurion with the Praetorian guards and had hit his glass ceiling in Rome so he did a little retirement planning and was seconded by Sajanus to Caesarea with Pilate in 27 and began to carve out a little retirement villa in basically the Isreal version of the South of France. Nobody is nto charmed by Galilee. And he was very well paid on active duty and was guarnteed the land he occupied when he retired in a very fashionalbe Roman colony. Across Lake Tiberius/Galilee Sea was a planned community of 10 urban centers that Jesus visits and Jesus' mother Mary grew up in what was basically a gated community for middle class Romans and Israelis. The Zealots fucked it up for everybody, but in 30 CE, Cornelius had it made in the shade and then Jesus shows up leading a lynch mob and is haded over to Pilate and Cornealius is in the room and he knows Jesus from Capernaum because Jesus saved his servant's life with a word across space and time. The reason why he and Pilate were in Jerusalem was for crowd control and quick reaction against things like Tet 68 and January 6 because every Jew in walkding distance showed up for this festival. And nobody wanted a riot.So, the Gospel According to Mark is the punch-line to that old chestnut: "Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?"  What happened next is why the codex changed the epistemology of communications and record keeping. Cornelius is the centurion in Matthew 8 and Luke 7. He is not the centurion at the cross nor the centurion at the tomb. He's done that kind of work and is from what was basically the Roman "Old Guard" at our Arlington Cemetary and White House  events. I mean, this guy is totally squared away. But, by 58 ce, he is also a grandfather and his kindliness is the merce of the grandfather with his children's chlidren. Ollie North compares himself to Cornelius on the stump and says that talking with Jesus was as dangerous for Cornelius as working in a Republican White House was for him, Ollie.. Ollie is a genuine centurion of the American republic, but Cornelius's relationship to Jesus in Capernaum was that of a Alabama State Trooper pulling over Barack Obama for driving while negro. He wasn't belligerent in any manner, and authentically mindful of the Hebrew cultural value around clean and unclean. The hting that blows Jesus's mind is that he assumed Jesus could do his magic from long disttance. The timing in the gospels is that this happens before Jarius's daughter falls ill, so the question I've never heard any preacher in the world ponder, how did Cornealius come to track down Jesus and make his ask? Well, we know his servant asked him to do it, but did he know about Jesus before his servant became ill or did he become interested in him with an intelligence report came across his desk as a APB kind of thing, new guy in town, keep and eye out. The Romans had a garrison in Capernaum guarding the frontier of Isreal along a trade route from Asia. This operated as a forward listening post for the two legions in the Caesarea garrison and, well, Jesus is bapatized between Passover and Pentacost in 27 and John the Baptist is arrested just before Tabernacle and is the trigger for the spiritual tulmet in Galilee that generates the storm Jesus calms just before Tabernacle, Cornelius comes to Jesus with this request. Only, it's not mentioned in the Gospel According to Mark. Nor is the Lord's Prayer. Peter remember Cornelius from the old days when he's summoned by the Holy Spirit to Cornelius's villa. You get the feeling of a very mellow community before Peter get's there and it echoes the salutation Cornelius receives in his vision: Cornelius has made a career as a faithful republican servant-leader and his pagen wholesomeness reflected his God-Fearer relationship with Judaism from the balcony. He was content to be a second-class citizen of the Hebrew community and he got to keep his foreskin, best of all worlds. And the Holy Ghost agrees and reinforces his faith with a visti from the Spirit of the Lord before Peter could really get a head of steam on what amounts to the Apostle's Creed, which employs the same syntax as the Lord's Prayer. Acts 10:34 - 43 is the essence of the Apostle's Creed. This is what Peter relayed to Cornelius that Cornelius didn't have, which was insider information of what was going on inside the Jesus Insurgency as it matched up with the time line of the narrative Quelle was recording with Roman spy reports. If you are reading Mark in the original, everytime you hit the word εὐθὺς, that is a Roman apparatus indicating Quelle is either the source of the pericope or verifies the event from independent sources or both. 10 times in the first chapter. Peter's narrative is woven through Quelle's time line until we get to Chapter 15, which is entirely Roman content. This is what Cornelius tells Peter what happened to jesus after the cock crowed twice. And that becomes the Gospel of Peter, which reveals that the Crucifixion is a coventant cutting ceremony like in Genesis 15 but between the name in Genesis 15 and the Roman republican centuriate. I mean, which version went up the chain of command to Tiberius: the Roman content in the Gospel of Peter or the combined narrative of Matthew and Luke at the tomb? The Romans worked on an uncompromising habeus corpus basis. Somebody was in deep shit if Jesus wasn't dead and somebody else was in deep shit if they couldn't produce the body they had officially sealed for safekeeping, on pain of death. The person that thinks the most like Cornelius currently is CMA Michael A. Grinston, who is at the apex of the American republican servant-leader. This is the Archetype of the covenant cutting ceremony washed in the blood of Jesus. it isn't a religous thing, but the essence of Romans 13:1 -7 as the expression of the secular rule of law. The centurion, as a functional role, is the iron jaw and teeth of the 4th lion of Daniel. The leading edge of the Industrial Revolution. The difference between the NRA version of the 2nd Amendment and the actual nature of a well regulated militia relative to the secular rule of law. The difference between the well-behaved and loving tourists of January 6 and the Capitol Police. John Mark is probably the author of The Gospel of John. The Gospel According to Mark is called the Gospel According to Mark because it was published by John Mark and it was important to keep the Roman origin a secret. The enemies of Tiberius made it dangerous to embrace the god of Tiberius, no matter what hoops He had managed to jump through. The word of the Resurrection went through the Roman legions like grass through a goose. True or not, it was just too juicy for the basic infantry soldier. It's a great war story to share around a camp fire or in a comfortable barracks or local night club. But Timberius had made serious enemies when he executed Tiberius for conspiracy and its not clear to me if Sajanus was still alive when the first report of Resurrection came to the Praetorian Guard: he was killed in 31 and could have inhibited the feed forward function he represented from Tiberius's beauracracy. Pilate is recalled in 36 and TIberius dies in 37. And then, the Holy Ghost brings Cornelius and Peter together and Cornelius updates the first field reports about Jesus and the Christians (a Roman construct) in Quelle and forwards The Gospel According to Mark autograph by codex to Rome just in time to hit the seam between Caligula and Claudius but the nascent Roman Church of Rome stayed on the down -low. from the residual poison against Tiberius, but everywhere the Roman legions patrolled, Christianity took root. The thing that Paul brings to the Roman Church is Romans 13:1 - 7, which validates the moral structures of the republic as a creature of the secular rule of law. This goes back to Socrates and the nature of civic duty. The debate between Stoics and Epicureans is an inquiry into the dimensions of Duty and the republican servant-leader. It's why the NRA version of the 2nd Amendment is such bull shit. I mean, the Roman example of duty is a Roman general who beheaded his own son for violating standing orders to not leave your post. The connection between that example and a God who purposefully sacrifices His Only Begotten Son is irresistable. And it all came north by codex. Loose leaf papryus bound together for easy assembly and access.

[forcefuried]

“I BEAT YOU TWICE, YOU SELLOUT       NOW YOU BOW DOWN TO MICKEY MOUSE! YOU CALL YOURSELF A DARK LORD?       YOU COULDN’T EVEN CONQUER SPACE MOUNTAIN!” - adolf hitler to darth vader in epic rap battles hitler vs vader 3

disney bought lucasfilm which is my excuse to do this……idk why that quote fits this verse but it does. 😂

quick note before we begin: this AU makes use of headcanons discussed with whitley / @imbicilite / @isleisms, particularly the headcanon that auradon is in some aspects dystopian. with that in mind, here are my thoughts!

all right so first thing to address: is he in auradon or on the isle? the force seemed to forgive him and let him become a force ghost alongside his old masters, and there’s some really good meta out there on how lucas viewed vader’s redemption at the end of rotj from a deeply spiritual angle…but unfortunately for him, spiritual redemption is not necessarily the same as redemption in the eyes of humans. it’s canon that darth vader remained a despised figure long after his death, in spite of his previous heroism as anakin skywalker and in spite of his final act. so if he were brought back to life like other villains in a country that has no mercy for any sort of villainy, they would not believe that merely saving his son would cancel out all his other acts of evil. as such, he would be sent to the isle of the lost.

moreover, he technically could have been resurrected in his original hot form, but given that beast really wanted to spite him, he resurrected him not only in his deformed form but also still dependent on his suit except for his mask. technically, there’s no permanent dying on the isle, so anakin could survive without his suit; however, given how dying is still possible but temporary, anakin still needs his suit so that he can actually walk around and do things and not just be in bed in a permanent dying-but-not-dying state. why was he resurrected without his mask? because beast knows how vain he was as anakin (his vanity rivaled gaston’s for fuck’s sake) and he wanted the whole world to know what he really looked like now that he was injured. >:3

he also has far less status on the isle than one might think. he is not on the top tier of “ultraclassic” villains that are deities (such as hades), immortals, faeries (such as maleficent) or just anyone that can live 100+ years, but worse than that, he is capable of love. according to whitley’s hc, love is stigmatized on the isle, and anyone who has such feelings is treated like a fool. everybody and their mother knows that vader turned away from evil to save his son, that he loved padmé dearly and never let go of her, and that he is still extremely attached to his wife and kids; many on the isle love to insult and threaten his family just to watch him lose his shit. in the real world, everyone fears darth vader and considers him as powerful and as iconic as any classical disney villain. but in the world of those actual villains, he’s the butt of every joke. 

to make matters worse, he has renounced all of the people he used to work with: sidious, tarkin, boba fett, piett, ozzel, needa……he doesn’t speak to them at all and other isle denizens see that as the ultimate betrayal. apart from taunting him for his love, they taunt him saying he tries to be a hero when he’s really just as bad as everyone else locked in this hellhole. they also say no one on auradon will ever let you escape your past no matter how good you try to be, so don’t come crying to us when you learn that the hard way. but he knows. he fucking knows. all he wants is the forgiveness of his wife and children; if he can have that, he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks.

he does not behave like he does in star wars survival AU, as this verse takes place almost twenty years after he killed palpatine--he’s been on the isle for at least as long as mal et al. are old in descendants 1, and so he’s had time to come back more to his old self. his personality is like the worst of both worlds: he has all the anger and bitterness of darth vader combined with the deadly snark, undiplomatic demeanor and no-longer-repressed desire to swear of anakin skywalker. basically he is a grumpy grandpa who has seen too much about the world and gives absolutely zero fucks.

anakin used to have a strong desire to take revenge on auradon, but after at least one failed attempt, he decided that as long as he can be with his wife and kids again that will be enough. he would go along with the plot of any villain who can break open the barrier and take advantage of that to escape, but frankly he is done with all that “conquering bullshit” and he is not about to throw himself under another master so he can have a repeat of sidious.

a note on luke and leia: they are heroes and thus were able to live in auradon. however, due to vader being their father and due to auradon’s hatred of the children of villains, they were treated like VKs. as a result, and also as a result of the fact that VKs are abandoned and stigmatized by auradon, they are both very vocal about the rights of VKs. luke was adamant to beast about letting anakin live in auradon and resurrecting him as his former self but beast argued him down. leia on the other hand took many years to forgive anakin, but like in the star wars novels she named a son after him.

last note: he responds to either anakin or vader.

#disney owns star wars; it's free fucking real estate. || DESCENDANTS AU #|| LAUGHS AT MY TAGS I COULDN'T RESIST

[florafey]

Malogranatum - Part 2

Chasing Freedom

Three hours passed since Hades and Persephone exchanged first glances and the party was not slowing down. If anything, it had just reached full swing. Sometime recently Zeus had thrown open the doors of the ballroom and encouraged his guests onto the sprawling grounds underneath a dark, star-speckled sky. The weather was fair enough, tainted only by a breeze that made the goddess squeal and wish they had worn less sheer dresses. Nike had swept Persephone from her perch on the base of the statue and, with Athena and Aphrodite in tow, had given Persephone her first glance of the grounds of Mount Olympus. Of course she had seen them before as a child, but never like this. Never as a guest, never from Zeus and Hera’s home.

It was breathtaking. The vast lawn spread out like a goddess’s fan, bejewelled with flowers and elegantly carved statues. A low stone wall marked the edge, and the mountains in the distance were visible beyond it, giving the impression that you were about to topple off the edge of the world. Some brave deities were seated on the wall, swinging their feet and enjoying the view. 

Others were lounging on the low furniture set into the stone pathways but most others were being more liberal and rolling on the grass, chasing and tackling each other with such energy that Persephone immediately identified them as the younger gods and goddesses. And wanted to join in. She delighted in a good chase; she had had tons of practice running from Hermes, her nymphs, her mother, and was a quick little thing when she wanted to be.

Nike slipped away to steal more wine from Dionysus, who was currently prancing around a raging bonfire on the far side of the lawn. Her spot was soon filled with a soaking wet Hermes and it was only then that Persephone noticed the long, rippling pool of water set into the grass to her left. Athena squealed when Hermes lunged for her and caught her in his arms, sending water droplets cascading onto her silk dress and impeccable hair.

“Hermes!” She cried disdainfully. “Persephone, make him stop!” Persephone made a half-hearted scolding noise and managed to yank Hermes off Athena before he could make her truly grumpy.

“If I wanted to get wet, I would have stayed with Helios,” Athena sniffed, flicking her damp hair over her shoulder. Hermes made an odd choking noise in the back of his throat.

“Oh, don’t be dull, Athena, we should go swimming.” Aphrodite stood on her toes to better see the pool and who was around it. “Is that- oh there’s Ares! I haven’t seen him in hours!” She nudged around Hermes and set off towards the god that was never without his entourage of giggling, blushing goddesses. Halfway to the edge of the pool, she turned over her shoulder and shouted, “Come on, Honey!”

Persephone smirked at the nickname bestowed upon her by some of the older goddess. “I’ll protect you if you wish to stay dry,” she nudged Athena playfully and pulled her along as she followed Aphrodite’s path to the water. But Athena quickly found that it was no fun staying on the grass when most everybody else was wading and swimming and she soon joined in. The gods stripped to their pants to swim while some of the goddesses wriggled out of their dresses and some decided they didn’t mind if their clothes got wet. Nike and Aphrodite were more than happy to remove their dresses and as comfortable as Persephone was with herself, she doubted the night would end pleasantly if Demeter happened to see her treasured daughter swimming in a pool of half-naked men and women while clad only in her silk underthings. She doubted the night would end well as it was; she had stayed for far longer than Demeter had intended and she may have been purposefully avoiding her mother for the last three- or four- hours.

So Persephone’s dress stayed on. She waded up to her knees, knowing she would get scolded for the wet silk, and didn’t shy away from splashing the others when they showed interest in playing, knowing she would get scolded for her wet hair. But if she was already in trouble, why wouldn’t she get into a little more trouble and make a good night even better?

Eris appeared with food and it was only for her provisions that the deities ceased their splashing and jumping and screaming.

“Like a pack of children, all of you,” Eris dropped a wink at Persephone and offered her a leg of lamb. The meat was tender and sweet and quelled Persephone’s hunger until a tipsy Apollo grabbed her around the waist to keep her still while he lent down and nearly finished it all off with three bites. Eris tilted her head back and cried with laughter at Persephone’s shocked face.

“Children and brutes, perhaps,” she corrected, wiping the tears from her eyes and handing Persephone another piece of meat. The young goddess gladly bit into the lamb and quirked her lips up. “This is why I much prefer the company of pretty women than curly-haired men,” she mused to Eris, knowing Apollo could overhear perfectly well. His own curls were damp and chestnut brown from the water. She squealed when Apollo shoved her, nearly causing her to topple over. Eris snatched the food from Persephone’s hand as the goddess launched herself at Apollo in retaliation. The god boomed with laughter as the small goddess collided with his chest and stuck, her arms and legs wrapping around his torso like a baby monkey to his mother.

She had intended to knock him under the water, her dress be damned, but the force of her body had not done the job. Persephone huffed with annoyance and slapped away the arms that rose to keep her around his waist. Instead she dropped down to her feet and leveled Apollo with narrowed eyes. “You’re quite rude, Apollo.”

“Of course.” The snarky god sketched a bow.

“And insufferable, too.”

That earned her a smirk. “I suppose I would only prove your point if I asked you to take your dress off and join me for a swim.”

Before Persephone could respond, an apple hit Apollo in the head and landed with a splash in the water. Nike, from behind the pair, yelled, “Yes!” in response to Apollo’s question. Persephone giggled and snatched the apple to toss it back to her friend with a quiet wink.

The pointless games continued. Laughter broke out constantly as friends and strangers splashed and tickled and pulled each under the cool, clear water. Competitions were quickly started, especially among the gods eager to show off in front of the goddesses. It was eventually agreed that Ares was the most proficient swimmer out of them all, along with the fact that none of them were to challenge Poseidon. The High God, while older than most, still showed his youthful side now and then at Zeus’ parties. Poseidon was known to take part in competitions- but only the ones involving his own domain.

But the party-goers eventually tired of the games and of the water. Persephone had hauled herself up to sit on the rim of the pool with her feet tapping the surface of the water, her silk dress pulled up to her knees and spread behind her with the hopes of it drying before Demeter was any wiser. Beside her sat Dionysus, whom had been disallowed into the water to his state of inebriation.

“Let’s play a different game!” Artemis called. She had recently come from inside where most of the older deities had remained. The grand doors were still thrown open and the warm light from the ballroom cascaded onto the green lawn. During the rare moments when the deities outside were quiet enough, the rumble of conversation and music could be heard from the pool.

“As long as I don’t have to watch Ares win,” Apollo grumbled, running his fingers through his sopping curls. Ares smacked Apollo’s ass with an unnecessarily heavy hand which only made Apollo turn around to aim for Ares’ face. Nike was between them before either one could make any rash decisions, putting her hands on their chests and saying to Artemis, “Yes, a different game might be preferred. What do you propose?”

Artemis shrugged. “Oh, it doesn't matter to me.”

“Let’s put on a play!” Dionysus called, eliciting groans from those around him. Hermes groaned the loudest and Dio reached around Persephone to flip him off.

“How about a chase?” Persephone offered. “We can make teams, or participate individually if some of us,” she glanced meaningfully at Ares and Apollo, “can’t get along.”

Ares smirked at her from the water. But Nike was on her feet, excitedly bouncing up and down. “Yes, yes, a chase! Wonderful idea, Honey!”

Athena pulled herself from the water and wrung her hair out, sending droplets pouring onto the grass. “I’ve always enjoyed the Shadow Game myself. That’s a chase enough for anyone, I should say. Except for maybe Nike.” The goddess in question winked at Athena. “The Shadow Game,” she explained to Persephone, “is common enough among the younger deities. We play it on nights like this when the older ones are gossiping and having their idea of fun while the rest of us are too drunk to play anything sophisticated but still aren’t ready to go home.” Nike shrugged. “It’s simple. Easy to play.”

“How do you play?” Persephone asked.

“Like she said. Easy.” Aphrodite climbed out of the water behind Apollo and donned her dress once more. “A single person is chosen to be Mortal while everyone else is a Shadow. Boundaries must be set before the game starts and they can be as large or small as is agreed upon. But all the Shadows must start at one boundary line with the Mortal in the exact middle. Once the signal is given to start, the Shadows must race to the other boundary line while the Mortal tries to catch as many Shadows as possible.”

“It gets tricky when entire properties get included,” Eris added. “And, if we have enough players, there can be more than one Mortal at a time.” She shrugged, a grin tugging at her full lips. “Makes it that much more exciting.”

Persephone’s brow arched. Sounded perfectly intriguing. “I suppose whoever makes it to the opposite boundary line without getting caught wins.”

Nike nodded. “Just what they win is always up for discussion, though. I distinctly remember a few Midsummers ago Aphrodite managed to sneak around Eris and win.” She shrugged. “Hermes had said he would steal Hera’s opal vase for whoever won, but,” she cast a glance towards the open ballroom doors, “as far as I can tell, it’s still there.”

Hermes waved her comment off. “Now, now, I never said when-”

“Are we going to play or what?” Ares was the last to emerge from the water, his dark skin dripping wet and causing Aphrodite to look quickly away. Persephone stood and let her semi-wet dress swish around her feet. She supposed her mother would notice it after all and, with her hair still hanging in damp ringlets down her back, there was a fair chance Demeter would give her a sound scolding. But she didn’t let her mood darken. There was a game to be played.

“Who will be playing? Hands, hands.” Nike lifted her fingers and did a cursory count of the deities that had raised their hands to show participation. She clapped gleefully when she saw how many wanted to be included. “Perfect. Now, who shall be Mortal? Any volunteers?”

Apollo shoved Hermes forward but the messenger god was quick to swat Apollo’s hands away and duck out of Nike’s line of sight before he was picked out. Nike huffed and cocked a hip out dramatically. “Oh, come on. Don’t be sissies.” In that moment she reminded Persephone of Aphrodite.

In the end, three Mortals were chosen due to the amount of Shadows they would have. Eris, Artemis, and Nike herself. The boundaries were set: the far edge of Zeus’ grounds marked one side, and the opposite side was placed through the grand palace and out on the front stretch of lawn near the entrance. It would be a long and arduous game but Persephone was not deferred. If anything, it caused her to want to win even more. Her lack of experience would put her at a disadvantage but she had speed and sheer will on her side.

And at least she wasn’t drunk. Dionysus had insisted on participating but he hadn’t been able to stand straight up for a few hours now and Persephone was interested to see how well he fared on the playing grounds.

Eris herded her fellow Mortals around her, and Artemis set about plotting their strategy for the precious few minutes the rules allowed them. But Artemis was not the goddess of the hunt for nothing. From Persephone’s side, Athena whispered something about being at a disadvantage.

Ares was quick to remind the three when their time was up, and the Mortals broke off and dispersed to hold their strategic placements. Eris remained smack in the middle of the back lawn, facing the Shadows as they lined up against the far boundary. Nike slipped into the glowing ballroom to filter out anyone who got past Eris, and Artemis looped around the side of the palace to halt anyone lucky- or skilled- enough to get through the ballroom and onto the front lawn.

When Artemis and Nike signaled they were ready, Apollo lifted two fingers to his mouth and blew a sharp, clear whistle that marked the beginning of the game.

Deities scattered haphazardly, some running straight for Eris while others dodged and swerved around the outsides, and others still used each other as shields when Eris got too close. Persephone watched Hermes shamelessly shove Aphrodite into Eris’ path, scampering away with a cackle of childish glee. Aphrodite swore and barely managed to avoid Eris’ outstretched hand. She hauled her skirts up to her knee and raced after Hermes, cursing him the entire way.

Persephone laughed quietly to herself and tried to remember to keep an eye on her surroundings. She wasn’t the best at staying focused; any passing movement or light always caught her eye and distracted her from the more important things at hand. But she was able to stay alert enough to scatter away with the rest of the deities when Eris plunged into the middle of the group.

With Eris momentarily distracted, Persephone lifted her dress with one hand and darted into the darkness, closer to the palace. She felt better with Eris at her back. From behind her, she heard the dismayed cry of a female deity being tagged, followed by the uproarious laughter belonging to none other than Dionysus. Persephone giggled again and laughed even harder when she glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Dionysus get tagged.

Up ahead of her was Hermes and Athena. Aphrodite hadn’t yet managed to get past Eris and she was running out of time if she wanted to do so with as many distractions as possible. Apollo had already disappeared inside the ballroom where Nike awaited. Persephone could not see Ares anywhere but she knew better than to think he had already gotten tagged. She allowed herself to slow her pace to conserve energy. Eris was still behind her, picking off the stragglers that hadn’t yet attempted to dash for the ballroom.

The stretch of yard separating the far boundary and the ballroom was long and slightly uphill. Persephone’s breath was coming in quick, short pants by the time she reached the open doors and crept inside.

The ballroom had emptied significantly since Zeus had thrown open the doors to the grounds, and the sheer vastness of the room hit Persephone like a slap in the face. She felt impossibly small as she entered, scanning the thin crowd for Nike’s slash of blonde hair. She spotted her mother who was now seated next to Hera near the front of the ballroom. Zeus was standing a few strides away, deep in conversation with his two brothers. The sight of Poseidon made Persephone laugh as she thought of Ares and the swimming competitions. But the sight again of Hades had her smile freezing and her eyes widening.

From her left, came a polite cough. She spun to see Nike leaning casually against one of the enormous marble pillars, an eyebrow arched into the air and her mouth twisted with a playful smirk. Persephone smiled, a thrill running down her spine, and slowly began to back away.

A little voice in the back of her head warned her about her mother’s presence and what Demeter might react if she caught sight of Persephone participating in such games. She supposed Hera had been the reason for Demeter staying so long; it was a rare honor when the Queen of the goddesses wanted your company for the entire night. But Persephone decided not to listen to the warning voice when Nike said, “You made it farther than I thought you would.”

“I know,” Persephone shrugged, making Nike’s smirk turn into a grin. “I believe I could outrun Hermes if he ever had the balls to race me.”

At that, Nike threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t let your mother catch you using that language, little goddess. And don’t let Hermes hear you saying things like that.” Nike wagged a finger and prowled closer. “You might find yourself in a spot of trouble.”

Persephone matched Nike’s forward steps with backwards ones. She was aware of a second marble pillar rising up behind her so she angled away from it. “Oh, I think I might go tell Hermes exactly that. Once I tell him I outran you and Aphrodite, that is.” She was talking large and Nike knew it. A feral gleam shimmered in her eyes as she lowered her finger and halted her movements. Persephone, too, halted.

They waited, watching each other for the slightest of motions that would set them both off racing- one for safety and the other for a fistful of silk material- both trying not to smile. Then, there- a twitch of Nike’s shoulder- and Persephone turned and fled on winged feet, flying across the marble floor.

It was not uncommon for deities to play such games during a party or celebration, so the gods and goddesses that Persephone raced past barely raised an eyebrow. The paranoid voice in her mind chanted Don’t look at your mother don’t look at your mother don’t look at your mother and for once, Persephone heeded. Shapes and colors became blurred in a panoramic swath as she sprinted towards the front doors across the large floor. Nike was giggling, just a few steps behind, and despite being short of breath, Persephone couldn’t help but laugh as well.

This was fun. She wished she had a better word for it but she did not. Fun. Careless, youthful, slightly mischievous, largely unreasonable fun. Persephone knew then that she would fight and claw for even the slightest scrap of what she was experiencing.

There was no chance that Demeter had not spotted Nike chasing her daughter. Practically everyone left in the ballroom was aware of the game underfoot; some older deities had even taken seats and started watching with interest. The younger gods and goddesses were frequently the night’s entertainment during parties like this one. The forefront of the ballroom was to Persephone’s left- where she could see Hera and her mother, as well as the three brothers slightly closer to the front doors.

She felt a hand close around her elbow in the split second her attention was elsewhere. She jerked, heart thumping, thinking it was Nike, but the skin was a shade too dark and the nails were painted an astonishing shade of gold. Athena.

The goddess pulled Persephone along with her until the two of them were far enough away from Nike that they could safely split off in hopes of losing their pursuer due to the other. Persephone veered right as Athena swerved left. A quick glance over her shoulder told Persephone that Nike had chosen Athena to follow, most likely due to the fact that Athena’s energy was flagging and Persephone was naturally much quicker.

She took a hiding spot behind a pillar and attempted to catch her breath. Athena was running directly towards the forefront of the ballroom, where both Hera and Demeter had paused their conversation to watch. Hera was observing with a hint of maternal amusement as though Nike and Athena were her own daughters she was watching play. Demeter looked slightly baffled- and more than a little relieved that her own daughter was not amongst the rowdy, young deities. So she hadn’t seen after all.

Hermes streaked past Persephone’s pillar and was out the doors in a flash. Seconds passed before Apollo, coming from the opposite direction, followed. Persephone was close enough to the front doors that it was possible to reach them if she made a run for it but her throat was burning, her legs were heavy, and she was hesitant to run for the front lawn when she was in such bad condition. Especially when she didn’t know where Artemis was. Since she was currently safe from behind her pillar, she decided to give herself another moment to catch her breath.

Her damp dress clung to her as she leaned back against the marble and tried to steady her breathing. She could hear the noises of the game around her: Ares darting around pillars in an attempt to avoid Nike’s line of vision, Athena squealing when she ran herself into a dead end and barely avoided Nike’s outstretched hand, the whispering and laughing of the older deities as they took amusement in the playfulness.

“Persephone, watch out!”  She spun away from the pillar when Ares cried his warning. Eris had come in from the back lawn and had been creeping around the side of the pillar in hopes to sneak up on her- she would have succeeded if Ares hadn’t seen and called out.

Eris swore at Ares as Persephone dashed away like a frightened deer and quickly out-strode the smaller goddess. Ares’ laugh boomed through the ballroom. He was through the front doors just a second later. Nike and Athena were still playing their game of cat-and-mouse by Hera and Demeter, but Demeter’s attention was fixed on her daughter whom she had just spotted.

Persephone internally cursed Ares. He had saved her skin, yes, but in doing so had also exposed her to her mother. She reminded herself not to care. Think of how much fun you’re having. So what if mother knows?

Eris flanked Persephone’s right, forcing her to swerve left towards the front of the ballroom. A final row of pillars separated them from the daises the elder and more esteemed deities occupied for formal business. Zeus had since halted his conversation with his two brothers, and when Persephone swung around the pillar and pressed her back against it, hiding from Eris, she found herself locking eyes with him.

His eyes were cold blue, much like Poseidon’s, and full of paternal warmth that covered Persephone with a veil of confidence unfamiliar to her. If Zeus could chuckle at her running around in is ballroom clad in a damp dress, how angry could her mother really be? Poseidon had turned to better watch Eris and Persephone, a fact that didn’t fail to impress itself on the latter goddess. And, despite standing nearly thirty meters away, she could feel the weight of Hades’ gaze much like she had earlier that night. Identical, in fact.

She forced herself to focus on the game she was playing. She had successfully made it this far and she would never forgive herself if she lost because of her inability to focus due to someone looking at her. The fact that the someone was incredibly good looking and more than a little frightening and still watching her was against the point, she told herself.

The point was that she had lost Eris. Or it appeared that way. Eris was crafty and had played this game before. She could be hiding in wait for Persephone to make her move or she could be seconds from pouncing. Either way, Persephone only had one way to find out.

With her back pressed firmly against the cold marble, she edged around the left side and slowly peaked around the corner. A barren marble floor greeted her. That was to Persephone’s advantage if she wanted to avoid getting tagged, but the front doors were around the other side of the pillar. If Eris wanted to cut off her escape route, that would be the place to be. And Eris was smart- very smart. Her heart pounding, a smile rising, Persephone eased her way back to the direct middle. Demeter’s eyes were on her, cold and furious, but Persephone didn’t respond. I’m going to get in trouble one way or the other. I might as well win this damn game before I get scolded. Make some memories while I’m at it.

She went to edge her way around the right side of the pillar- but froze suddenly. Hades had just done the strangest thing. Nearly imperceptible, but it was as if he knew Persephone had been watching him from the corner of her eye. The smallest shake of his head- just once- so slight it was almost a dip of his chin. But Persephone had seen it, and froze.

Was he...helping her?

The thought was so strange and so sudden that it halted Persephone for a moment longer. She watched as Hades took in her shock and slowly curled the corner of his lip up in response. She noticed his hair was no longer neatly combed back as it had been a few hours ago. The dark strands curled awry, looking for all the world like he had just dragged his fingers through them. The collar of his shirt was unbuttoned now and she could see the sweeping arches of dark ink rising up to wind around his collarbone.  

Okay, idiot, are we done? Can we get back to the more important matter at hand or are we going to lose because you want to act like you’ve never seen someone mildly attractive? Persephone hated her inner voice sometimes.

But some strange part of her gut was telling her to trust Hades. She didn’t move closer to the doors. Seconds ticked by, slow and brimming with anticipation. Across the ballroom where Nike was still chasing Athena, Persephone could hear shrieks and laughter and finally a cry of defeat as Nike triumphed.

Then it happened again. Hades tilted his head to the left, his dark eyes gliding slowly at something just over Persephone’s left shoulder. Eris was on the move. Persephone took the hint. As softly as she could, she gracefully edged around the curved pillar towards the doors. She would eventually have to break away from the safety of the marble structure and brave the vast stretch of open floor, but first she would have to decide when Eris was in the best position to allow her to escape. It would be impossible to know for certain. But she had trusted her help this far and was still safely hidden away, so Persephone figured she could risk it for a third time.

She halted her movements when she got to the edge of the pillar, where she froze, her heart pounding in her mouth. She wanted to laugh, to run, to jump with excitement, and she desperately needed to get out of Hades’ sight so she could finally allow herself to absorb what was currently happening.

With her eyes fixed on the God of the Underworld, Persephone did not miss his next motion. It was just as discreet as all the others, evading the notice of Poseidon but not Zeus, who was watching his brother with obvious amusement. Its meaning was perfectly clear. He sent a sharp nod towards the front doors and raised his wine glass to his lips. Go ahead, now. Run.

Persephone bolted. Her silk dress had somewhat managed to dry off and it flew behind her in pink ripples as she raced towards the lawn on strong legs and nimble feet. Eris was on her heels in a flash, swearing loudly at Persephone in her confusion as to how she had managed to get away. Persephone’s laugh fluttered over her shoulder, reaching all the way to Demeter and Hera. Athena’s cry of encouragement was the last thing Persephone heard before she cleared the doors and her feet met the cold grass of the front lawn. Her eyes immediately found Ares, busy dodging and ducking a hard-working Artemis, and Apollo, already across the boundary that marked her freedom.

Eris was still after her, as was Nike, who had abandoned the ballroom to better help her fellow Mortals with the particularly feisty Shadow they had on their hands.

“Run, Persephone!” Apollo shouted. He waved her closer, his bronze arms outstretched. “Come on! Come here!” She ran as though hellhounds were on her heels, her feet skipping over the grass, barely feeling the chill. Her arms pumped and her lungs burned but she was having fun and she had never been more willing to be in discomfort.

Twenty yards separated her from Apollo. She caught sight of Nike closing in on her left and Eris quickly appeared on her right, pinning her in. Somewhere behind her came Athena’s shout of, “Move, Honey, move!” and Persephone knew that she would not be the only deity who had stepped out of the ballroom to watch. It was like she had recently learned: they were entertainment to the older ones.

Ten yards left and still Persephone flew. Artemis was by now far out of reach, still struggling with Ares, but Nike had grown far too close for comfort. She had two options: move right and into Eris’ waiting arms, or run faster into Apollo’s.

Five yards. Persephone squealed with panic as Eris lunged for her but she was across the boundary line in a flash of color and Eris’ hand fell short. Apollo cheered loudly and caught Persephone, sweeping her up and spinning her around until she heard the cheers and laughter of Athena and Aphrodite who were now racing towards her from the palace. Apollo set her on her feet and let her catch her breath. Persephone’s heart was racing almost painfully and her legs felt ready to give out if she tried to take one more step. She turned to see Artemis feint left and finally tag an exhausted Ares. He swore at her, stumbling away, but she only laughed and let him go.

Nike had her arms crossed and a hip jutted out, her lips pouting at Persephone when she turned. “Since when were you allowed to be that fast?” she wanted to know. “Who told you that was okay? Have you been taking lessons with Hermes? Is that it? Hmmm?” Persephone laughed breathlessly as Nike ran at her and seized her around the waist. They spun a few turns until, both too tired to remain upright, they overbalanced and fell to the grass.

Nike’s long fingers found Persephone’s ribs and dug in, making the younger goddess shriek with laughter and wriggle desperately to get away.

“Alright, alright, let her breath for the first time in twenty minutes.” Ares pulled Nike off and smiled down at Persephone. Her curly hair had fallen out of its updo long before the chase had begun and by now it was sticking to the back of her neck with sweat. The night breeze helped cool her warm skin.

“We were all expecting Apollo to win because he always does, but it’s been a long while since we had someone new manage to make it past me,” Eris said. Instead of extending a hand to help Persephone up, she flopped down on the grass next to her. “Occasionally Hermes will win. Dio isn’t too slow himself when he’s sober, but…” she shrugged elegantly and winked at Persephone. “Not too bad, little goddess. Not too bad.”

“Why, thank you, beautiful one.” Persephone sketched a bow as best she could while remaining seated. “I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun.”

“You’ve been missing out, I’m afraid. Midsummer is always this much fun.” Artemis plopped down next to Eris and stretched her caramel brown legs out in front of her. “We rarely get together like this, you know, so when we do…” her eyes twinkled, “we try to make the most out of it.”

“You can’t go anywhere, Persephone, now that we know how exciting you are,” Apollo said. He and Ares crouched down to be eye level with the goddesses. “We would miss you too much.”

“Oh, please come back next year! You have to!” Athena cried. Her and Aphrodite had just reached their small group and they had only heard Apollo’s words.

“I don’t have any intention of not returning, believe me,” Persephone laughed.

“Good.” Athena sat with her shoulder against Persephone’s. “Because if you did, we would have to come steal you away and make sure you were happy.”

They laughed together at that. The kind words resounded in Persephone’s heart and it was then that she knew the word she was looking for: love. Not eros, love of the body, but philia, love of the mind. Persephone felt herself starting to slowly fall in love with each of the deities that had been so kind to her over the course of the night. She didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

“Your mother is watching,” Apollo whispered. Every head lifted to see Demeter standing in the doorway, framed by golden light, a hand on her hip and her eyes directed at the circle of young deities on the grass. They were far enough away that they could barely make out the hard line Demeter’s mouth was pressed into. Disappointment, a hint of anger, and yes, worry. Persephone mentally added grass-stains to the list of things she would be in trouble for. But when Hera glid elegantly outside on Zeus’ arm, Persephone felt a breath of relief. Demeter would hold her tongue in Hera’s presence. Even from the lawn, Persephone could hear Hera call Demeter’s name with excitement, along with something that sounded like “Where did you go off to?” She left her husband’s arm to reunite at Demeter’s side.

And it was only when Zeus smiled at his wife and moved towards two other figures framed by light that Persephone noticed who, other than her mother, had also decided watching the tail end of the chase was more exciting than anything happening inside.

Poseidon stood leaning against a small stone statue, laughing at something Hades had dryly remarked. Hades had been focused on the figures seated on the lawn but had shifted his gaze to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at his tipsy younger brother.

Persephone’s heart stuttered violently. She hadn’t given it a second of conscious thought- she hadn’t had the time to- but she realized she still didn’t know what Hades’ voice sounded like. But now that she realized she was ignorant, it was as if she had been wondering over it for days and days. She jerked out of her daze when Nike sighed dramatically and rose to her feet.

“I need another drink,” she announced. “If, that is, Dionysus has left some for the rest of us. Come,” she extended a hand and help Eris to her feet, who in turn reached down to help Persephone, “all this talk of Persephone leaving is ruining my mood. The night is still young. We have hours left together. Let us leave it at that.”

Aphrodite murmured her agreement. When the group of friends were on their feet, they began the trek back up to the palace where the golden light beckoned them. And with it came the possibility of new mountains to climb, new thresholds to pass over, new voices to hear for the first time.

#persephone #hades #hades and persephone #persephone x hades #greek mytholoy #retelling #greek gods #greek goddesses #malgranatum

[i-am-perryshmirtzed]

What We Know About Murphy’s Law

I’m not going to even bother with an opening or ending, i’m going to fix this up later. I just need it all out of my drafts before the special.

Let’s get right to this!

Murphy’s Law is conscious

Let’s imagine Murphy’s Law as a sort of deity, shall we? It’s easiest to imagine when it it personified.

Murphy’s Law is a proud force. When its existence is disputed by Zack’s father in “Time Out” it turns its attention away from its primary targets, Milo and Martin. As Mr. Underwood disputes the Law’s existence time and time again, it just drags him through hell until he admits it. First his hat is tossed in the water by Milo, and torn to shreds by birds, and it is dismissed as “inexperienced casting”. Murphy’s Law then decides to kick it up a notch with the swordfish. Finally, it does  the whole pelican-eating-the-fish-bumping-into-the-side-of-the-boat-and-getting-a-box-of-bait-to-the-head-and-falling-into-the-water trick. That’s what convinces Mr. Underwood that Murphy’s Law is real.

And what should happen in the very next scene? Martin tries to start the motor and it breaks off of the boat. After getting its revenge on Mr. Underwood, Murphy’s Law is happy to go back to terrorizing Milo and Martin. After Mr. Underwood’s muttered acceptance of the Law being real, it immediately goes back to its original job. Murphy’s Law’s got a bit of attitude, doesn’t it? Reminds me of of a scene in Phineas and Ferb, actually. In the episode “Just Our Luck”, you’ll remember that Candace is hit by one of Heinz’s -inators and becomes lucky, while her brothers become unlucky. She taunts the boys as they get down from their project of the day, saying “Just take your time, it's not like the earth is gonna open up and swallow it!” moments later, the ray is destroyed and reversed, and Candace’s bad luck and the boys’ good luck returns. Perhaps the Mysterious Force was kept at bay by the stinklekrampen-inator, maybe it was the reason the -inator broke, but as soon as Candace was unlucky again, the earth split open and swallowed their structure. The Mysterious Force has a similar personality to Murphy’s Law. “You dare taunt me? Here you fucking go.” Both forces have an attitude and sense of irony. They have some sort of conscious and awareness of the situation at hand.

However, this can be entirely disproven by “Rooting for the Enemy”. If Murphy’s Law knew what was going on, why did it comply, and allow Milo’s plan to physically root for the Tigers when he wanted the Geckos to win? Did it just let this one thing slide? Or is it not as conscious as we think it may be?

Murphy’s Law hates whomever it inflicts having friends. There is a great meta about this by @allieinarden, analyzing Milo and Zack’s first meeting and what Murphy’s Law had to say about it. The same principle applies here. Just as Murphy’s Law gave Zack hell the first day he and Milo met, just like that girl got her arm broken by sitting next to Milo, just like Mort fell into a dumpster after attempting friendly conversation, just like Dakota’s pistachio cart was destroyed after he simply introduced himself, Murphy’s Law does its best in this episode to convince Mr. Underwood that it is real and to drive him away from Martin, just as Zack was made to be driven away from Milo. Perhaps it didn’t even notice that it was insulted.

Murphy’s Law can make mistakes

This is a very simple point. Murphy’s Law may have the unlimited power to wreak havoc in the Murphy Family’s life, but the fact remains that nobody, not even a semi-conscious force capable of laying waste to Swamp City, is perfect. Murphy’s Law makes mistakes.

The first that comes to mind is the pistachio stand in “The Doctor Zone Files”. The only noticeable Murphy’s Law incident that occurred on this day was the pistachio stand blowing up, just preventing the group from getting snacks. This goes back to Murphy’s Law being conscious- it’s battle strategy for that day was to do nothing, simply to fray on Sarah’s nerves. It must have decided to just trouble Milo a little by not letting him get the nuts to scare Sarah even more. It did not, however, notice/care/prevent the pistachio cart falling from the sky. Surprisingly enough, Murphy’s Law was fine with that.

That takes me to “The Note”. For one, when Melissa was stuck on the conveyor belt, Milo’s first attempt to save his friend went awry when the rope he was using to swing to her snapped. While trying to reach her, he accidentally knocks over a metal pole when he falls from a rising wooden board, and it jamms the shredder, allowing Melissa to escape. Murphy’s Law is weird in this scene, keeping Milo from rescuing Melissa, and at the same time helping her to escape.

The last thing I want to talk about here is “Athledecamathalon”, and Murphy’s Law in predicting the future.

In the end of the episode, Milo is the only contender for his team left in play. He gets to the final question- President Garfield’s blood type. We see the flashback- several times, he has been close to learning the answer, but he never got to actually hear it. Not being able to hear a teacher during a lecture, a power outage, and a nearby jump roping game going awry isn’t unusual for Milo. But the fact that he was interrupted just as he was about to learn the information is rather unnerving. Can Murphy’s Law predict the future? Did it want to make sure that he didn’t get the answer right by preventing the knowledge from reaching him for at least weeks, if not months ahead of time? Of course, Murphy’s Law made a mistake by allowing Melissa to mention the information. Murphy’s Law can make mistakes, yes, the the fact that it may be able to predict the future is much more unnerving.

Murphy’s Law will never kill Milo.

This time ‘round, let’s imagine it as a sort of parasite, shall we? A genetic, sentient parasite that exists to give bad luck to whomever is unlucky enough to have it passed on to them

This parasite wants to keep infecting. It wants to keep getting more victims to torture. But it won’t ever kill Milo.

It reminds me of how the River Phelgethon was potrayed in “House of Hades” from the Heros of Olympus series. It is stated that the River is not meant to heal. It keeps the dead intact so that they may endure more torture. It keeps you alive so that you may suffer more.

If Milo were to die, what would it be to him? He would be dead. It’s those around him who would suffer. “Your death is something that happens to everybody else. Your life is not your own….” (BBC Sherlock, The Lying Detective.)

Milo has to live, not only so he can continue being harassed by Murphy’s Law, but so he can have children who are also cursed. The parasite lives on.

The worst thing to happen to the Murphy men would be having to live though their loved ones’ deaths. So-Sara, Bridgette, Melissa, Amanda, Zack...I theorise that everyone Milo or Martin love will die before them, perhaps as a result of Murphy’s Law. I’ll remind you, that Zack would have been crushed by the concrete pipe had Milo not told him to move closer, that he was the one who had peanut butter stuck to his back when being chased by wolves, that the wolf and bees later nearly jumped on him, all in “Going the Extra Milo”. Not to mention that Murphy’s Law thoroughly enjoyed freaking Sarah out during “The Doctor Zone Files”, or that Melissa was trapped on the conveyor belt heading towards the paper shredder in “The Note”. Murphy’s Law doesn’t want to kill Milo- it just wants to torture him.

On that happy note, I’m going to wrap this baby up. I typed this all up in the past hour, and it’s getting pretty late. I’m going to do minimal editing now; I can always fix it up, fine tune, later. I needed to get this meta out of my system, and I want to put it out before anything can contradict it in the special. I’m on a short hiatus, until I find a place to watch Missing Milo, so...bye!

#mml #mml meta #milo murphy's law #Meta #my meta #Don't trust this it's a cartoon and it's dwampy #Shree writes #welp #fuck #here we go #its 1 30 i should prob sleep #take this peice of shit #imma fix it up soon #into a better peice of shit #but until then #enjoy