The sun sets and dark wings embrace a breaking moon. The screams of a thousand, thousand souls, on their knees, pleading for pleasure, for pain… Down from the mountains of madness, and into the heart of an endless storm, an ill wind blows, an ancient evil rises…
Imagine Loki stealing the Time Stone and turning all the Avengers into infants/kids. And then he raises them all as his own, to have them as his loyal cohorts when he eventually takes over the world and then all the nine realms.
My husband and I have watched Moana about a million times with our kids and he has his own theory about the plot that I’m about to share with you all because it blew my mind…
Shortly after her grandmother dies, Moana takes a boat out
beyond the reef and sails for a few days before being capsized by a storm. It is
here that she and Hei Hei die. Their spirits awake in purgatory where Maui has
been trapped for a thousand years.
- The Ocean chose her, but never promised to keep her safe
(“the ocean is straight up cooky dooks”). When she asks for help, the ocean,
knowing where she must go, disposes of her mortal body.
- She and Maui never speak
to anyone outside of mythological beings or spirits.
- Mortals don’t usually enter the Realm of Monsters, her survival and presence baffling even Tamatoa. However, being
an ethereal being, this qualifies her as non-mortal.
- She is visited by multiple fellow ethereal beings, such as
her ancestors, and most notably her grandmother. These are the only “humans” she
sees outside of Motunui.
- “You will deliver Maui across The Great Sea” The Great Sea
in many cultures is the divide between the mortal life and the after life. This may also be why Taka cannot cross the ocean, and why Maui can’t swim. The barriers
they wish to cross are the barriers between life and death.
- Maui arrives to the island after losing a battle to a
greater God; thus he is also possibly “dead” at the time of their meeting.
- Te Fiti has the ability to create life itself once her heart is restored. She uses
this power to restore life back to Moana, and creates a boat that Moana may
use to cross The Great Sea back to mortality and her family.
- Maui is never seen interacting with any “mortal” humans. The only time he shares a screen with them is the end as a hawk that Moana recognizes as an old friend.
Your myth retellings are gorgeous. Would you tell another please? Maybe something with Hermes?
Pandora is made from
earth, shaped by the hands of Hephaestus and made in the image of his beloved
wife. Aphrodite gifts her with grace and charisma. Athena teaches her to weave
and bestows cleverness upon her.
She stands in front of
Hermes, and the god frowns and touches her with a single fingertip on her chin,
moving her head one way than the other. “They’ll eat you alive,” he says, and
she doesn’t understand.
She tilts her head to the
side and smiles a vacant smile. All of the cleverness in the world will do her
no good without any context. “We are the same,” she says, pressing a hand to
Hermes’s chest. She is made from earth and has the skin to mach. He is a
celestial god, and his skin is the same rich shade of brown.
He did not ask to be born
any more than his mother asked to bare him. His creation, just like hers, is at
the whims of Zeus. All for some little lost fire, all because Prometheus wanted
his people to be warm, and, well, he is the god of the thieves after all –
So he gifts her with
deceit, with selfishness, with cunning. Her smile leaves her face all at once
as she’s filled with self-awareness. “He’ll be angry with you,” she says, “I am
not what you were supposed to make.”
“Gods have short
memories,” he says, and doesn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice. “Do
not worry about me, gifted child. You have larger problems than my fate.”
He has turned her from
something pure into – something more like him. Her face darkens even further as
her perfectly crafted mind slots all the pieces together, and he can’t help but
find her lovely. It’s how she was made, after all. “I can’t stop it, can I?
Whatever they’re planning for me to do?”
“No,” Hermes says, “but
now you might be able to survive it.”
“Will I want to?” she
asks, and he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t expect him too.
She hides from everyone,
lives in a cave at the edge of the city. The gods had called her the first
woman, but that’s not true, she can see.
There are women. They
smile and laugh have work roughened hands. She aches to join them, but she has
the beauty of a goddess. They will know. If she joins them, they will know she
is not of them, and it will set into motion whatever trap Zeus has planned.
She is not human, not in
the same way, molded from clay by a god’s hands. But she is of humans, and not eager to bestow upon
them the harm she’s destined to bring them. She bathes in streams where only
nymphs reside, steals into the city in the cloak of night and pilfers from the
“When they said they sent
my brother a wife,” a low, amused voice says too close behind her one night, “I
had not expected a begger.”
She whirls around, hard
bread clenched tight in front of her, an incredibly inefficient shield. Her
breath catches in her throat when she sees him, dark and tall and eyes like the
night sky. He looks like Hermes. Like her. “Who are you?” she demands. They’re
in an alley corner, and of her gifts flight is not among them. She’ll have to
fight him to get away.
She’s not afraid of him.
Maybe another mortal would be, cornered in the middle of the night by a man she
doesn’t know. But she’s no normal mortal woman, and besides – he has something
comforting about him, like the hearthfire attended by Hestia. Something warm.
“I am Prometheus,” says
the man, and no wonder he reminds her of fire. “What do they call you?”
“You are meant to be in
the deepest pits of Hades’s realm,” she snaps, and shifts her grip on the stale
bread so that she can throw it at him. He’s the whole reason she’s here to
begin with, him and his thievery.
He shrugs and walks
closer to her, watching her like one would watch a wild animal. Good. Here, in
this dark alley where no one would find a cooling body until morning, it is he
that should be afraid. “Gods forget,” he says, “and Hades had grown cold in his
place beneath the earth.”
She pauses, considers. “You
stole fire for Hades?”
“No,” he corrects, “I
stole fire for the people. But Hades benefited as well. Enough that he was
willing to forget the terms of my
“What do you want?” she
asks for the second time. “Why are you here?”
He stops, too close to
her, “The question is why are you
She steps into his space
now, following him as he backs away from her, “I am here because of you,
fire-stealer, because gods may forget but they do not forgive, and I am the
punishment they have unleashed upon the world.”
“What a punishment you
are,” he says, looking at her lips, and she forgets to hate him only long
enough to kiss him.
Hermes watches her,
watches them. He doesn’t know Zeus’s plan, if this is part of it or not, but he
watches her, and he worries. He thinks it is, he can see Aphrodite’s magic
clinging to Pandora, but he doesn’t know why.
He would go to his
mother, but she’s always difficult to find, Gaea preferring to live in streams
and rivers rather than face the man she bore a son for. But his mother’s
father, on the other hand, is always in the same place.
greets, touching lightly down onto the earth, “How are you?”
“How am I always, boy?”
Atlas grunts out, legs and arms straining as he holds up the sky above the
Hermes lips quirk up the
corners. Some days, he thinks he’s more Atlas’s grandson than he’s Zeus’s son. “I
need some advice, Grandfather.”
Atlas raises an eyebrow, “I’m
So Hermes tells him
everything, from beginning to end, because he can’t figure out what his father’s
plan is, but Atlas might. He’s known the man for longer, at least.
Atlas nods, slow, and
says, “A bride of gods, a gifted child. I can think of only one reason to
create such a child.” Hermes waits. Atlas sighs and says, “There is a jar,
within Olympus, that becomes sealed when it leaves the realm of the gods. After
that, only a being neither mortal nor celestial may open it.”
“What are they planning
to put inside?” Hermes demands, heart spiking. What are they planning to unleash
upon the unsuspecting earth?
His grandfather smirks, “It
doesn’t matter. What matters is this – what are you going to put inside?”
One of those “humans are weird” things but what would imagination - like almost boundless limitless imagination - look like to aliens?
They’re baffled by the millions of fictional universes we’ve created - the fact that people can live with a whole imagined universe in their head with characters that are practically real people if they weren’t imaginary - omg, imaginary friends! What would that appear like?
Lord, but what would aliens think of the concept of ‘day dreaming’ - like suddenly their friends seem to not be there and when nudged only responds with a shrug and a smile “sorry I was miles away” - that we can seemingly interact as if we lived there in those imagined universes ourselves.
That’s not even getting into what kinds of fictional universes people have created - some truly remarkable stories and realms of fantasy or sci fi - God, what about Lovecraft, probably be even more horrifying?
Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb; they refuse. They cling to the realm, or the gods, or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.
the realm. do you know what the realm is? it’s the thousand blades of aegon’s enemies, a story we agree to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it’s a lie. but what do we have left, once we abandon the lie? chaos? a gaping pit waiting to swallow us all. chaos isn’t a pit. chaos is a ladder. many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. the fall breaks them. and some, are given a chance to climb. they refuse, they cling to the realm or the gods or love. illusions. only the ladder is real. the climb is all there is.
The Otherworld(s) of Celtic myth are invisible realms where gods, spirits, elves, giants, etc reside. Some Otherworlds are beautiful heavens, and others are terrible hells. Otherworlds are guarded and hidden by magic. The Otherworld(s) can be found in places like lakes, caves, forests, rivers, dunes, and islands. An Otherworld may also be a grandiose castle or even a humble cottage. Often times the Otherworld(s) make an appearance at night, but then quickly vanish in the daylight. It is also said that on the eve of Samhain (saah-win) all gates to the Otherworld open and spirits venture into our world from theirs. The Otherworld(s) have a very different concept of time. Generally, time moves at a much slower slower rate. Spending one year in an Otherworld could mean centuries have passed in our world.