Myths, Creatures, And Folklore

my favourite thing about the story of hades and persephone is that the story grew up with us.

i think most of us, when we were young girls ourselves, heard that first, most tragic version of the story: persephone, the innocent child of spring, who wandered into a dark, terrible place, and ate of a cursed garden. hades, meanwhile, was cast as a shadowy, grasping seducer, looming from the darkness: here he stood, the god of riches, of gemstones and bones, of cold, dead things, who wanted to snatch a little bit of sunlight for himself.

and then came the second version of the story, when we were older, not so much a change in narrative as it was of perspective: we heard about zeus raping leta, we read the way medusa was cursed for being raped by poseidon, we read about athena’s jealousy when she was outwoven by arachne, about hera tossing little hephaestus down a cliff because he wasn’t as beautiful as a god ought to be.

once more, we considered hades: the youngest of the trinity, free of spite and hatred and fits of rage, running an empire greater than his brothers’ together, with little ego and quiet efficiency. a god who only took one wife, only loved once, and then too: wholly, completely.

like something not out of a horror movie, but perhaps, indeed, a fairytale.

then the third turn, when we had grown older, acquired a veneer of cynicism, suffered boys who never grew to men, when we realized that the only way our sexuality would not be annexed was if we conquered it ourselves.

then came kore, the woman of spring, who found in hades a quiet, dark refuge, away from demeter’s wrath and hungry possession, away from the squabbles of those tiresome, reckless gods. the girl who fell in love with darkness. the goddess whose spirit was of renewal and rebirth, and still flourished in the heart of the underworld, the duality of her nature only serving to highlight her strength.

hades remained as he ever was, unchanging, like death itself. but persephone grew, acquired facets and beauty in her change, spring given form in metaphor and mythology.

hades and persephone grew with us. that’s why they’re powerful. that’s why they’re loved.

T O A D B U N S

Some days I feel so alone

In a world with so far to roam

With every sense yearning

And every way turning

I’ll eventually find my way home

Hi!  So, I’ve been homeschooled my entire life, and am starting at a private school in a week.  I feel extraordinarily over my head, but excited.  Is there anything I need to know about what to expect or anything that I just... wouldn’t think of in the first place.

Tell me, what do I need to know to thrive?

hiiii guys.  also fyi my old account was @pygmydragon but i kiiiinda deleted that email address accidentally that was linked to the account so now I can’t get into it.  Oops.  the chances of the people that liked my writings over there actually finding this are very very slim but if you do- Hi!  I love you guys!  I do still exist!  Just not over there!  I moved!  (aight imma shut up now)

Hi guys, this is from my other account that ended up not liking me and letting me in.  Psych

Prompt #2010

“Did I ever really matter to you?”

“Yes,” said the antagonist. “You meant everything to me. You still do. And that’s why you have to die.”

Watercolor painting, trying to do a Hades and Persephone type thing.  Took me about an hour and a half, and I had a lot of fun doing it :)

and i as well, my love, hold the same

Imagine there being a grand piano in the Slytherin common room. Most of the young witches and wizards had private teachers or knew how to play so there would always be music playing. There was this unspoken rivalry between all the musicians to see who was the best. So without really ever talking to each other they pushed each other to play harder and harder pieces. One day someone who could not play the piano decided to learn and started surpassing most of the kids who could already play. This was the spark of an all out war of Chopin, Beethoven, Bach, etc. The students would start playing the same pieces as each other but remastered putting their own distinct styles into a score. Pretty soon they start composing their own works and melodies. They develop their own sound and that’s how others could identify the musician. There would be that one blonde third year who furiously tapped on the keys creating a dastardly echo of music. Or the portly “meathead” with a buzz cut who danced his finger tips across the piano like rocks skipping on water. Some even started to veer away from the classic era and experimented with Jazz, Ragtime, and the Blues. Slytherin was now the house of music.

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