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[godnattakatta]

Gumbie trio <3

[demethinkstoomuch]

Deme Rates Villagers, Part 4: Birds

Disclaimer: Images are from the wiki, all good dogs, my ratings are mainly just there because “Deme gives her abstract thoughts on villagers” is hardly a catchy thing. 

Let’s get to the birbs! Are there borbs? No, not really, Animal Crossing birbs have a pretty straightfoward and uniform shape, they are most likely not borbs.

Ace

Another villager time forgot! Without seeing a clear shot of his eyes (they’re not perma-closed), a big element of his design is sadly lost on me. Otherwise, he’s pretty cute. Nothing fancy, but cute.

2 (Hidden Eyes) /5

Admiral

Eyebrows. Angry. Eyebrows! 

...What’s with his stomach not being the same color as the underside of his face, though? It makes them feel disconnected, which honestly loses some of the appeal for me. On the other hand, angry eyebrows for a grumpy bird. 

Eyebrows... /10

Anchovy

To be honest, I don’t know what to make of Anchovy. On the one hand: I like his simple, bird-like color scheme. I like his square eyebrows... But his expression, his pupils so very, very tiny... Kinda weirds me out. Which, spoiler, is going to be a thing with the birds. Not good eyes, the birds. But once I started looking at other screenshots, with his beak a bit more closed, I came to like his look of mild surprise, in a sort of flickering fondness.

A decent bird, perfectly cromulent. 

I don’t know but it swings between 4-6/10

Flash

Oh man, look at this bird! It’s a crying shame he hasn’t returned since the gamecube days, what with his little swirly little hair-feather, sleepy rectangle eyes, and jaunty little hat, and a cute blue coloring. We are robbed of his revival, and I, for one, will weep for this little bird.

Blue Bird Lamentation / 10

Jacob

What is it with these birds and looking tremendously surprised by existence? Jacob is apparently sort of Brazil-inspired, which is an odd choice of country to make into a charmingly tropical bird, but alright. He and Pave can enjoy carnivale festivale together.

6 /10

Jacques

Look at this fantastic little hipster! He has a beard even if it’s absurd for a bird to have a beard! Blond eyebrows! The green beanie! If he’s come out before the existence of Smug, I’d say he’s a cute little lumberjack, but smug officially marks him as a proud resident of... Maybe Portland, but I’m thinking Seattle. Walks around in the rain, goes hiking in the woods on the weekends, sure, but during the week he goes to an independent coffee shop that does artisanal, free-trade coffee. He used to go to Starbucks, but then they got mainstream. Do hipsters of a certain type play the harmonica? Well, they do now because he is one and he does. Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong. You can’t, can you? He’s so wonderfully a thing. Also, he’s got nice eyes, good, big pupils, and does a nice job tying his beanie color into the rest of his design. A good, good boy.

He would only accept a rating if it was ironic. I have no way of telling if my ratings are ironic or if they’ve looped back to being semi-sincere or if they’re just dumb gags and that’s not irony, you guys, so let the fact that he’s a serious contender for my New Horizons goals list be enough.

Jay

He’s really more of a swallow than a jay, looking at his coloring. Specifically, he’s got the red head and blue body and white underside of a Lesser Striped Swallow. So, now you know. That’s a plus for me, though not a super powerful one, and his eyes have that sort of strange staring quality I noted about Anchovy, but the eyebrows are less good. A rather run-of-the-mill bird.

He’s wearing a 6, however, so 6/10.

Jitters

Oh god that is unsettling. The dark-ringed eyes that are just the wrong sort of wide and staring... I feel like he’s seen Things. I don’t want him to show me Things. (What is funny is that I feel like, given the opportunity, I would probably loop back around and love his thousand-yard, sleepless, burnt-out stare. But I haven’t, so it creeps me out.)

Aaaaaaaaaaah! / 10

Joe

This bird is too small and dark for me to really see, but that might be a nice purple. Look, some villagers from the foggy shores of the past just cannot merit comment.

-/10

Lucha

I wonder why Nintendo keeps looking at luchadors and going “You know what this needs to be? A bird.” This is clearly Hawlucha’s little brother, and the effect could be more dramatic or detailed, but it does rather get the job done! 

Lucha Libre / 10

Madame Rosa

Well, well, well, a villager with a form of address in their name! How interesting! I like her face, what little of it we can see, and I think her color is appealing. She looks suitably fancy. Honestly, another villager it is a shame to lose.

Admiral Gets To Come Back And That’s Fine But Why Not Rosa? / Villagers Who Didn’t Get Amiibo Cards

Medli

So, here we are. The first of the Amiibo specials! This one is obviously meant to be Medli from Wind Waker, and as an emulation, she’s cute, but please, understand... It’s creepy when fur or feathers or something on an animal character goes for that fair-toned flesh look. The naked mole rat look, except not on a naked mole rat. It’s creepy when custom ponies do it, it’s very creepy when Animal Crossing villagers do it. Please stop.

No Seriously I think about this every time I wanna make a pony of a specific fictional character and then I shudder in deep distaste / Please For the Love of All That Is Good And Holy, Stop. Let Them Have Fur! Or feathers!

Midge

Awwwwwwwwwww! Midge is so cute! Look at those cute little swirls on her cheeks! Her precious little tadpole eyes! She’s a pretty, rosy sort of pink, too. I approve, even if honestly there is no rhyme or reason to her, she is just cute. 

(@ o’  v o’ @) / 10

Otis

Who is this guy, and what do I think about him? He looks... Like a bird. That covers that, I think.

-/10

Peck

Peck has a nice Java Sparrow look to him, though not entirely. The eyebrows are such a bright red that I don’t quite dig it, but I have to admit, he is a cute. Not my favorite vaguely Java-Sparrow-y person, though. That will always be Azami!

Drives Safely / 10

Piper

Man, Piper just does not have cute eyes, this image is a lie. She’s got half-circle eyes that make her look kind of bored. And given that she has so little detail, she really needed cute eyes to make me pleased.

3/10, an actual rating that isn’t just me giving a numerical shrug.

Robin

Robin’s pretty rockin’. I like the subtle blush, assuming that’s not a trick of this one screenshot. The little bit of blue “hair” up on his head ties together his tail and.  Shame his stomach’s not red all the way down. Commit, Animal Crossing designers! Commit! 

Rockin’ Robin: Tweet / Tweet Tweet 

Shoukichi

Oh man, it’s a little daruma doll bird! That’s so good! Look at him, he got his wish I guess! Not much else to say, save that I am sad no one has seen him again. I wish he’d come back one day.

One Eye / Two, for that unfilled wish.

Sparro

This is a pretty cute sparrow. You know what he could use? Bigger eyes. I feel the eyes have been an issue with the birds, and I intend to solve this puzzle. ...I think, considering my reactions, it is that they have big round bobble-heads, and so need a big eye to not look weird. Anyway, I appreciate the big dark rings, but not the weird little blush. He looks like he had a little beard, also good.

W(hy is there a missing W?) / Z

Twiggy

Twiggy sure is. The blue on the cheeks and the tail is nicely tied, and I like the very dark stripes on the legs. I have no particular other feeling, but these are good eyes.

5/10, the rating that is me giving a numerical shrug.

Twirp

Oh, I see Nintendo once considered the matter of bird eyes. And making their pupils ginormous. I see. Hm. Well, I guess I do like it better That said, I have no idea what is going on with this creature. Is it meant to evoke a shaved head? Is this creature naked? He looks very naked. Look, just. I respect your saying farewell to me, Twirp. Goodbye.

??????? / 10

The birds have some fun motifs, and we’re seeing a lot of realistic-ish birds, which is fun, but I think we’ll definitely have more enthusiasm-inducing species. Not new time, though. Next time is cows and bulls, and my expectations are low.

[acequeenking]

WINTERS NIGH AND SUMMERS O’ER 3/?? ( T)

A collection of one-shots centered on Hades and Persephone’s relationship; stories are non-chronological but all within the same timeline. Warnings and ratings are on individual chapters since these run the gamut from G to E. Updated weekly on Thursdays. (Previous Installments here!)

Warning(s): Uncle/Niece incest, older man/younger woman

Summary: Staring at the girl at the edge of one of Demeter’s many gardens, he’d laughed, an ugly little huff, at the absurdity of it. Thousands upon thousands of years of nothingness in his chest, and then one glimpse of a beautiful young woman in a garden, and he’d been undone. 

He was not prone to displays of affection, as a rule.

It was something that had become codified in his iron rules as a child; when you can’t move without hitting another sibling for the first several centuries of one's life, you tended to not want to touch other people once you were freed from your childhood prison. He’d made it a long-standing practice not to touch or be touched, but she, somehow, made him want to touch her, and it surprised him, struck him dumb even, how overwhelming his desire to rub his fingers through her heavy tresses invaded his heart.

Staring at the edge of one of Demeter’s many gardens, he’d laughed, an ugly little huff, at the absurdity of it. Thousands upon thousands of years of muteness, and then one glimpse of a young woman in a garden, and he’d been seized with nothing so much as the desire to reach out, to stroke her hair and press a kiss or twenty upon her brow. He tried not to look directly at her; he had not come up here for companionship, only to waive down Zeus’ mercurial messenger who skipped out on the underworld more often than not.

But she was in his eyes, whether she was in front of him or not; when he turned away, he felt like he heard her fingertips brush against flowers — impossible, since she was a good hundred yards away, and not even a god heard that well. He swore he heard a womanly laugh on the wind, thought it hers, and wanted it to be a song he heard over and over again.  The young goddess burned in his mind and he felt furious; there was no reason for it, no reason at all.  It wasn’t as if he knew her.

The only sizable interaction he’d had with her had been when her father had come to the underworld and presented her to the fates. Couldn’t forget meeting her; she was the first, for one, though Zeus was down often enough to tuck into the Fates’ cave with the newest of his bastards and the odd rightful heir (though Hera could not match Zeus in her fecundity), making sure they could not overthrow him. That was one of many places where Hades disagreed with his brother; prophecy meant little and fate was fate regardless of the foreknowledge. Had he known he was to be the king of the Titans, would he have put on Zeus’ airs through the war? Probably. And look what it would have gotten him, regardless of all those destined royal trappings: a kingdom made of dirt and stone, his duty that of a glorified jailer with nothing in his hands but death.

Better not to know one's fate.

He only remembered his brother coming with that one because Zeus had bothered him after, demanded a meeting with him and stood before his throne with this soft, snuffling child in his arms and asked, with one of Zeus’ typical large grins, whether Hades wanted to know her prophecy. He had not. Zeus had insisted he at least hold her anyway and, after several minutes of protesting that went nowhere, Zeus had all but dropped the little thing in his arms, wet and sobbing, and beamed. Hades remembered it; the child was terrified. He was no less so; he'd never held so small a thing, so full of life and so terrifyingly helpless. He’d stared down at the little baby and had felt nothing but anger at his brother; it was not as if he had his own children to hold and the little bastard-born daughter simply reminded him he was alone and would most likely be, given the rate that Zeus was going through immortal women, eternally alone.

He could only now hope Persephone didn’t have perfect recall of that moment, for his iron-headed fury was enough that even Zeus had taken his daughter back with surprise written on his smug face. His resentment had been the only reason he remembered the meeting at all; that, and that Zeus had never demanded an audience with him again after hearing the fates of his sprogs, which suited Hades just fine. He had no desire to be close to Zeus beyond what was politically expedient. The man would never see his children, if he ever had them. Especially his daughters.

He thought, for one brief moment, what a daughter between him and Demeter’s daughter might look like: her hair, and her features too, he thought, if the fates were merciful. Perhaps his eyes, though he would not mind the mother’s...Stop. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. He was a ruler of a third of the cosmos, he did not waste time making up hypothetical children like a love-stricken princess!

He tried to calm himself as he watched her simple joy in creation; she was laughing and even outright whooping as she brought bright vines to unfurl. He did not feel anger. He felt…longing, and it hurt. Hurt like nothing ever had before, and he hated it. When had he ever had a reaction like this to her before?

He tried to remember. He’d seen her since her birth, surely? The few brief glimpses of the curly haired moppet he’d seen after that in brief flashes of her childhood — Demeter, always the smartest sister, kept her off Olympus more than on it — had no spark like this. She was no more interesting to him than the many other children of his siblings. Divine, as they were all divine, but — ah, nothing special. He couldn’t even be sure it was her interrupting a dull council meeting to sneak a pomegranate off the table, or kissing his cheek on a dare as her cohort of bratty brothers and sisters cackled at making a joke of him. It could have been her; could have been Athena, too, or perhaps even little Artemis. He hadn’t taken much note at the time as to which was which; until they had a place at the table, they were useless to him, just reminders of something he didn't have and likely wouldn't.

But he was certainly paying attention to her now. Was it like this, for Zeus, for Poseidon? This…desire? Is that what this was? For the first time, he felt a bit of sympathy for them, if it came on this strong.  He leaned against a tree and watched her from the shade. There was no harm in watching, surely? She did not seem uncomfortable with him looking so. Hadn’t even noticed.  

Little Persephone was, he was quite sure, something beyond a mere goddess; there was no other explanation for why he found her so beguiling.  Though she was, he had to admit, no longer so little; her body had grown long and lithe, with long legs and soft breasts and curving hips that he was doing his damnedest to ignore.

That he was not, in truth, doing so well at ignoring.

What was so special about her? He tried to think, in part to distract himself as he watched her flit from field to field, bringing blossoms and springtime as she touched each stem. She had been the first whelp born of his sisters’ and brothers’ progeny; like him, she’d been born to a throne that was denied to her by his siblings’ political maneuvering.  Perhaps that was it; in her, he simply saw a kindred spirit. But then, he had never felt such a kinship with any other. His siblings had had no end of jokes at his expense about that, had they? Poor Hades; born dead, nothing but stones in his chest.

His siblings certainly had felt the love in their hearts for one another, he noted sourly. Persephone’s existence alone was proof of that. Perhaps his siblings had not quite acquired his aversion to touch; perhaps it was that they saw the immediate and admittedly practical need to try to outbreed the monsters Hades kept locked deep underground for them. Whatever the cause, Persephone had been the first of the new generation; a child born with his sister’s soft brown eyes and his brother’s golden skin, yet she had an alluring presence all her own. She had a youthful joy to her; life cascaded through her limbs – which should have been anathema to him, as it had always been when Demeter had dared to take his hand, and yet.

And yet.

He could not take his eyes off her, watching with bewitching longing he had never felt even once in his ancient veins burning. She was poisonous. Belladonna, nightshade, hemlock – all of them in this garden, all of them blossoming in her terrible yet beautiful touch.

Would she make him blossom, too? He was no less a poisonous thing. He shuddered. Ridiculous.

He watched with a scowl on his face as the little goddess unleashed another torrent of flowers.  How old was she now? If not quite an adult charged with her own duties, surely close, if she was assisting her mother alone…Not that he was counting how old she was. It would be…inappropriate, to count her age and wonder at what point it would become acceptable to court…She was Deme's daughter, his brother’s daughter! He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. Regardless of their miserable sniping at one another, they were his siblings, and to take her was to invite trouble he so rarely bothered with. He would…observe the girl, waiting for the messenger, and nothing else.  Anything else was…inappropriate.

He had certainly not picked this particular field to wait in hopes of seeing her, after all. That he happened to be standing in one of Demeter’s fields, waiting for the messenger, well, surely that was a coincidence, wasn’t it? He’d just noticed the messenger came to this field frequently. That was all.

He was grateful that she had not yet noticed him, and yet, simultaneously, miserable, for the very same reason. He swallowed, shook his head.  Foolish, and he knew it too — but he did not stop staring.  He was not, entirely, alarmed the messenger was late. He did not, entirely, want Hermes to come anytime soon, too enraptured with this beautiful creature.

He stared at the girl, wondering: Did she know? If she knew of the poisonous touch she had made upon his heart, would she give him an indication of repulsion? It would be easier, he thought; shiver upon touching his hand as Demeter did, and perhaps the poison would run its course and he could strangle the love-sickness, kill it and rise above it and not care for the girl who—who was coming near him, a pale white blossom in her hands. Oh, shit. He should have vanished into the underworld, and for any other god or goddess he would have done so but – for her, he stood still.

“Uncle,” she said, softly, but not shyly; there was nothing timid about her, no, not like him at all in that matter. So, she knew who he was. And she was, notably, not afraid; no shudder to her. She was bold, an arching bolt; her hand was outstretched and putting the little white flower behind his ear before he had entirely measured her presence. She was not like the shadows of his kingdom, not like the human souls he held dominion over; she existed, she breathed, she generated heat that he had not felt since…since. Her entire presence was…overwhelming. Bewitching, intoxicating. Dangerous.

“A gift,” she said, smiling a little, humming as she ran her toes into the dirt, the lightest touch on the ceiling of his kingdom and he willed himself not to grab the little thing, not to frighten her. No, he could not touch her; he had a power in him that made even her mother quaked at and he did not wish to scare her away. He stood ramrod straight and the little flower shook her head. She reached out a hand. He did not move away.  Her fingers toyed with his; little digits tapping on his arm. It was the first time someone had touched him in — How long? How long?

“Thank you,” he said, and the words tumbled awkwardly, for as a king, he so rarely thanked anyone. He never mastered sweet speech. She did not seem to mind though, her fingers tapping a steady beat against his wrist, tap tap tap; like his heartbeat, the music too loud in a long-stilled instrument like him.

“You are here for me?” She asked, and unlike any other goddess, she smiled at the thought. Smiled at the thought that—that he would be here for her. His eyes narrowed, teeth slickened by the poison that foamed at his mouth; he debated sinking his fangs in deep. She was so lovely a little thing, too lovely to be buried underground; and yet there was something in her eyes, a glint of lighting that made him quite sure she liked things dangerous and what was more dangerous than death itself?

But…she was young. Too young for him.  He refrained putting her in the dirt, though it took all his control to do it, and swallowed the poison in his mouth.

“Not at present,” he said; he pulled his outer cloak aside, let her see the pile of scrolls he’d held for Zeus’ little messenger, who had dallied about so long in going back to the underworld that Hades, who spoke with virtually no one but Zeus himself and only that when absolutely necessary, had built up a backlog of strongly-worded letters.

The girl did not stop touching his hand; her fingers flitted into his and he thought, for one hot second, that they almost fit.  Almost; not quite. She hummed, a soft la la la that made his knees all but weak.

“No, not yet,” she agreed; tilting her head in the funny way that seemed to be uniquely hers. How odd, this beautiful creature, so prone to movement and even odder, how he felt so attracted to her when all his realm was still, still, still. “When I go with you, winter is supposed to follow us.”

“I do not know of winter,” he said, wondering what or who that was: a portent of the future perhaps? He thought of the child he'd imagined and wondered, perhaps, if it was more than desperate daydreaming. Some gods had foresight; he did not, but his father had, the fates had. It was not impossible she would be among them – she was as much of time’s blood as he was, half of her sharing that ancient but inexorable rhythm. He swallowed, wondering if the poor child had told him her own prophecy; was she fated to go with him, truly? It seemed too cruel a thing, to sentence her to his gloom. Deserved better. She would be better not knowing, he thought, and him, too. But then, it wasn't as if the Fates didn't have a sense of humor; his own fortune was bitter proof of that. It may simply mean that one day she would walk behind him, and brush someone else's shoulder. So much of that nonsense had never come true, not in anything but dream-sense; hadn’t Demeter’s been that she would birth an heir that could inherit two thrones? Yet Zeus had married the sister who'd born him a son, putting Persephone neatly out of the running for that throne, and Poseidon had not adopted the girl-child, either. She was quite alone. Like...him. And It was not as if it said she would stay with him forever, as a friend or as...anything more. He swallowed.

Tap tap tap, her hand on his, marked the hour; he did not remove it.

She smiled as she leaned forward and back, swaying in the wind and soil, anchored only by his fingers. He liked that, liked the thought that as she came and she went, he was her anchor point. “Me neither. Not yet, at least.  But uncle, tell me: did you know you’re supposed to give someone a gift back when they have given you one?”

“Ah,” he said, looking down; he did not know what would please her. She loved flowers certainly but had no need for them, not when she could produce them all her own and far better-looking blooms than his at that; his more natural gifts—iron and bronze and jewels—were nothing she seemed to hold interest in. “I am afraid I have brought nothing for you, little one. I do not make a habit of carrying toys,” he said, knowing that she was too old for them.

She folded her arms and pouted, and he mourned the absence of the little music she had beaten out upon his body with her soft hands. Tap tap tap, his heart sang, growing deeper roots; poisonous roots, blistering through his core. He felt warm. He was alarmed he did not mind it.

“I do not play with toys,” she said, firmly, sounding young despite so obviously trying to play the lady. “I like adult gifts. Something older.”

“Then what old gift would you have from me?” He asked; his voice shook just a slight bit, but she did not seem to mind. He could pull older things, too, long dead; perhaps she longed for a fossil. He would like it if she did; it would prove a good omen, perhaps, for where her tastes would grow. She licked her little lips softly, and a fire flamed through him, and he thought: inappropriate, inappropriate.

But fates, how he wanted her.

“A kiss,” she said plainly, placing her hand at his hip. He laughed, but she did not, and the laughter died away. He stilled, back deathly straight. He stared deep into her eyes, and she did not look away. She was not joking.

“You are a bit young for that,” he muttered; still, he found his hands on her shoulders. Neither of them commented on how his hands trembled.

“I said I prefer adult gifts,” she said, bold and daring. Her hand climbed from his side to his back, tugging them closer, close enough he could hear the blood pumping through her veins and knew she wanted his mouth filled with venomous desire.

But he did not sink his fangs upon her; a light blur caught his eyes, quicksilver wings fluttering in the distance. Hermes. He could stall for time, he knew; he could simply ride it out, wait and hesitate long enough that Hermes would arrive and he could make his excuses and go.

But he did not.

Instead, he bent down quickly and closed his eyes, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead while wishing that things were just a bit different; her older, or him younger. He heard her chuckle, the noise a bit less than innocent in its meaning, smelled the soft scent of wildflowers and thunderstorms as he inhaled her scent deep. “Next time,” she muttered as he broke contact, her words a scalding whisper that burned him. “Next time…I shall be more specific, and I shall expect it upon my mouth, uncle.”

He inhaled a sharp breath, did not have the strength to do so much as nod. She did not dare to look away, her hands still clamped upon his back.

“What are you doing here?” Hermes asked; flittering between them at last. The boy’s brown eyes were wide, looking between them; inappropriate, her touch too close. She realized it; Persephone withdrew from his side, turning to look at Hermes with a polite smile.

“There you are.” Hades squeezed her little hand in parting, well aware of the road he was treading; well aware, too, that it was lined with fire. “Looking for you, boy. You’ve become so slovenly and late I’ve built up a backlog! Honestly, Hermes. Making me come here.”

Hermes rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Your brothers like to talk, your grace.” He held out his arms, and Hades dropped his scrolls into the boy’s hands perfunctorily. Hermes looked closer at him, and frowned. “Is that a flower on your—“

He was not going to entertain this line of inquiry.

“Don’t dally this time,” he snapped, waging a finger in the boy’s face. He could feel the girl watching him, and felt uncomfortable, warm and strange in ways that were new and exciting as they were ill and strange. “I do not wish to make a habit of having to seek you. No stories, no tarrying.”

“Ugh, okay, okay!” Hermes muttered something about him being a slave driver under his breath; Hades ignored the insult. They all had their duties.

“I take my leave of you both now,” he said, snapping his fingers. He did not want to leave the girl in truth, but he knew how it would look if he stayed, knew it would get back to mother nature, knew tongues would wag and knew that he’d never see her again if that happened. And he knew, too, that if he stayed, perhaps his famous control would weaken further, for the girl was tearing down his walls with a speed that made him shiver, made him quake. He did not entirely trust himself around her. Without Hermes’ intrusion, would he have kissed her on the mouth?

He wasn't sure. He wanted to. It was an inappropriate thought. Forbidden.  Alluring.

“Until it's time for winter, uncle,” the girl murmured; Hermes tilted toward her, eyes confused; he caught the opening of his question as to what winter was as he plunged deep into the earth, but not her answer, and that was just as well. He did not want to know.

As he went down into his long-held abode, a new song took route in his brain, quietly infusing him until felt his heels click to it as he walked down the hall.

La,la,la,la,la…

Mythology Notes:

- Zeus visiting the fates to receive his children's fates is a reference to his and Hades dad, Cronus, who consulted with his parents and found out one of his sons was fated to usurp him. In myths that mention that Zeus also did this (mostly with Metis), they say he went back to his grandparents, Uranus and Ge/Gaia, to receive their proclamations. In this version I had Zeus ask for the Fates, both because of their ever-presence in Hadestown as well as needing someone who, traditionally, does live in the underworld for this role.

- Hades’ destiny of being "King of the Titans" comes true in the sense that he rules over them in the Underworld; they're assigned to the underworld equivalent of hell (Tartarus) and Hades is basically in charge of making sure that they never escape it. Many ancient artworks depicting Hades show him with a key, highlighting his role as, essentially, a jailer as well as the keeper of the dead. His destiny here is admittedly a made-up figment of my imagination, beyond the prophecy with Cronus mentioned in the note above.

- Hermes being mercurial is a nod to his Roman name, Mercury. I've headcanoned him here as younger than Persephone despite how they look, since the musical doesn't say and most Greek mythology source seem to suggest this is so (namely Hesoid and Suidas); the Orphic hymns also offer that Persephone asked Hermes to be the guide who helps others to reach their final destinations (and curiously I cannot find a source that shows that Hades asked him or any other myth showing how he acquired that role at all beyond this!) and since she couldn't do that until she became Queen of the Underworld, it would follow that she is older, if perhaps not by a great deal.