I just love the myth of Persephone, i mean the real, original version of it, because it’s not like she got kidnapped, no, this bitch was la-de-da-ing in a meadow and she just happened to find an entrance to the Underworld and she was like “Imma check this out”. And she just wanders into the Underworld and discovers that hey this place ain’t too bad.
Meanwhile Hades is in the background “????? UM??? PRETTY GIRL??? WHY ARE YOU HERE?????? YOU AREN’T DEAD???”
And Persephone (who was originally called Kore just a little fyi) just looked at him and said “I like it here. I’m staying.”
And Hades kinda just went with it, until Demeter started throwing the temper tantrum of the millenium upstairs and Zeus had to intervene because this shit was getting out of hand and its actually his job to be admistrator of justice. Which considering the shit he gets up to is kinda histerical but that’s another story there.
And basically Persephone wasn’t a prisoner or kidnap victim at all she just really loved the Underworld and her (eventual) husband, and the Greeks feared her arguably more than her husband because Hades could be reasoned with but Persephone was the one laying the smack down on sinners, and really, who wouldn’t be at least a little scared of someone who’s name means something along the lines of “the destroyer”
Basically, Persephone is amazing and everbody needs to get on her level
Artemis: a queen, one who shuns the presence of men. Ruler of the night sky and the hunt, she doesn’t give a flying fuck about your gender roles.
Women can be single. Women can be hunters.
Athena: a scheming, cunning, genius woman, Athena is the mastermind behind every battle. Goddess of both wisdom AND war.
Women can be smart. Women can be warriors.
Aphrodite: a gorgeous woman, beautiful beyond belief, she was married off to a man she did not love. She refused her husband, and is with the chaotic man she truly loves. She loves romance novels and tragic love stories without your permission or stereotypes.
Women can be independent. Women can be beautiful. Women don’t have to love you because you say so.
Persephone: she is Queen of hell and goddess of springtime, drawing the line between death and rebirth. She loves her husband and mother, but refuses to let anyone tell her who to be or where to go.
Women can be sweet. Women can be brutal. Women can be complicated.
Hera: a practical woman, she is the goddess of marriage, her husband is always off fucking mortals. And she always makes sure he pays for it. This doesn’t stop her from being a fair queen, even more of a ruler than her husband.
Women can be powerful. Women make their own choices.
Demeter: a farm girl at heart, she rules the harvest, her mere emotions causing the seasons. Her daughter eloped with the god of death, and she misses her every day. She loves her loyal farmers and the crops they tend.
Women can be nurturing. Women can be depressed.
Hestia: a goddess of small renown, Hesta gave up her spot on the council to Dionsynius to keep order. She is the goddess of the hearth and home, fire and family. She represents the controlled chaos of a fire in the fireplace or a family in their home.
Women can be sacrificing. Women don’t need to be super to be important. Women can be chaotic.
Enough with this patriarchal Greek society. We all know who really ruled Olympus.
Little Hades&Persephone comic (inspired by a quote from “A Stroke of Midnight”, by Laurell K. Hamilton).
I guess Persephone is the kind of girl who will offer you tea and bake cookies for you and be literally the sweetest person ever, but will fucking rip your heart off your chest if you wrong her or her beloved ones.
the bruises of love bites left by lovers on necks and thighs; smudged lipstick from hasty kisses; blood red roses with their sharp thorns still intact; the way you hug someone you love when you reunite after a lengthy separation
polished instruments gleaming, held like the most precious of jewels by their owners; a sunny day with a clear blue sky where there are no clouds in sight; the rough script of poems penned out on scraps of paper or napkins before they're forgotten; when music is so loud that you feel it reverberating in your bones; the pale lines of fading scars
the hands of a fighter, short finger nails and bloodied knuckles; split lips that have scabbed over; the smooth and intricate lines of old weapons you see mounted on museum walls; deep trenches dug out from the earth; the way barbed wire contrasts against whatever it surrounds
loose braids with wild flowers slipped in; the majesty of tall trees stretching up endlessly towards the heavens; the wide and captivating eyes of wild deer; cloudy nights where the moon is just barely peeking through; the colorful fletching of arrows drawn back to rest upon cheeks and along jaws
the straight and steady way a soldier stands at attention; fingertips smudged with ink; a stack of books to read piled on the floor or a nightstand; eyes gleaming with the glow of new ideas; the quiet and contemplative aura of museums and libraries
the way sunlight catches dust motes in the air through the gaps in the leaves of the trees; the feeling of life you get from standing in the middle of an orchard with bees buzzing around you; crocuses and snowdrops peeking through the last dredges of winter's snow
the bleached bones of animals in the forest when moss has begun to engulf them; the way that graveyard angels look like they're weeping in the rain; the solemn aura of old churches, citadels, synagogues, temples, and mosques
the pleasure of holding something you've created in your palms; the soft glow of heated metal; the intricate beauty of cogs and gears fitting together precisely and working in tandem; the smooth and polished surfaces of high-rise business buildings
the lacy white of flowing wedding gowns; the way a couple's hands look clasped together; pairs of old wedding rings that are scratched from years of use; the feeling of surrealism that comes from looking at old family portraits; getting used to sharing a space with someone else and then seeing the mannerisms you've unknowingly adopted from them
the way that the low beam headlights of a car touch the roads that stretch ever onwards at night; old maps yellowed at the corners from their age; the way that things rush past when you look out the window of a car or train; quick hands slipping deftly into pockets and taking what they find
the light and protection of street lights in an otherwise dark city; the warmth of your bed on cold winter mornings; the heat of a fire as you sit around it with people you love; the comfort of a home-cooked meal
the way light looks when you're seeing it shine down from deep underwater; the effervescent colors of cresting waves; the eery beauty of shipwrecks; the ripples created when you trail your fingertips through still waters; dust clouds kicked up by the passing of strong hooves
the way that storm clouds darken the edge of the horizon; silhouettes framed against the sky by flashes of lightning; the splay of feathers of a bird's outstretched wings; the polished and tarnished brass of old fashioned scales