Friendly reminder that Patroclus should not be remember simply as “Achilles’ bitch”.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus was a little shit. He had the power, the looks and the skills, and he knew it. Not only he excelled at battle; he did it while taunting his enemies all the fucking time cause he was going to win and he knew it.
Friendly reminder that he was the one guy who got to call out on Achilles, something no one else dared to do. In fact, men went to ask him to call out on Achilles because everyone was scared of him. Except for Patroclus.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus had advanced medical knowledge, something extremly rare at the time. He healed many of his friends and comrades during battle. Hadn’t it been for him, many great warriors would have died.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus was loyal to a fault. He was always by Achilles’ side in battle. He never disobeyed Achilles orders. The one time he did, was the time he died.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus was kind and had a soft heart. He cried because while Achilles’ Rage lasted, he wouldn’t let any of his men enter battle, Patroclus included. And while Achilles’ troops were hiding in their ships, the rest of the Greek army got crushed. Patroclus felt so powerless and helpless because he couldn’t do nothing as he saw his comrades dying.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus had a character crisis. He had to decide whether obeying his Lord’s commands and abandoning his friends in battle, or going against his Lord’s wishes and engaging fight.
Friendly reminder that he refused to stay behind like a coward. He chose to enter battle, but since he was a honourable man he told Achilles about it. Friendly reminder that he managed to sway Achilles’ Rage. Friendly reminder that he managed to convince Achilles to let their troops rejoin the war, thus returning the victory to the Greeks.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus was flawed. He committed hubris. He got so battle drunk and was so excited by the prospect of finally ending the war, that he disobeyed Achilles’ direct command not to fight near the walls of Troy, and chased the Troyans back to the limits of the city. To the place Achilles had specifically told him not to go because it would be too dangerous. Friendly reminder that this one flaw is his downfall.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus doesn’t go down without giving one hell of a fight. Friendly reminder that Patroclus was so strong that Apollo (the God that protected Troy and Hector [Troy’s heir to the throne]) had to face him and repel him four times.Four times. A god. If that ain’t badass, then I don’t know what could be. In the fourth time, Apollo got inside Patroclus’ head and made him dizzy. Patroclus fell and Apollo removed him from his armour- Achilles’ armour. Patroclus ended up unprotected, vulnerable and dizzy in the middle of the battle field; so a random dude saw the opportunity and stabbed his back with a spear. But was that enough to make him go down? Oh heck no. The pain snapped him out of the dizziness. Patroclus realized he was in a very troublesome situation so he decided to fall back… but at that moment Hector engaged him in battle. And Patroclus wouldn’t retire from a direct combat, oh heck he wouldn’t. Even though he knew this was probably the way he would die, he fought with his all.
Friendly reminder that lacking his armor, tired from battle, with a spear wound on his back and only Achilles’ sword left as weapon, Patroclus faced Hector, Troy’s greatest warrior and didn’t fear.
Friendly reminder that when Hector sheathed his spear in Patroclos’ stomach, Patroclus thought about the love of his life.
Friendly reminder that with his last breath Patroclus smiled at Hector and told him “You are a dead man. This will be your downfall”. Friendly reminder that until his last moment, he was a little shit.
Friendly reminder that Patroclus is a flawed, well-rounded, badass character and that he deserves so much more than his current position as “Achilles’s love interest”.
Let’s remember in Percy Jackson’s Greek Gods percy talked about the marriage of Zeus and Hera and how every living creature was invited and he “hoped the snails got their invitation early, because it must have taken them forever to get there”.
Does anyone else remember the time before hoo came out where there was this almost fandom-wide head canon that Nico, Thalia, and Percy developed this cousin/family bond after the war and like a lot of fan fiction had them as a power team with a sibling bond and I don’t know why but I really liked those
minor goddesses 1/12 ▻ hecate is the greek goddess of sorcery, often referred to as the “queen of ghosts”; she is variously associated with the moon, magic, witchcraft, crossroads, entrance-ways, knowledge of herbs and poisonous plants, ghosts and necromancy.
I want to see Zeus in a tailored suit and shaggy beard, a
walking disparity of the loud, brash, post-graduate frat boy variety who can’t
pass a woman on the street without catcalls, who has more one-night stands than
he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as the
weather he predicts on the Channel 4 News—with startlingly accuracy, and an
endless wealth of charisma.
I want to see Hera walking tall, six-inch heels and not a
wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal
certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be, a wedding
planner with an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching
every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in
the name of men and love.
I want to see Poseidon in Olympic prime, a gym rat who
skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers
lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his
bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as
impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive
I want to see Hades, big, hulking, quieter than his brothers
would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his
boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and
ethics, who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how
inescapable a thing like silentinevitability can be.
I want to see Hermes in a beanie, with watercolor splashes
of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with
no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick
tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone
without a care in the world.
I want to see Athena with reading glasses pushed high on her
head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing
as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and
blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry
rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans.
I want to see Apollo splattered with acrylics, board shorts
and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners,
not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a
sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because
the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime.
I want to see Artemis in ripped jeans and haphazard topknot,
star of the soccer team, the track team, the archery team, who rides a
motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not
care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the
local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars.
I want to see Aphrodite in sundress and scarf, homemade
jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public
speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic
fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom
I want to see Ares all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff
shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches
until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and
blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan
before running screaming into the fray.
I want to see Demeter with the best garden you’ve seen in
your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage
prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree
daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the
pet python draped across her shoulders.
I want to see Dionysus with a joint in one hand and a bottle
of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own
beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and
half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week,
because why not, man?
I want to see Hephaestus with a workshop taking up the
majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms
are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, who walks with a cane and
forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most
beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat.
I want to see wood nymphs fighting against climate change,
waving their signs and pushing for scientific progress. I want to see epic
heroes sitting down to Magic: The Gathering tournaments, poker brawls, Call of
Duty all-nighters with beer and snapbacks. I want to see Medusa working a women’s
shelter, want to see Achilles training for deployment, want to see Prometheus
serving endless community service stints for what he calls providing necessary welfare with stolen goods.
Give me modern mythology. I could play for hours in that
- she weaves flowers in her braid, she draws the light amidst the darkness he created
- he walks past her in her silks, peacock feathers in her hair, as she turns around, her eyes searching for his, but all he can watch is the pomegranate in her hand and its juice dripping to the floor like blood
- she sees the world from above and below, from the depths of the Barrel and the spires of Ghezen’s Hand; half of each year spent on either side of life
- she is the daughter of life, of sweeping fields of yellow wheat, the sweetest fruits, the coast of Ravka, etched into her memory alongside her mother’s scent and father’s voice
- he lives in fog and smoke, in alleys buried between houses that rise so high they squeeze out the sky between them; he sees a world painted in black and red, thrives on other people’s agony and despair
- he makes her a queen – his Wraith queen and he the king who built their court
- there was never a more fearsome thing: the girl who chose to stay in his underworld, all the more threatening because of how kind she was, how hardened she had become, how capable she was of cruelty, yet of love at the same time
- she took him for what he was, she understood the need for the Lord of Death – their world might be worse for him, but he had made Ketterdam a city in which she could fight her way out of her humiliation and hate and that was all she cared about
- he was their king, but nobody was as feared as she, nobody drew everybody’s eye like the little Suli acrobat, ruthless captain of her death-ship, fearless in lofty heights, every other Barrel boss’ envy
- she took death from him, he life from her; they complemented each other, they had to be together, join together to defy the rest of the world
- he didn’t want to be bare, to let everyone see what his life in the underworld had made of him, what death had supposedly done to him. She saw him and cradled his hands in hers, as she realised he was still human, still had a heart beating in his chest.
- her lips spoke of the summer, dripping with honey, drew him towards her, but repulsed him at the same time. Her words spoke of darkness, her eyes of revenge. They drew him towards her, too.
- she was a cracked mirror like him. Her surface gleamed silver with the moon enchanting him, but she didn’t make a secret of her past. Not to him.
- they lived in the shadows, they lived in the secret alleys of a city which was home to ghosts floating along the streets, hiding what they were, forgetting it. But they were as happy as anyone can be under those conditions. They were fighting day to day, but fighting the battles they lived for.
Pre-pubescent and adolescent Athenian girls were sent to the sanctuary of Artemis at Brauron to serve the Goddess for one year. During this time, the girls were known as arktoi, or little she-bears. A myth explaining this servitude states that a bear had formed the habit of regularly visiting the town of Brauron, and the people there fed it, so that, over time, the bear became tame. A girl teased the bear, and, in some versions of the myth, it killed her, while, in other versions, it clawed out her eyes. Either way, the girl’s brothers killed the bear, and Artemis was enraged. She demanded that young girls “act the bear” at her sanctuary in atonement for the bear’s death.