This woman is an odd figure in Greek mythology, not least because she is probably two figures conflated into one. The first is a mountain nymph who was the lover of Hermes and the mother of the goat-god Pan.
The second is the wife of the hero Odysseus, who is best known for her faithfulness in her husband’s absence, despite many suitors. She put off the men who sought her attentions by claiming to weave a burial shroud for her father-in-law, but unraveling part of it every night. Later Greek writers conflated the two and created elaborate explanations for how the very faithful wife of Odysseus might have been spirited away to Mount Cyllene to birth Pan.
The name Penelopeia or Penelope means weft-face, or possible needle-and-thread. Both figures are associated with sewing and weaving, and my illustration brief requested her weaving the face of Pan in a tapestry. I’ve chosen the ancient Greek warp-weighted loom, which was a little more light-weight than the massive Northern European version.
“I don’t like the Penelope twist in Sly 4 because they already did this same twist in Sly 2. They basically did the exact same thing with Neyla, first building her up like she was going to be Sly’s new love interest in the first three levels, only to have her betray the gang. So Sly 4 just felt kind of lazy that way, Le Paradox is just a lamer version of Clockwerk and Penelope is a lamer version of Neyla.”
The Dark Lord did a real number on the Elven Retreat! One moment is all he needed to curse a bunch of them and steal their faces! He vanished pretty quickly too… I guess he didn’t recognise me with Callie’s disguise!
Aaaaanyway, we set off pretty fast to help as many elves as we could! We found some strange creatures on the way. Apparently Bloom saw me bossing similar monsters around while I was under the Dark Lord’s control. I feel kinda bad about it, they seem friendly enough.
So here’s a thought about Helen/Odysseus and Menelaus/Penelope: it takes 10 years for Helen to reunite with her husband Menelaus, who comes to seek her at Troy; it takes Odysseus 10 years to reunite with his wife Penelope once he sets out from Troy, and Penelope waits for him.
Where Helen must wait for her spouse to arrive and take her back home, Odysseus must spend the same amount of time traveling rather than stay in the same place. No one is going to come fetch Odysseus from the ruins of Troy.
But I also think that when Helen and Menelaus reunite, the old Helen can never truly go home, just as the Odysseus who leaves Troy is not the Odysseus who finds his way back to Penelope.
Is Odysseus playing at Menelaus by traveling to reunite with his wife? Or is he instead Helen, growing into someone else and estranged from his loved ones during the 10-year interim?
Does Penelope bring Odysseus home the way Menelaus brings Helen home? Does Penelope do it by giving Odysseus ways to prove that, deep down, he is always the man she knows and loves, the man who can use the impossible bow, the man who carved their bed, carved out of something near immovable, an olive tree with its roots deeply set in the arid Ithacan soil?
Summary: Your first date with Garcia is just as quirky and unforgettable as Garcia herself. As the night goes on, she enrols you in the titular tequila challenge.
A/N: I’d love to go on this date but, alas, I can only write about it. I also could not drink 4 tequila shots! Let me know what you think!
A surprisingly sultry silk eye mask obscured your vision entirely, Garcia’s gentle yet excitable hands the only thing standing between you and falling on your face. “Isn’t this a bit much?” You asked, fumbling over a step she hadn’t warned you of.
“It’s a date,” she told you brightly, “and mystery just makes it sexier.” You grumbled in reply, but couldn’t help but internally agree with her flawless logic. “Cmon, we’re nearly there!” Her voice had taken on that sing song quality that warned of her increasing excitement.
Her hands smoothed over your arms and you felt her move to stand behind you. The ghost of her breath washed over the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps tingling over your figure, as she whispered; “you ready?”
A hum of agreement left you, the shiver she sent down your spine stealing your words.
Squeezing your arm in response, she leaned closer once more. “Was that supposed to be a yes?” She all but purred.
This time you managed a slightly more eloquent “uh-huh.” It seemed good enough for Garcia, as she swiftly pulled the blindfold from your eyes.
Blinking against the sudden brightness, you slowly took in your surroundings. “We’re… at a ball pit?”
Wagging a sassy finger at you, she corrected; “not just any ball pit - a ball pit with a fully stocked bar in the middle.” Hand on your shoulder, she directed your attention to the central bar with a flourish of her hand.
The bar was standard, except for the sea of colourful, plastic balls surrounding it. Disco lights were shining wildly from ceiling mounted electronics and, as the pair of you neared the entrance to the ball pit, you could feel the thumping bass of R&B resonating through the floor.
Standing at the edge of the ball pit, ready to jump in and wade eagerly towards the bar, you looked to Garcia beside you. The pair of you shared a bright beaming smile, joined hands, and dove in.
———————————————————————
The ball pit was more fun than you would have ever imagined, the alcohol that was served alongside it was like a special bonus that simply made everything that much more colourful.
Wading through the sea of plastic balls, you flagged down a bartender but, in your increasing inebriation, accidentally sent a red ball flying several feet in the air. Watching the ball arc gracefully in the air, a pink disco light reflecting dizzily from it, you didn’t notice Garcia sidle up beside you. “I think it’s time,” she murmured to you, arm sneaking around your waist as she looked up at you.
“For what?” You asked huskily, craning your neck in an attempt to meet her lips half way.
Bright eyes darting down to your lips, she gave the most victorious little smirk she could muster, before pushing you towards the barman. “She’d like to take part in the tequila challenge, good sir!” She exclaimed, gaining the attention of several bar staff.
The barman raised his eyebrows in surprise, hand on his chest in a dramatic show of shock. “You really think you’re up for that?”
“Erm..” you stuttered, looking to Penelope beside you. Offering no form of explanation, she nodded dramatically and you looked back to the barmen with an unconvincing “yes.”
“Alright,” he resolutely told you, ducking from sight briefly before reappearing with four blue shot glasses.
Startled, eyes widening in sudden fear, you stepped closer and hurriedly asked for clarity. “Wait- wait, what is the tequila challenge?”
Already pouring the second glass, he raised a brow at you. “Two shots now,” he told you, briskly filling the other two glasses, “and two shots upon retrieval.”
“Retrieval?” You asked, blankly.
Penelope was clapping excitedly beside you as he turned to grab a glittery, golden, plastic ball from the bar. Brandishing it at you, the man more clearly explained. “Once I throw this ball, you have one minute to drink these two,” he pushed the first two full glasses at you, “collect the ball, return it, and drink these last two.”
Nodding, a little overwhelmed by the task at hand, you asked “and what if I don’t manage it in time?“
The barmen shrugged, “you lose your pride.“
Apparently deciding that the stakes weren’t quite high enough, Penelope added. “And you lose your shot at a goodnight kiss.”
Groaning, you whined in response. “Garcia, c’mon, that’s not fair!”
Wickedly, she smirked up at you. Hand upon your cheek, thumb swiping over your cheekbone, she winked. “Do it for me, hot stuff.”
Eyes closing, pulling a centring breath in, you squared your shoulders. Turning to the barman, you nodded as coolly as you could muster. “Let’s do this.“
With a smirk, the barmen pulled his arm back and tossed the golden ball several metres away. Immediately, you lost sight of the ball beneath the colourful haze. Grimacing, you turned back to the barman and, somehow, downed the first two shots without so much as a grimace.
As you rushed through the sea of plastic balls you sent them flying all around you. It was like running through glue, each step took such great effort and whilst you now could see the glittering ball that was your target, you felt as though you were no closer.
Your arm was stretched before you, your other arm wildly sweeping away the balls before you. Unfortunately, as quickly as you could push them away they fell back before you forming a barrier that seemed impossible to penetrate.
Throwing caution to the wind, you dived forwards. Entire body now engulfed by the sea of balls, drowning almost in the colourful spheres, you finally caught hold of your glittering target. “I got it!” You yelled hysterically into the air, awkwardly manoeuvring yourself into an upright position once again.
Your target was now in your sight; the bar, the last two shots of tequila, and Garcia.
With a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible in this sea of colourful plastic, you raced back to the bar. As you reached the sticky wood the crowd now formed around you were beginning to excitedly count down from ten. One hand still clutching the golden prize, you swiftly finished the final two shots.
Just as the crowd reached “one!” in their exuberant countdown, you victoriously slammed the empty shot glass back on the bar.
A clamour of cheers roared around you but you had one thing on your mind. “Where’s my prize?” You slyly whispered to Penelope.
She giggled, a musical tone, before placing both palms upon your cheeks. Pulling you down, exuberantly, she locked her lips with yours.
You melted into her kiss, the increasing roar of the crowd melting into the background as you smoothed your hands over her back. She pulled back just long enough to say, “that was impressive, hot stuff.”
You laughed around her lips, “I had the right motivation.”
You weren’t sure whether it was the copious alcohol now burning through your veins making you feel light-headed and dizzy, or if it was simply kissing Garcia. At this point, pulling her closer and melting into her embrace, you didn’t really care.
For the longest time I took my paints out and made a traditional painting of @cheappostagestamp ’s OC Penelope who is a huge comfort character of mine She’ll be part of my room’s inspirational wall Thank you @cheappostagestamp for creating such a big hearted and caring character❤
HOW DID I MISS THIS?? OMG IT LOOKS SO GOOD!!! HOW ARE ALL OF MY FOLLOWERS SO TALENTED!!
“Dad. Thank you for taking the time to sit down and talk with me.”
Lux smiles briefly, one elbow propped up on the breakfast bar. His other arm rests in his lap to avoid straining the shoulder that’s giving him troubles today. If he’s amused by her suspicious politeness, he doesn’t show it, aware that that would only make a teenager bristle. “Sure. What’s up, Pen?”
His daughter twists the end of her braid anxiously, auburn hair glinting in the glow of the overhead kitchen light that’s been dimmed to its nighttime setting. “So. There’s this thing tomorrow.”
His eyebrows twitch upward in surprise. “Are you waiting until the last minute to tell me about a school dance again? Papa won’t have time to run out and get you a dress, I don’t think anyplace will be open for much longer.”
“No. Not a dance. It’s a… like a book fair.”
He props his socked foot up on one of the bar stool’s horizontal bars, propping his head up with his hand. It’s been a long day, but he’s tired in a good way. “Like a book fair? Except different.”
“Yeah. Yeah, different.” She’s avoiding his eyes.
“Okay. Different how?”
Penelope traces circles in the countertop with her fingertip. The house is quiet except for Emory snoring in the bedroom. He crashed hard, leaving the door open and his shoes on, as soon as he got home from work.
“Um… it’s not for books.”
“No?”
“Mnh mnh.”
Blue eyes follow the invisible patterns she’s drawing, then search her face. “What’s it for, then?”
“Um. It’ll be really safe, Dad. They’ve had stuff like this before, for years, and it’s always fine. There’s lots of people going. And it’s on TV, so nothing bad can happen. And Vicky’s dad is going, he’s gonna drive us, he’ll stick around.”
Something she thinks he’ll find dangerous? He tips his head with curiosity and budding worry. Instead of asking a million questions, he waits for her to spill.
She finally looks up, senses a lot of tension that she neglects to notice comes from herself, and sighs as if he’s putting a burden on her by not agreeing already. “Lots of people use magic out in public now, Dad. It’s in stores, built into signs. You can buy a trading card with magic glitter for fifty cents at the school shop.”
Predictably, Lux has gone rigid. He straightens up slowly as she rambles defensively.
“My friends use it. A couple of them. Okay, one of them, but her friends talk about it. It’s a thing, Dad.”
He’s with her. He’s listening. Lux can’t help wishing, though, that Emory would wake up right now and come out to hear this. Handle it. He’s more rational about magic. More removed.
“I know it was different back when you were young,” She continues, trying to catch this in time before he gives her a hard no. “There was prejudice and stuff. In history class, like last year, they changed it from saying the war ended in ‘96, to saying the war didn’t really end for lots of years after that. ‘Cause people were still getting killed in the street and there was propaganda and stuff. But it’s not like that anymore. It’s safe to have magic now.”
Tears are budding in his eyes. Lux looks like he’s watching her die right in front of his eyes, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Like everything that she’s saying is horrifying instead of a list of resounding victories and awesome social changes.
“Dad? Can you say something? Please don’t cry.” She says it like he’s being embarrassing, but worry is under there somewhere. He’s always had smiles for her, or at least an explanation for why he couldn’t give even that much.
“I don’t know what to say,” He breathes, speaking slowly. “This is - an event like this, it’s never happened in the… mainstream. Out in daylight.”
“Yeah, it has! Last-”
“No, not anything like a fair. Not planned ahead of time. It could be a trap. The tide could be changing back, they could televise - it’s not that many years ago that there were riots and murders on TV.”
“Like, thirty years ago, Dad. That’s more than - more than a quarter of a century.”
“Twenty-five years ago, maybe. That’s being generous. I - you don’t know… there’s still tension. Things could blow up. There’s still hate in their eyes, sometimes, just walking by people on the street.”
“Yeah, but they’re bigots, Dad. You’re, like, remembering a different world.”
“You were born in that world, Penny. We were - I barely survived it. Saw a lot of people who didn’t. They didn’t even callus people in textbooks before you were old enough to be reading them. What is this fair, anyway? Talking about magic? Some kind of civil rights… rally?”
“What? No. Civil rights? It’s just… people show off what they can do. Like show and tell.”
Lux sits back further on his stool as if repelled. “They’ll be using magic? Multiple people, all at once? They’re going to die. Something’s going to happen, this is… what’s wrong with… wait.” He looks ill. “Pen. Please. Please tell me you weren’t going to go there and use your magic.”
She’s been caught red-handed. Penelope stands abruptly, her stool screeching back across the floor. “You sound like a bigot, Dad. You can’t make me hide it. That’s, you sound like a magiphobe. You can’t tell me not to use it.”
He looks like she’s just picked up a scorpion from the floor and is about to eat it as it twists and tries to sting her. “You can’t go. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed. You don’t - this isn’t something to argue about. You can’t go.”
Her face is going red, hands balled into fists. “I amgoing. Ten in the morning, I’m getting picked up, and I’m gonna go. I’m gonna use my magic. It’ll be fine.”
“No. Em-” Lux’s hands are shaking. His husband appears, groggy from sleep, so quick that it must have been the stool scraping the floor that summoned him. “Em, listen - listen to her, argue with her, I need, I n-need - I need some. N-n-need some.” Giving up on finishing his sentence, he gestures to the door, already heading for it to go get fresh air and have his meltdown far from where she can hear it. “Tell her - no. N-no matter what.”
“Sure, Curls,” Answers Emory as he sits on the stool Lux left unoccupied. Penny stands flustered, mentally preparing to do her best to convince him, waiting until her Dad is out the door before she picks up her rant where she left off.
content warning: discussion of past child abuse and past torture.
“Dad, I have a project I need help with.”
Lux nods, sitting on the couch with his plate of reheated leftovers. The smell of parmesan mixes with the familiar, almost musty smell of their old, soft couch. He loves being home. “Okay, pumpkin.” She rolls her eyes at the childish nickname, and he adores her teenage annoyance. “How can I help?”
Pen sits in the armchair. She usually flops, so her more measured movements catch his attention. She means business right now. Acting none the wiser, he cuts a slice of lasagna with the side of his fork.
“It’s a project about family history,” She starts and watches him for a reaction. Lux raises his eyebrows but doesn’t look up at her yet.
“Oh yeah? Family tree or something?”
“Uh huh. I don’t actually know anything about it. You and Papa had moms and dads, right? I mean, I know Grandma.”
“Yes. And yeah, you know Mom.”
“So what about your Dad? We can start there.”
He looks up at her now. She has no notebook or laptop before her to take notes or look at her project. He doesn’t suspect that she’s lying about it - just that she’s more curious than she’ll admit.
“Okay. Uh. He was born in 1974.”
“Wow. Old.”
Lux rolls his eyes, now. “He was young, really. Seventeen when the war started.”
Her mischievous energy turns somber at the mention of the war on magic. It’s boring history to most kids, but to her, it’s something that makes her dad get quiet and grim, something that must have been horrifying but that she’s never heard details about. A shadow that hasn’t been permitted to cast darkness over her.
“Was he in the war?” She asks, leaning forward. She’s hungry for understanding.
“Yes.”
A staredown. Lux is aware that he’s just gotten cagey, and that really, he should be able to at least give her this much. Her history. Not her family by blood, but still, it affects her.
He adds belatedly, “It’s… difficult to talk about.”
“Why? You weren’t in the war. You were a baby.”
“No, I wasn’t even born yet.” Scratching at his back through his shirt, Lux shifts to set his plate in his lap instead of on the couch cushion beside him. It’s warm. “But you can understand. He was seventeen when he joined the war. A lot of violence for a kid that age to see. Something in him broke. Or that’s what Grandma says, at least. She says he used to be kind. Gentle.”
“So he wasn’t gentle. Was he, like, abusive or something?”
Her dad hums, delaying his answer by looking around the room. Picture frames that hold so many photos from over the years, always updated with the latest memorable events and trips. Emory’s book collection, plants that are watered and sung to (to the great annoyance of the teenager in the house), snacks piled atop the fridge. She is accustomed to a standard of life that Lux didn’t believe he’d ever get to see himself, as a teenager, let alone provide for someone else. Abuse is just a concept to her, a thing that happens to less fortunate people.
“I can answer specific questions,” He offers. “It sounds like you already have theories. I can talk about it if you can try to be… um, gentle about your reactions.”
She looks worried and skeptical at the same time. She’s not used to him talking about the old painful things he remembers, so she never seems quite convinced that they’re as big of a deal as his subtle reactions seem to convey. Still, she nods. “Sure, Dad. Specific, okay. Did your dad hit you?”
Old, retired memories poke at him. Lux allows them to come forward in gentle waves, ebbing and flowing, no particular memory given a spotlight. “Yes.”
Penelope looks almost stunned at his straightforward answer. “Like, a lot? Punching and stuff?”
“Mmhmm.” He takes a bite of his lasagna, happy to find extra chunks of ground beef. Emory is amazing.
“Why? Were you a bad kid? Did he get drunk?”
She’s seen these things on TV. Lux thinks about how he wants to answer. “I wasn’t a bad kid. I was nervous and quiet, out of the way. Well, sometimes I threw fits. But kids do that. You don’t hit them for it. And… yes, he’d drink sometimes. But he didn’t have to be drunk to be willing to hurt someone.”
“Uh. Okay. So he was messed up from the war? Did he kill a lot of people?”
Another bite. Not as much meat this time, and this spot was a little cold. Maybe they need a new microwave. “That’s what Grandma says, that it changed him. He was very proud of the number of warlocks he killed. I hope that it was his training that made him hate us so much, that he wasn’t always that bad.”
“Oh. He - he hated you for having magic?” She looks stricken at the thought of the hatred stemming from prejudice, not just from Lux being some kind of wild, frustrating bad kid.
“He hated it more than anything.” Mixed in with his thoughts about his dinner are flashes of feeling very small and hurting very much. “There are, um.” Is this appropriate to say to a sixteen year old? He glances at his phone on the arm of the couch. He could reach out to his therapist to ask. But he wants to decide on his own, as a father. He’ll try not to offer up too much. There are plenty of experiences he never wants her to imagine could happen to someone. “You’ve seen my back. Under all that scarring, before most of it, there are some lines from him.”
Lines, scars, on his back from his dad. Penelope’s eyes lock onto his shoulder as if she can use her gaze alone to turn him around and pull up his shirt, inspect the damage and find secrets buried there. “Your dad whipped you?”
Lux nods, meeting her eyes.
“But he didn’t do all of that. Someone else did the rest?”
“We’re talking about family history,” He guides, shoulders beginning to throb.
“…Right. Yeah. So… um. What did he do in the war?”
Now he’s more playing with his food than eating it. “He was a sniper.”
She looks impressed for a second. One of her Wednesday night shows has cops and a sniper that she has a crush on. Lux doesn’t ruin her fun by getting upset about a show that he doesn’t have to be in the room to see.
“Was he good at it?”
Lux nods. Scratches at the bit of beard at his chin. “One of the best.”
“Wow. Did he have medals?”
A memory of the display case that seemed to take up the whole hallway, glass daring him to break it and get punished, awards and bullets on display to brag about how his dad planned to kill him too one day. “Yes. He lost friends. Did some things that got him awards for bravery.”
“Wow! So, like, if I look him up, will I find his name ‘cause he’s got those?”
He’s lost his appetite. He hides it by cutting up more bites that he won’t eat. “I don’t know.”
“Did he hit Grandma too?”
She’s being too forward, but Lux won’t stop her yet. He can roll with the punches. In his mind he sees the cabin and blood that has stained him for so many years. “Yes, honey.”
His quiet, distant tone slows her down. Penelope shifts and straightens her hoodie.
“You don’t have any questions about Papa’s parents?” He asks, already suspecting the answer.
“Already asked him,” She mumbles, fiddling with her phone now, not really reading anything on its screen.
“Oh.” Her sheepishness wins him back a little. Lux takes another bite, and it’s meaty again, and not too close to room temperature. Maybe he is still hungry. “What do you really want to know?”
Pen looks up, changes to sit sideways, then changes back. “I don’t know. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s okay that you have questions. Ask me anything.”
“Okay. Anything?”
“Anything.”
Penelope leans forward, eyes locked on his. “Who is the Hunter? To you?”
She was waiting to let that one loose. Lux tries not to think about how his father would react in a situation like this. He’s tried for years to imagine how this conversation might go, and worked to avoid her ever having an understanding of the topic. Better for her to be ignorant than to know about him. But it sounds like she already knows something.
“He is… a man who hurts people.”
“Did he hurt you?”
That’s got to be pretty obvious. “Yes.”
“How? What did he do?”
“Um. Well, my scars are mostly from him. I’m not going to be able to list it all out for you. I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Your back?” She asks for clarification, and her dad nods. “Why did he - who was he, though? Why you? How old were you?”
“He just… picked whoever he saw that he wanted. I was a stranger to him. I was a couple years older than you. He was… like a serial killer.”
“Well - you’re a survivor, not a victim, Dad, and - and I think your scars look cool.”
Lux cocks a brow at her clumsy attempts to offer comfort. She’s cute. “Thank you.”
She nods graciously. “But. Why didn’t you just kill them with your magic?”
“What?”
“Your dad. The Hunter. These guys that were hitting you and your mom and stuff. Why didn’t you just make them stop?”
The smell of parmesan is starting to make him feel nauseous. “It’s not… it wasn’t that easy. Abuse victims-”
“Survivors,” She corrects.
“-kids who are being hurt, they can’t fight back. Most of the time. And it’s not their fault if they can’t.”
“No, yeah, I didn’t say - it’s not their fault.”
“I was afraid of him. Them. I’ve gotten better, you haven’t seen me like that, but I used to have a stutter, and shake, and my magic wouldn’t work when I was scared. And I was always scared. I couldn’t relax in the living room like you are right now, I had to sneak past and try not to get noticed by my dad. I was, I was nineteen in a cellar with my arms… my shoulders are how they are because of that.”
As he paints context into the base truths she’s always accepted, she looks at his shoulders again.
Lux sighs, absolutely full of aches and bad memories now. “I love you, and I never want you to be scared to ask me things. But I don’t want you to be familiar with the life I knew. So please only ask questions if you really want to know, and just… give your Dad a break right now? I can help with your project later. Give you a timeline and fun facts. There’s more than just the bad stuff. I’m. If I keep talking now, I’m just going to be venting. And that’s not okay for an adult to do.”
Penelope stands now, looking more than eager to go. “I know, Dad. I’m not a kid.”
She is. She is so young, so clumsy with her sympathy, and so earnest. Lux shakes his head. “I know you’re not. I’ll see you after I finish my dinner and clean up, I’ll bring you some ice cream while you do your homework. Okay, honey?”
“Yeah. Okay, Dad.” One more glance toward his back, and she’s gone, pulling her phone back out of her pocket and opening up some app where the kids post pictures and talk to each other.
Lux sinks back against the cushions and closes his eyes, breathing through the wave of doubt and guilt that comes after a landmark conversation with his daughter. He’ll update Emory about it as soon as he’s processed it himself.
One of the dramatic threads in the account of Odysseus’s return to Ithaka is the gradual revelation of his identity. Here, Odysseus appears seated before a columned facade that represents his palace. Before him stand his son, Telemachos, and his wife,Penelope. As the old nurse,Eurykleia, washes Odysseus’s feet, she recognizes him from an old scar. Artistic depictions such as this are interesting not only for the illustrative detail that they provide but also for the subjects chosen.
Need Cast for CRIMINAL MINDS Fanfic + Good luck Paula
Plot: Kids of the bau members join the bau as a team, just doing the normal. Each othe them went down there parents feild of work. All that.
However my friend Paula (@via-hhong) is writting it because I said she could. She wabts people, users, to message her over who wants to be the kid of the following;
Spencer Reid Daughter -
Dereck Morgan Daughter
Penelope Garcia Son - Taken by @eeveelustion (But will be happy to give to someone else)
JJ son
Aaron Daughter
Alex Son
Emily Son
Elle Son
She is only having these open for the time being, if she needs more which she says she will we will post more. You just need to message Paula or myself. Fasuly Accused is coming out of hiatus soon!!!!
Can we also take a momment to wish Paula good luck as she has applied at her local fire station to become a fire fighter
I know Odysseus’ whole thing is how much he loved his wife (even in the original books I assume) but I’ve never realised how refreshing it is to see a male character actually love his wife so sincerely and publicly
The gays once again ruining the ‘i hate my wife’ jokes industry
anyways, one time I got bored and I rated Greco-Roman mythology-based names depending on what happened to the character. sometimes I cringe at people’s names, so here’s a guide on what not to name your kid!
Penelope:really pretty name imo. based on Odysseus’ wife and hey, she had a happy ending! granted it took about 20 years, but not too bad 7.5/10
Hermione: cute name but everyone’s gonna think you’re a Harry Potter nerd. but if you want to correct them, tell them that Hermione was the daughter of Helen and Menelaus and that’s all you know bc she was barely referenced in the Odyssey. not too bad but kinda irrelevant and also your kid will be made fun of regardless 7/10
Victoria: what a great name, it’s classic and classical and sounds very regal. comes from the Roman goddess of victory, so that’s cool and sounds a lot nicer than Nike. your daughter is bound to win everything and be victorious (pun intended) 9/10
Simon: again, a nice, classic name. apparently Simon was one of the Telchines, or the original inhabitants of Rhodes, and son of indeterminate titans. in some stories he had flippers for hands and a dog head, so that’s kinda awkward 8/10
Gaia: kind of a bitchy name if you consider how Gaia told her son to chop her husband into pieces. not the best wife by any standards. some of you may consider that a #girlboss moment though and she wasn’t entirely bad so 5.5/10
Pandora: everytime I see that someone’s named Pandora I cringe. listen, I get it’s a pretty sounding name but are people even familiar with this story? the dumbass unleashed all of the bad things into the world; she’s the reason why you stubbed your toe and why coronavirus happened! too much bad energy for me 4/10
Hector: listen, I don’t care how old the Iliad is, I’m still upset about Hector. mans deserved better than to die at the hands of an angry gay and his backstabbing goddess. if I hear that your kid is named Hector I’m gonna take it personally and be sad about it 3.5/10
Adonis: bro his grandfather was also his father and he popped out of a tree. then he was groomed by Aphrodite and killed by Ares bc the bitch was jealous. man could not catch a break. please do not name your kid after an unfortunate product of incest and divine punishment 2/10
“I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.”
