#writing retelling

[rustchild]

desperately craving weird surrealist arthurania. Knights with no faces wandering through the mists. Seams between Christian and pre-Christian Britain gaping like open wounds. Beafts and visions. Maybe a monk. Maybe the monk is gay

[fantastic-nonsense]

Steve Orlando, after writing half of Supergirl Rebirth and fixing Wonder Woman after Robinson's run, in the middle of writing Donna Troy's nth origin story retelling: "bro she saw her planet blown up as a teenager and then got to Earth and her baby cousin was older than her now. it's not hard, go read some of her stories and figure it out"

[lynnuvo]

Of Course a Prince Needs a Princess

Characters: Yandere Prince x Female (Y/N) In which you reincarnate into a fairytale where Yan!Prince wants his happy ending too

𝑃̲𝑟̲𝑜̲𝑙̲𝑜̲𝑔̲𝑢̲𝑒̲

Having a second chance at life in exchange for the death of your previous one came with a crash. You weren't sure how it happened, but you luckily retained your memories and your wit.

It didn't take long to find out you were in a world akin to Cinderella's story--from the stepmothers to the talking mice to the royalty the citizens praised. Unfortunately, you weren't looking to live in a grand castle. Or maybe you were, but not with being married to a man you don't have feelings for. The original couple got together so quick, yet they barely knew each other. That story was definitely as it was: a work of fiction

Your new plan? Put up with the stepsisters, find a job elsewhere, and make enough bank to live comfortably in the village away from your family. You've never heard of laws in Cinderella's fairytale, but you were certain that the kingdom couldn't possibly force citizens to live with toxic family members.

𝑇̲ℎ̲𝑒̲ 𝐵̲𝑎̲𝑙̲𝑙̲

After spending a few months doing chores and odd jobs around the village (the latter for some extra cash), your family finally received news of the fated ball.

You initially didn't plan on going, but you deserved a break. You didn't bother asking for permission to go; your stepmother definitely wouldn't allow it. The main problem was summoning Fairy Godmother.

Luckily, she couldn't tell the difference between fake tears and real ones. You behaved as close to the actual Cinderella as you could recall, and POOF!

With your new attire and coach, you made your way to the most gorgeous castle your eyes have ever fell upon.

It didn't take long for the prince to notice you, but this is where you drew the line at this fairytale life. You rejected his proposal to dance, shocking the other guests. You had to resist a smirk at your step-family's reaction.

Flabbergasted, the prince left you swiftly and moved onto another fair maiden. You indulged yourself in the catering happily, but after your stomach was filled, the stares of passerby began to discomfort you. The prince was occupied with another dance, so you wasted no time leaving the palace early (much to the confusion of the knights who stood guard).

The spell broke while at home with no evidence of your night out, not even the glass slippers. When your stepfamily returned, they bragged about their time and briefly talked about you (luckily not knowing you were the one who was "stuffing their face like a pig starved."). After that day, life returned to normal.

Or at least what you thought was going to be normal.

𝘙͜𝘶͜𝘯͜𝘢͜𝘸͜𝘢͜𝘺͜ 𝘊͜𝘪͜𝘯͜𝘥͜𝘦͜𝘳͜𝘦͜𝘭͜𝘭͜𝘢͜

Beginning that night, Yan!Prince thought about you often. He never imagined a young lady would ever reject his proposal to dance, though he didn't hold it against you. It was just a shocker.

Despite that, you appeared in his mind before bed and after he woke up, while he ate and while sharpening his combat skills. Even if he told himself that that one incident was nothing more than a brief interaction with a citizen of his kingdom, he couldn't forget the color of your hair, your pretty face, and how you paid oh so much attention to the food his family prepared just for that ball.

Upon overhearing the chefs gush about their gratefulness towards their food being appreciated so much, he made up a personality for you: kind but forward, honest, valuing true intentions and love over gold and high status.

Too bad for him, gold was your highest priority. While he began going on strolls into the village in search of you under the impression of catching up with the townsfolk, you continued job-hunting and tending to the house. You even decided to cater to your stepfamily as best as possible--subtle enough so they wouldn't think you were trying to suck up to them.

Surprisingly, your relationship with them improved just a bit. But it was what you needed to get permission to work at a bakery in the village.

Once you discovered he was visiting the village often, you did your best to avoid the bakery window while working and hurry home once your shift ended.

Unfortunately, you both ran into each other just as you closed up shop. In a small panic, you inquired about him for the sake of courtesy. While you two spoke, he couldn't help but notice a striking resemblance between you and the lady who turned him down at the ball. You could tell from his facial expression he was piecing things together, so you abruptly bid farewell and ran away.

He would visit you a lot. After replying to his inquiry that you weren't the girl at the ball, he'd joke about it a lot (there was no other gal in the village like you). It didn't take long for rumors to spread amongst the kingdom that the prince had taken a fancy to you. You hated it. He didn't mind it. In fact, it no longer mattered whether you were the girl at the ball. Something about you pulled him in like a hook. Perhaps it was the determination he observed through the window. Perhaps it was the way you handled children while taking a breather outside as he ate inside. Perhaps it was destiny.

As time passed, you grew more tolerant of him. While you didn't want him to be your romantic partner, you guessed you were okay with being his friend. As time passed, he grew more frustrated you weren't his. His father took note of his unusual agitated self, but he waved it off as stress when thinking of a future bride.

"What about that lady the people are saying you like?"

"Oh, her? She has....a way with herself. It seems that she's not interested in me."

"Perhaps you both need a bit of a push."

Since then, the King made a few visits to the bakery to chat--no marriage mentioned. He wanted to see what you were like. Although you were a kind girl, he confronted Yan!Prince with the truth that he probably wouldn't have a spouse who didn't want him. It broke his heart to hear, but he wasn't ready to let go yet.

You were already preparing your escape long before the ball, but the pace of your plan sped up now that the prince was on your trail. You found out about the closest kingdom from acquaintances and saved up funds to use on your journey.

When the prince discovered you had quit your job via a disappearance, he visited your home. Your stepfamily was in shambles (literally. The place was filthy.) and shared that you had disappeared overnight with your belongings. There was no mistake in it: you had abandoned him.

Framing your escape as a possible kidnapping, he ordered guards and encouraged the rest of the kingdom to search for you. All of his efforts was on the search.

Photography didn't exist, so you were fortunate that the description he gave out about your appearance was vague. Somehow, you made it to the nearest kingdom with a plea to the guards that you made your way there in search of a better life. The Queen was kind and sponsored a place for you to stay for the first five months while you adjusted to your new life in exchange for you finding a job. It didn't take long to do so with your desperation.

In no time, you were living a much happier life in your home, with your new friends, and even someone who kept catching your eye. Talk of the nearby kingdom's drama was entertaining, even more so with the subject amongst them.

Meanwhile, the prince's mental and physical wellbeing deteriorated. Some say the search took a lot out of him. Some say he was so heartbroken, he had no will to live. Maids in the castle whispered about the prince being locked in his room from the outside because he grew violent--so out of character! Disturbed, the King confided in only those closest to him about his woes. Whatever did that woman do to infatuate his son so much! No one could approach him anymore. He ate and drank only when he needed to. His room became a mess. How did such a sorrow fall on the family of royal blood when there was so much potential for happiness to look forward to?

Anyone could guess that were was no point in a happy ending for romantic fairytale if there was no romance to begin with.

[smhallow]

“I made a wish too,” you say. “A long time ago. I wished someone in the world would care about me.” “That’s a heartbreaking wish.” “I was heartbroken when I made it.”

Ebook preorders are now available for my dark, romantic fantasy HOW TO SURVIVE THIS FAIRYTALE. For fans of T. Kingfisher, Tamsyn Muir, Slay the Princess, and Into the Woods.

Preorder here!

[wordsmithic]

unpopular opinion but with the new tide of Greek mythology stories and retellings, Greek Cultural Sensitivity Readings are absolutely necessary. We are in 2024, with thousands of fics and retellings out there!! How is this not a thing yet?? There's vast improvement one can achieve by working professionally on their text with a Greek. I've seen it so many times!!

Also, duh, I'm offering the service BUT I want you to know that the situation with the inaccuracies of SERIOUS works is so dire that initially I didn't even do it for money. As a writer I just wanted to... fix things, to set a new standard for writers and the industry that sells us the most heavily Americanized pop-culture material and passes it as "authentic vibes of Greek mythology". (And of course there were writers who wanted to do right by their story and they had reached out to me. So kudos to them as well!)

Okay, but why does Cultural Sensitivity Reading make a vast difference and it's not just smoke and mirrors?

As a Greek, I am tired of well-meaning writers and authors butchering very basic elements of my culture. It's not their fault exactly, since they were raised in another culture with a different perspective. And nobody clued them in on how different Greek culture is from theirs, so writers sometimes assume that their culture is the default and they project that into ancient Greece. (Even published professionals like Madeline Miller have written "UK or US in antiquity" (with a very colonialist flavor) instead of writing "Ancient Greece". (Looking at you, Circe!)

Even writers who researched a lot before coming to me still had a lot of misinformation or wrong information in their text, easily verifiable by the average Greek. Again, not their fault. They can only access certain information, which does not include Greek scholarly work and scientific articles that DO offer valuable context.

Translation, accuracy, and meaning: If you ever wondered what a word means or how to pronounce it, here's your chance! There are Greeks like me who are knowledgeable and have a keen interest in antiquity and they will be able to read and compare ancient texts, and dive deeper into the work of Greek scholars regarding those texts.

If you want to create new words, you can do that as well! (It doesn't always work, but we can try. Greek is a really rich language and has a word about everything) If you use existing words, I can help you separate reality from fantasy in the context of your story.

(Do not assume we Greeks are ignorant of our heritage, or that we don't know how to research! Our archaeology sector is huge and archaeological museums are closer to most of us than your local Target is to you)

I guarantee there are things you never thought about Greece and the Mediterranean - from the ancient to the modern era. Sprinkling elements like phrases, types of interactions, customs, songs, instruments, dances, etc , into your text will make your text absolutely rich in culture.

Names matter!!! The genders of the names matter, diminutives matter (If I see one more "Perse" for Persephone I will claw my eyes out along with a few thousand Greeks), naming traditions matter!!! In many cases you should not even use a diminutive!!

You will be able to write about a foreign culture easily! Because of the continuity of Greek culture, you can even write a few more recent Greek elements to fill in the gaps. I can make sure they are not mismatched, and they will complement your ancient setting. I have observed a few things I didn't know we had since antiquity, but they make sense because our land has certain characteristics.

Non-Greek writers often miss the whole context of Greek culture! Do you know how Greek respect towards deities and parents looks like? What tones we use when we talk to our elders? When to use honorific plural - if your setting is more modernized?

Oh, and please let's avoid caricatures when describing Greeks?? (even fantasy Greeks) There can be heavy exotisation and odd descriptions of Greeks, as if we are another species. Even in published works. For many western writers it's difficult to catch, unfortunately.

The whole process is actually way easier than you think. You send me a text, I make notes and then we have some discussion on your vision.

It's always okay to seek guidance from the locals! You are not "guilty" when you admit you don't know! How can you know if you don't ask?? You can't imagine what relief and "πάλι καλά!!!" I read/see from other Greeks when I tell them another foreigner is using me for cultural sensitivity? Greeks want you to seek help and will NOT shame you for it!

(On the contrary, you have no idea how many eye-rolls Greeks do when they see a blatantly wrong thing in a story... Which has happened pretty often for many years now. Can we do better as an industry?? Please???)

You can send me a personal message to share your story, or ask what this whole cultural sensitivity thing is all about, or ask about what I have done so far and how I can help. But for the love of all that's good, don't let your story be another "generic greek myth retelling"! And don't let others sell you their generic greek myth retellings!!

[corviiids]

I'm sorry PLEASE elaborate or cap/link the story about you wearing the nightmare perfume to..... work? as a lawyer? Court work? Bad smell court work??? Rook,

i did post the story here at some point but sure i'll retell it with more context. anyone who doesn't know, im a lawyer and my favourite character is goro akechi from persona 5 whose face i have been wearing since 2017. ok we proceed

the perfume is followed by kerosene, which is slightly infamous. i encountered it when i was first trying to find a decent gourmand fragrance which actually smells like coffee. (i still haven't found a good one so if anyone has any recs...) that tumblr post about its fragrantica reviews shows off some of the funnier ones, but the actual fragrantica page shows the response is a bit more complicated. followed is a very divisive fragrance. those who love it absolutely adore it. everyone else thinks it's a curse on all of humanity forever. i read those reviews and instantly decided i had to try it so i bought a sample.

the thing that makes followed by kerosene most controversial is that it has really unreasonably strong staying power. the other notable thing about followed is that despite being advertised as a coffee and vanilla forward fragrance, it actually has an INCREDIBLY strong smell of maple syrup. perfume depends really heavily on the individual, since the same perfume will act differently on different people's skin, which is why some people insist this smells of a lovely pleasant coffee and, while lasting, generally fades okay, and other people insist the maple syrup demons live in their vents to this day. i actually adore followed. i'm pretty sensitive to strong fragrances and i don't love sweet things, so i was really apprehensive, but i ended up really liking it? it IS strong, but i use a very tiny little amount and to me it smells of a pleasantly burnt caramelised maple followed (hehe) by a nice jaunty undertone of espresso. everyone i've asked irl also thought it was very pleasant.

i was wearing followed to work and needed to run to court for boring BAU reasons. i was NOT there for a hearing. this did not happen while phoenix wrighting my way through actual fucking advocacy. just making this extremely clear for my own mental health. anyway i was in court wearing my little perfume having a normal day talking to a court officer about documents or whatever and they stopped dead mid-conversation and went, "do you smell pancakes?"

anyway that's why i don't wear the fragrance anymore. not because it's a nightmare perfume from hell. just because i absolutely cannot repeat the experience of standing inside a fucking courthouse having to politely giggle and fib my way through an interaction with a completely innocent court officer who had no idea the amount of psychic damage they'd just dealt me by asking me so politely with their real human voice if i smelled sweet pancakes while i stood there knowing and dreading the true reality, which was that the pancakes, after all this time, was me

[luna-azzurra]

How to Actually Write a Fairytale

Writing a fairytale isn’t about copying what came before. It’s about echoing it and breathing new life into the bones of old stories, while still leaving fingerprints that are entirely your own.

➥ Know the Genre Like It’s Your Grandmother’s Favorite Story

You don’t have to memorize every tale from the Brothers Grimm or Andersen, but you do need to understand the rhythm of a fairytale. The structure. The tone. The strange, brutal, beautiful logic where wolves talk and curses are casually handed out like snacks.

Read the classics—but don’t just admire them. Ask why they’ve lasted. Why we keep retelling “Cinderella” or “Beauty and the Beast.” Why we crave stories where the wicked are punished and the good get their happily ever after (or… don’t).

Then, ask yourself: what do you believe about happy endings?

➥  Make the World Feel Like a Dream You Just Woke Up From

Your setting shouldn’t feel like a postcard, it should feel like a mood. That forest? It’s not just a bunch of trees. It’s ancient and alive and maybe watching you. That castle on the hill? What lives inside it isn’t just royal—it’s wrong.

Don’t overdescribe. Don’t over-explain. Fairytale settings thrive on feeling, mystery, awe, fear, delight. Focus on texture and sound. On atmosphere. Give the reader goosebumps with a sentence, not a paragraph.

➥  Use Archetypes Like Skeletons, Not Cages

Yes, fairytales run on familiar characters: the hero, the princess, the wicked stepmother. But don’t just copy and paste those roles. Twist them. Make your hero afraid of bravery. Let your princess save herself and then ask why she even needed saving in the first place.

Give your characters choices. Inner lives. Secrets. Let them lean into their archetypes and then stumble out of them. That’s what keeps your story from feeling like a copy of a copy.

➥  Say Something That Matters (Even If It's Wrapped in Magic)

Fairytales aren’t just bedtime stories, they’re moral delivery systems in disguise. Every ogre, quest, and talking raven is hiding a deeper truth.

So what’s yours?

Don’t force it. But do let your story mean something. Maybe it’s about growing up. About forgiveness. About not trusting charming strangers with cursed apples. Let the theme grow like ivy between your lines, quiet but impossible to ignore.

➥ Add a Sprinkle of Strange With Magical Beings

It doesn’t have to be a fairy or a dragon... though those are always welcome. Think beyond the usual. A dog who speaks only in riddles. A grandmother made of smoke. A house that walks on bird legs (looking at you, Baba Yaga).

Make your magic feel old. Like it was here before your character showed up, and it’ll be here long after they’re gone.

➥ Don’t Be Afraid to Make It Hard

Fairytales are not soft. They have teeth. Let your characters struggle. Let the curse hurt. Let the villain win for a minute too long.

Readers don’t fall in love with perfect heroes—they fall in love with tested ones. Give your characters impossible tasks. Curses that twist them into shadows. Quests that demand sacrifice.

Then let them choose who they want to be on the other side.

➥ Use the Old Bones, but Give Them Your Voice

Start with “Once upon a time” if it feels right. Or don’t. Just make sure the story has rhythm. Fairytales move fast, but not rushed. They feel inevitable. Like fate wrapped in a metaphor.

Keep it simple, but not shallow. Let your prose feel like poetry snuck in wearing a cloak. Make your reader feel like they’re hearing a story that’s older than memory, even if you wrote it yesterday.

➥ Magical Objects? Yes Please. But Make Them Count

Magic beans, mirrors, rings, cloaks... yes. But don’t just throw in trinkets like party favors. Give them purpose. The thing that glows should glow for a reason. The potion should do more than heal, it should reveal. Or trick. Or demand a price.

Magic in fairytales always comes with rules. Use that. Break your character with the thing that’s supposed to save them.

➥ Let People Change (and Not Just With a Magic Wand)

True transformation in a fairytale isn’t just “frog turns prince.” It’s “child becomes brave.” “Witch becomes mother.” “Monster learns to forgive themselves.”

Let your characters grow, like painfully, beautifully. Give them chances to change, and the agency to take them. Or not. Either way, that’s where the real magic is.

➥ You Get to Choose the Ending

Happy? Bittersweet? Vaguely cursed but weirdly satisfying?

You’re not chained to “...and they lived happily ever after.” You can write “…and she never returned to the forest, but it never stopped watching her.” Or “…and his heart stayed quiet for the rest of his life, but at least it was his.”

Just make it feel like an ending. One that lingers. One that knows the story is done, but the lesson might echo long after the last line.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales (pt 10)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9)

Summary: There are many sorts of meetings. Meetings you dread and meetings you anticipate. Baron Ramsey is overdue for both.

“I did not expect you to return so soon,” the Queen says. Her coal-like eyes flick over the Baron, cataloguing every inch of him. Did she see the dust clinging to his trousers, evidence of his haste to arrive? Did she see the tightness in his jaw at her welcome? Did she see the new bead of sweat rolling down his cheek? “Another week at the earliest.”

“I—” The Baron has to summon moisture to his mouth to speak. He swallows. “I was already within our borders when your message found me. Of course, I had no choice but to return.”

The Queen’s expression doesn’t change, but her aura does. She leans back in her throne and watches him through half-lidded eyes. “Why is it you think I called for you, Baron David Ramsey?”

To torment me, he thinks and doesn’t say. He wishes he would have listened to his wife all those years ago. She told him they must go unnoticed. He thought he had rid himself of his arrogance when he married her, but he was wrong. It had been arrogant of him to not heed her warning.

“There is a new type of dye in the southern islands,” he says. He spreads his hands wide. “If I had known your majesty had already heard of it, I would not have delayed in finding a sample. I hope you will understand. I was returning home after so many years abroad.”

The Queen never admits to not knowing. Her expression flickers. “Yes, the new dye…I am interested in it.”

A wave of relief rocks through him. This is familiar territory. Every request for a new product she gives him is another handful of months he can keep her attention away from his home and the secrets he has kept hidden there for 19 years. “It would be my privilege to acquire some products using this new dye for you, your majesty. I have made a promise to the Baroness to return home this month however, so there will be a delay—”

“Returning home to an empty house?”

The Baron blinks. “Pardon?” Then her words register and a surge of sick fear makes him sway on the spot. What has she done? He swallows twice before he can speak. “N-no, to my daughter – my daughters. To the Baroness.”

The Queen studies him. The Baron desperately tries to hold himself still. The Queen always speaks vaguely. He is hearing a threat where none exists. The Queen’s domain may extend past his manor, but her magic doesn’t. She doesn’t know, she can’t know. She is testing him. Should he have denied knowing that the higher nobility of this land were, in fact, the Unseelie Court?

Sweat rolls down his temple and he feels the Queen’s eyes track its progress.

“Then rejoice,” the Queen says at last. Her nails trace the arm of her throne. “Your journey is at an end. Your family is in the Capital.”

“Wha—” What?! The Baron bites his tongue so hard blood wells. The pain does little to clear the panic from his mind. “I—I was not aware.”

“I can see that,” the Queen says. The sharp edge in her gaze softens. Calculation crosses her face briefly and settles into an unsettling amusement. She smiles. “Yes, that makes sense. You wouldn’t have been home to receive the invitation. There is a ball, Baron David Ramsey. All eligible ladies of the kingdom are in the Capital for it, of course. Your…daughters included.”

A ball? It’s been three decades since the Queen last a held a ball, perhaps longer. Why now? His wife told him that the Unseelie Court was confined to the very core of their territory after the last great war. She predicted that their power would not be enough to free them for another hundred years. So why a ball? Why invite the human nobles across the land to come into the heart of the territory before they were recovered? Why—

The Prince. These are politics the Baron knows. The Prince has come of age this year. This isn’t an ordinary ball. The Royal Line must continue regardless of the powers they may or may not have recovered. A Prince needs a Princess.

The Unseelie Court is hunting for new blood.

“Then I suppose,” the Baron says faintly, “that I am not going home quite yet after all.” The unease the Queen voicing his name evokes fades next to the sick fear roiling in the Baron’s stomach. “By your leave, of course.”

“Nothing would make me happier than having your attendance at the ball tonight,” the Queen purrs. She extends a hand and an invitation appears in the air between them. She crooks her finger and it drifts into the Baron’s chest. “I guarantee that this will be a  surprise reunion that no one will want to miss.”

The Baron’s clammy hand presses the invitation over his heart. Is it his imagination or can he feel oily tendrils seep from it and into his heart? Is the air colder? Without thinking, the Baron says, “Thank you for your consideration, your majesty.”

A wave of weakness washes over him as soon as his thanks leaves his lips. He staggers and his vision wavers. The Queen’s nostrils flare as she breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering shut. Does the King laugh behind his hand? Or does he cough?

His wife’s voice echoes in his mind. Never thank the fae. Never apologize. And especially never give thanks nor apology to the Unseelie.

“Don’t thank me yet, Baron,” the Queen says. When she opens her eyes they gleam with an unearthly purple. Black stains her mouth when she smiles. “Tonight. Thank me tonight.”

The order slips around his neck like a noose. The invitation throbs like a second heart. “Yes, my Queen,” the Baron whispers.

---------.

Cinderella watches the colors of the sunset catch in the crystals embroidered on her dress, red and pink and gold against the eggshell blue of the silk. Helga’s hands are gentle as she weaves Cinderella’s hair into an intricate knot.

“There,” Helga says. There’s a faint press of lips on top of Cinderella’s head, the move so effortlessly affectionate that Cinderella’s heart sings. Helga gently lifts Cinderella’s chin. “Take a look. We can change anything you don’t like.”

This afternoon with Helga has been magical. Cinderella doesn’t remember the last time she felt so at ease with another person besides the Prince. They talked and laughed and commiserated over her friend’s lack of communication, about nature, about what type of jam goes best on what type of bread, about everything and anything. Good food and good company has healed something deep inside of Cinderella, another crack sealing tight and holding. She can’t imagine not liking something that Helga has done for her.

She is still surprised when she sees herself in the mirror.

Last night’s gold jewelry highlighted Cinderella’s hair and the deep green of the dress. She remembers feeling beautiful and elegant and so, so confident.

Tonight is—well, it’s everything Cinderella feels.

It’s as if Helga listened to Cinderella’s recounting of the previous night and manifested every hope and every joyful memory  into what Cinderella sees before her. She feels like she’s glowing. Rather than focus on her hair this dress throws her light eyes into brilliant focus. She blinks quickly. She didn’t realize she had her mother’s eyes until this moment.

Her jewelry is still dainty, but it all shines as brightly as the crystals dotted like flowers through the skirts of her dress. A single teardrop pendant hangs from a silver chain around her neck and diamond earrings reflect firelight as the castle lights the sconces around her room. Silver thread holds Cinderella’s hairstyle in place.

“I’m the sky,” Cinderella says breathlessly.

“And more,” Helga promises. There’s a knock on the door. Helga meets Cinderella’s eyes through the mirror and she smiles. “Your carriage has arrived, my lady.”

Cinderella’s heart leaps as she rises. The Prince is here. Her friend. Suddenly she feels…not insecure, not quite. There is a fluttering in her stomach as Helga goes to the door, a breathless anticipation that makes her feel weightless. She finds herself following Helga to the door, stopping a few feet behind her when the older woman opens it.

Oh, Cinderella thinks as, unerringly, the Prince’s eyes meet hers. The Prince is draped in a deep, night-sky blue, the same crystals on Cinderella’s dress sewn in clusters on his jacket. His black hair is swept away from his face and a thin, silver wire twines around one ear like a vine.

“You’re early,” Helga chastises the Prince.

The Prince jolts as if he didn’t notice Helga at all. “I thought it best if we had dinner before—”

“We match,” Cinderella says.

Helga jumps, spinning on one foot with her hand presses over her heart. “Oh! I didn’t hear you come up behind me...”

“Why,” the Prince says and pretends shock as he looks down at his outfit. “I think we do.”

Cinderella fights against a smile. “You knew I would choose the blue dress.”

“I had an inkling.”

Cinderella slides around Helga, barely noticing as the older woman wordlessly gives way. She takes the Prince’s arm when he offers it. “You said dinner?”

“That I did.”

Cinderella is full on bread and jam and juice. “I’d like that.”

“You could have sent a note,” Helga mutters. But she drapes a buttery-soft shawl around Cinderella’s shoulders to protect her against the evening chill and does not protest when the Prince leads her from Emerald Castle and into the gardens rather than to the carriage.

The gardens are a different world at night, especially seen from the ground rather than the window of her guest room. Small, wrought iron torches mark their path past the flower beds and towards the hedge maze.

“If you get us lost and we wind up being late again, I’m not walking in with you,” Cinderella says as they enter. The hedges smell slightly floral and she breathes the fresh scent in hungrily. Jasmine, maybe? “I saw the look the Queen gave you last night.”

“My mother doesn’t give looks to me,” the Prince denies. He grins at her. “And we won’t be late. Or, if we are, neither of my parents will be upset.”

Something in his voice gives Cinderella pause. “Because they love you so very much?”

“Because if we’re late, they’ll be late too,” the Prince says and directs her around one last corner into the center of the maze where the Queen and King are waiting at a table set for four.

-----------

(Patreon)

[metamorphesque]

a work in progress (tathev simonyan)

[det2x-fanfic-dump]

If I ever write a retelling of the Twst Masquerade event, This is how it will go..Thank you Rollo for giving me inspiration~!

I named my MC Yuki for these things.

When everyone sees Rollo for the first time:

Azul: //quickly covers Yuki's eyes// don't look into his eyes Yuki! We shall not let your white hair and droopy eyes harem increase anymore.

Yuki: my what?

Ruggie: my eyes look droopy but I'm not white haired...

Malleus: I'm part of the harem and my hair isn't white nor have droopy eyes.

Deuce: Same...

Silver: I'm both white haired and sleepy but I don't think I can be romantically involved with the prefect with Malleus-sama around.

Riddle: But you don't look sleepy nor lazy Azul...

Azul: I have my sleepless nights...

Rollo: //bombastic side eyes and covers mouth looking disgusted or slightly offended//

[scribz-ag24]

I've recently seen again a post talking about the Sableye and Dusknoir's relationship so i'd like to put my two cents in the discussion, for I love screaming into the void about PMD. (this isnt meant to discourage any other interpretations btw this is just my take on theirs and Dusknoir's relationship, bc I think they're very fun characters and I am very glad the game actually gives these minions a bit of relevance in se5).

Tbh I don't buy that Dusknoir treats the Sableye nicely, at least not out of kindness. I don't think he's a tyrant or inexplicably mean, of course, and I think his minions ADORE him, but i also believe that doesn't mean he's nice to them, sth that i consider meaningful for their character arcs.

Throughout the entire game he's exclusively giving them orders, in se5 he concocts a plan that involves thrashing them MULTIPLE times (he's lucky Grovyle isn't one to try and kill enemies in battle ig), and the cherry on top is that the first time we see him being fully genuine he does this:

(yes, he is in turmoil in here, but there's not a single thing implying that 1. this is an unusual response towards the sablye, 2. dusknoir feels bad for it at some point or is surprised at himself, 3. this has any impact in the sableye at all. You can argue these reactions happen off screen and we don't see them, they don't happen bc they have pressing matters to attend to or they happen after they return to life, and that's perfectly valid, but i'm sticking with what the game shows us, here.)

I must say, though, the fact that the Sableye, despite having been almost mindless pokémon up to now, STAND UP TO AND ATTACK Primal Dialga for their boss and even try to look after him despite him ordering them to check on Grovyle and Celebi first is SO important to me. they are goons to the bone and they love that scheming ghost so much.

My own view is that Dusknoir is generally polite to them (you wouldn't randomly break your own revolver or weapon without any reason, would you?), but is quicker to get mean with them than with people he doesn't know or he is seeking to manipulate. He doesn't care about their behaviour as long as they get the job done, which is why I think the anime thing of the Sableye climbing onto his shoulder isn't that remarkable, rather it's a very cute moment, one that is showing how they've been working together for long and how their size difference affects their interactions, but it is not necessarily conveying an affectionate bond (this is a bit random, but it reminds me of Disney's Jafar with Iago lmao. throw your pet sableye at your enemies so they mock them and then return to your shoulder). Additionally, Dusknoir letting the Sableye onto his shoulder is probably as close as we are gonna get to a villain turning around in his chair while petting a cat in PMD lol.

[this isn't meant to be a one-to-one comparison, it's just a detail i find cute and shows that this gesture can have multiple interpretations, with none being the only right one]

Leaving that aside, I hesitate to claim Dusknoir trusts his Sableye as allies, as Grovyle makes a point in the main story of how the Sableye (your Sableye, he says, as if objectifying them; not friends, but tools, weapons at Dusknoir's disposal) are lacking compared to the way hero/partner/grovyle support one another (power of friendship and hidden information babyyyy). The Sableye are used to Dusknoir's way of doing things, though, I'm sure. They know what happens when he's displeased, after all.

I think, most of all, the Sableye are meant to look disposable: they are 6 identical pokémon that almost act like a hivemind, and we are not supposed to think at all about how we may hurt them in battle any more than we do with the angry Manectric pack or random dungeon pokémon. This, I believe, is why the game has them stand up against Dialga and gives them unique dialogue at the end of se5. They're meant to show their inner shine, just as Dusknoir managed to do. They suddenly gain an individuality they had never shown while they were working to maintain the dark future.

Where they abandoned Dusknoir in the Old Ruins, now Grovyle has motivated them to look for their dignity and fight for a better world, and that starts with protecting their leader from Primal Dialga's rampage, and supporting his new objective and allies in their quest to save the future. In their own small way, they've also grown as characters throughout SE5.

I believe that, overall, Dusknoir saw the Sableye as tools, but thanks to their growth and clear care for him, there's a possibility he might start to see them (and by extension other pokémon) in a more genuine, less pragmatic / objectifying way in the future. Now that Dusknoir has the chance to live a fulfilling life, he may learn to care for others without surrounding himself by so many walls. If anything, I think their future is quite bright. Not that the Sableye would mind if he still thrashed them around, though lol, they're clearly not bothered much by it (special episode 0 had a great depiction of the sableye imo, you can check that romhack if you haven't yet).

In conclusion, look at these little guys who adore their can-get-mean-but-is-mostly-polite boss and probably have a body count but now are good, they're so cute:

[ibrithir-was-here]

While You Were Sleeping (Beauty)

Yes, I was the one who cursed Princess Rosamund to die.

And yes, it was because they didn't send me an invitation to her christening.

And because there was no gold plate for me when I showed up anyway.

And also because I was seven, and a spoiled brat, and I expected to be treated with the dignity my title as the Elder Fairy deserved, despite having held it for only a week.

Granny was the Elder Fairy before me, and she'd been the Elder Fairy for as long as anyone could remember. Longer even than the current Oak Fairy had been in her title, and she was at least as old as the kingdom. 

I don't know if she was my real Granny. She never talked about who my parents were, though I knew she'd had a daughter at one point. A prince had carried her off long ago, and Granny rarely ever spoke of her, though sometimes I'd catch her crying over an old cracked hairbrush. 

I'd lived my whole life in Granny's tower, just her and me. Oh there'd been various cats of all shapes,sizes, and temperaments, assorted birds, some enchanted, some not. Occasionally a toad or two. But Granny overall kept to herself, in the old stone tower with no door nor ladder, in the deepest part of the Deep Dark Woods.

I admit, this choice of location likely made it extremely difficult for any messenger carrying said invitation to ever reach her. 

But then again, if the wandering prince had managed to find his way there and make it back out while literally blind, then a professionally trained courier certainly could at least have tried. 

As it was, she died the week before the Christening even happened. 

So you can imagine,  I wasn't in the best state of mind to begin with when I finally got to the party.

Which isn't really an excuse for wishing death upon a baby, especially one who hadn't even so much as spit up on me. She didn't even cry, with all that hustle and bustle and noise and nerve going on. 

I would have cried. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry about the noise, and having to fly so far, and how there wasn't even a place for me when I did get there, and how all the other fairies from Yew to Apple kept raising their eyebrows and whispering over me, and how much I missed missed missed my Granny, who was never coming back because she was literally dust now.

One minute, she'd been spinning at her spinning wheel, she'd pricked her finger, said “oh”---and the next she was gone. No rhyme or reason to it. She just finally got so Old that even Magic couldn't keep the candle of her life lit anymore.

She went the way of all fairies. There one moment, and in a blink of an eye, gone. Nothing but dust in the wind. Drifting out open window, out over the tops of the trees. Over the hills and far far away.

Leaving me the new Elder Tree Fairy--and  all alone. 

But I couldn't cry,  I couldn't. Because I was the Elder Fairy now, and I was supposed to give a Gift to the newborn baby princess.

The princess who was cooing so sweetly in her little bassinet. All golden and warm and loved.

I don't think I ever felt real Hate until that moment. Looking down at a baby, knowing she was alive and loved and so happy, while my Granny was dead and gone I was so miserable. 

So. I cursed her.

I didn't really mean it mean it, of course. I didn't want her to actually die. I just said it in the heat of a moment. I only meant it a little. 

But of course, Meaning anything in any amount when you're a Fairy still counts.

That's Magic.

I avoided being thrown into a dungeon or worse purely due to my age, and the quick thinking of the Yew fairy, who managed to twist my ill-wish into something less lethal, though certainly more complicated.

Needless to say, the party was ruined.

The Princess and I were both whisked away. She went to some safe location far away from spinning wheels--though after the king’s decree that was really anywhere within a five mile radius of the kingdom-- and I was taken to someplace far away from her.

From then on I was kept under close watch by all the Fairies of the Circle, to ensure that nothing like this ever happened again. The  Alder Fairy was to take over my duties until it was determined I could actually handle them. 

They were all very sorry about Granny of course, and understood I was overwhelmed when I'd done what I did, but they couldn't have the Thirteenth Fairy of the Sacred Circle going around accidentally cursing the heirs of the royal families. 

They needn't have worried. After I came to myself and realized the full magnitude of what I'd almost done, I made a vow to myself to never use my Magic ever ever ever again. 

And I managed to keep that vow too. For sixteen years afterwards I managed to keep it. Not an easy thing to do when surrounded by other fairies and while technically being part of the magical counsel dedicated to watching over the kingdoms.

But I did it. I kept my head down,and rolled up my sleeves. I did whatever I could to help people of the town I'd been paroled to without the use of Magic. 

Cooking, mending, midwifing, herb craft. Anything and everything in daily life that didn't involve aiding third sons on impossible quests or giving deserving merchants' daughters fabulous gowns. I even got to where I would shod horse shoes, despite the sting of the iron.

I was determined to keep to my vow. Determined to show I was Good.

And I tried not to flinch too much whenever the story of the poor princess who was cursed by The Wicked Fairy came up.

I didn't have friends, I kept to myself outside of my works of penance. Better that way, safer. I couldn't hurt anyone if I didn't get close enough to care enough to Mean anything. 

I was lonely yes.

But I was also almost happy.

As happy as I had any right to be.

And then, wherever she was hidden away, the princess somehow got her hands--or rather finger--on a spinning wheel.

I felt it in my bones the moment the Curse took.

I ended up hunched over right  in the high street, and was sick all over my shoes. 

Even as far away as I was, I could feel the rush of my ill-wish as it stung, caught hold, and began to tangle itself all about the Princess and everyone near her. 

And me.

Oh I didn't fall asleep for the next one hundred years.

But I did start to dream.

It took a few years, time enough for me to think that, despite the fact the kingdom was now trying to find it's footing under a regency council, perhaps all would go as the Yew fairy had said, and I could again sink back into my day to day life knowing all would be well.

But one night, the night that marked 20 years since the day of the Worst Thing I Ever Did, I dreamed of her. 

I started out wandering about the courtyard. It was strewn with bodies, like there'd been a huge battle, only none of them were bleeding out, just softly breathing, softer than the hum of a dragonfly.  Then I was wandering into a hallway, past more sleepers, up a set of stairs hidden behind a rather terrible tapestry, and around and around the curves of a lofty tower. 

And there, at the very top, sitting on a bed, looking out the window, long golden hair waving in a wind that stirred nothing else, was Princess Rosamund.

“Oh!” She cried, starting up from her seat and gazing at me with eyes as blue as a robin's egg.  “You-you're awake!”

“Er--” I began, utterly baffled at the proper thing to say to someone who's life you've basically ruined. Perhaps “Please please please forgive me I know I don't deserve it--”

But I didn't have the chance to get as far as the first ‘Please’ before suddenly her arms were around me and my arms were full of her.

I thought for a moment she was attempting to strangle me, and had truthfully very little intention of stopping her, I felt she was rather owed the attempt. But this presumption of attempted revenge was shattered by her next words:

“Oh I am so so glad not to be alone anymore! Its been horrid being the only one awake. I mean, I know I'm asleep out there but I didn't think I'd be alone in the dream and--oh it's good to have someone to talk to!  Did the Yew fairy send you to me? I've been praying and praying to have someone here with me. What's your name?”

I blinked. Stared at the beaming woman who still had her arms wrapped up around my neck in an embrace, as if I were a trusted friend, as if I were a savior there to sweep her away from her loneliness and isolation.

And not the very cause of it all. 

She looked at me as if I were Good. 

I blinked again. Swallowed. 

“My name…” I started, stopped. She would not know my name from her past. Fairies names are tightly guarded, even among themselves. Her father’s court only knew me as The Elder Fairy. The stories as The Wicked Fairy. 

To know a fairy's name was to have power over them.

Well, if anyone was owed that, it was Princess Rosamund.

“My name is Carabosse”, I said, telling her one of my deepest truths.

And then, looking at her looking at me, those robin egg eyes so bright and hopeful and happy, happy to see me-- I told her one of my greatest lies.

“And…yes, the Yew Fairy sent me to you, to keep you company in these long years, until your True Love comes to wake you”

And that was were all the trouble started

[greekmythcomix]

You Are Odysseus

So

I’m a teacher of Classical Civilisation that has taught the Odyssey for over a decade and studied pretty much every myth and story with Odysseus in it.. I think

and I’m writing an Interactive Fiction (choose your own path) version of the Odyssey, inspired by the Homeric phrase “he turned his great heart this way and that”, where you are Odysseus, allowing you to follow his decisions or make your own

and it already has 400 sections to it - written to emulate modern translations of the Odyssey, including the literary features of simile, formula, epithet, and the rest - and 21 different ways to die, and quite a lot of period and theme-appropriate alternatives

(and if I get time, the option to be Telemachus or Penelope, although that might have to wait because it’s already a monster)

and I’ve tested what I’ve made so far on my pupils, other Classics teachers, and some of the leading (and best-read) Greek Mythology podcasters and YouTubers, all of whom have universally loved it (yay!)

(EDIT: Oops and I presented on it at the Classical Association conference last year)

I’m trying to finish it this summer, but need a bit of encouragement to do so

EDIT: and I forgot to say that ideally I’m planning on it being a beautiful BOOK with an old-fashioned cover and lots of ribbons to mark your place ❤️ (ex-bookseller ofc)

so, please let me know if you’d like to know more!

(EDIT: or sign up here go get notified directly when it’s ready: https://ljenkinsonbrown.wordpress.com/you-are-odysseus-signup/ )

[lynnuvo]

୨⎯ Long Gone Princess ⎯୧

Characters: Yan!Thief x (Y/N) reincarnated as Rapunzel A lot of you guys enjoyed the Cinderella version, so why not make a Rapunzel version? Very much considering making this a Yan!Fairytales Series.

Stowed Away

When you first awoke in your tower, you panicked for days. There was literally no way out, no matter how much you clawed at the bricks. It didn't take long to figure out where exactly you were. Who else would paint a mural of herself, seriously long-haired, gazing at floating lanterns?

Meeting Mother Gothel was the most anxiety-inducing thing you had to push through. You pitied the real Rapunzel for falling victim to her sugar-coated, poisonous words. As much as you internally cringed at them, it wouldn't serve you well to raise suspicion. After all, you have nowhere to go.

Whenever Mother Gothel was gone and you finished tidying up the tower, you emptied one of your chests full of female paraphernalia and stuffed some "safety equipment inside." Hopefully, Mother Gothel wouldn't notice a missing pair of scissors. Or a few darts.

Your now abnormally long hair was disturbing, to say the least. It was pretty, but now that you were living her life, you wandered how Rapunzel managed to put up with the hair strands scattered around the house, washing the heap of keratin proteins for hours in just ONE day, and sleep knowing there was at least some hair flowing to the floor. And let's be real: you were not going to spend most of your day braiding it just to remove your work whenever Mother Gothel came back.

Unfortunately, you couldn't afford to cut your hair--not just because it'd give Mother Gothel a heart attack but because it might help you. It did have magical healing powers. The only huge problem was that you were not skilled enough to maneuver your hair like Rapunzel. In addition, if you were to leave the tower, how would you return? Until you found the secret entrance amongst all the brick, you needed a backup plan.

One day, you gathered the courage to ask Mother Gothel for more fabric to sew a beautiful wedding dress, one that was colorful and very long. Of course, you left out the part where you wanted it to be long enough to reach the bottom of the tower (it'd be a lot of work, but what else were you going to do to escape?). She was skeptical about the idea behind the dress, but you reassured her that you just wanted something like those girls in the fairytale books you had in your room. After her lecture about the dangers of the world, she agreed to get you fabric.

My Savior

One morning, while you sowed your dress, you heard the sound of metal jabbing into something growing closer and closer. In a panic, you shut off your sewing machine and tied up as much as your hair as possible. There was no way you could capture Rapunzel's beloved thief the way she did. You vaguely prepared for what to do when he arrived, but you hadn't expected it to be that day!

At last, he fell into the tower and froze at the sight of you. He glanced behind him and turned back around, stepping away from the window with hands up. "Uh. I am so sorry for breaking into your home."

You pointed one of your scissors (used to cut fabric earlier) at him with a glare. "I'll forgive you if you hand me that bag you have."

"Listen, miss, I think we can sort this out without--"

"The bag or I'll throw you back down."

He gulped and reluctantly threw you the bag, begging you to please return it to him afterwards. The shock he had at your nonchalant expression while pulling out the most sparkly crown you've ever seen was laughable. In reality though, you were in awe. You quickly snapped out of it, though, and threw it behind you. You both cringed at the clanging it made as it hit the floor.

"I need you to listen to me," you started, gripping your scissors and your dress. "I need your help."

You didn't hesitate to cut to the chase. You explained that you were kidnapped by a woman claiming to be your mother and trapped in the tower by her. Although it may backfire on you later, you shared that you were reincarnated from another world. He was in disbelief until you told him his full name, his criminal history, the companions he had who would soon betray him, and the small cottage he visited along with many more criminals or outlaws. He challenged that you just did your research, but then you told him what crime he had just committed: stealing the missing princess's crown, which was--by the way--you.

After some back and forth, he agreed to help on the condition that you return the crown. You agreed to return it on the condition that he not only help you escape but also help you live in safety.

Together, you both clawed at the bricks on the wall until the secret backdoor was found. He helped you come up with a way to hide the new backdoor again whenever Mother Gothel returned.

You found a pattern in the earlier months leading up to then on Mother Gothel's pattern of visitation. She comes back every three or four days in early evening. If she didn't return by the time the sun disappeared, she wouldn't be back at all. That day was one of those days she wasn't going back. You suspected she wouldn't return for a while since she had just left the day before. Although hesitant at the idea of a new roommate, you demanded that Yan!Thief spend the night in the same room as you. He balked at what he thought was an implication, but he soon found himself sleeping on the floor (you dropped a blanket for him). How were you sure he wouldn't use the secret backdoor while you slept? You boobietrapped it before bed, making sure he stayed in the room so he wouldn't see under the threat of murder.

Steal His Heart

Your new routine was a scary turn but also surprisingly relieving. Yan!Thief would leave the tower in search of a new home for you (and him too) and would return in the afternoon only if a piece of purple fabric hung outside the window. Otherwise, it wasn't safe to come back.

Although your relationship started off rocky (who's to blame him with how violently you approached him?), you two soon warmed up to each other. He sometimes returned with small goods that you sometimes got a clear answer for how he retrieved. That chocolate he got for you both to try? He pickpocketed it. That ripe fruit that tasted like mildew spring? He dodged all of the questions.

Eventually, you gathered the courage to leave the tower with him. Your activities differed from there. Sometimes, you both ventured a little ways from the tower to discover the terrain and help find a new home. Sometimes, you both would spend the day walking around, learning more about each other and chatting away.

With no other companion, it came as no surprise to Yan!Thief that he developed romantic feelings for you. You didn't want to admit that you did too. At least, not until you both were in a safe place.

At last, Yan!Thief found an abandoned shelter. It was rusty, but it was closer to the kingdom than the tower but sheltered away like the tower. With a pounding heart, you gathered as much as you could from your tower into a backpack that Yan!Thief had brought over and left forever. In the shelter, you cut your hair, rendering it free from its power. Yan!Thief initially didn't want it to happen due to your great abilities, but one look at your determined face told him that you knew better.

The next couple weeks was spent in paranoia, you in fear of Mother Gothel and him in fear of guards. Luckily, you two went as far as making it into the kingdom without getting caught.

One day, you brought up the idea of revealing your identity to the king and queen while fidgeting with your crown. You reassured Yan!Thief that you'd vouch for his safety and freedom for as much as possible. It took a while for him to warm up to that, but you two finally made your way towards the castle.

Everything went surprisingly as planned. The kingdom rejoiced at the return of their princess, Yan!Thief was spared of a prison sentence and was even given a home and job as a prize for bringing you back, and the dead, rotten body of Mother Gothel was found not far from the shelter you and Yan!Thief had found.

Life was a fairytale.

MY Princess

Until it wasn't.

See, although you and Yan!Thief seemed to start opening a romantic chapter, that soon closed. With your newfound title came new responsibilities, friends, and much to his worries, a possible new love interest.

He tried his best to remain just a friend to you, but it was unbelievably hard. He couldn't believe that you were slowly forgetting him, your savior! Why must you abandon your knight in shining armor?!

He did feel guilty for not appreciating his new life more. Any other criminal would probably fight tooth and nail to be in his position, but he just wasn't happy if you weren't there with him.

Once his selfishness began to boil over, he devised a plan he wasn't sure if he was going to regret. He paid a visit to your room in the castle (you had given your dear best friend special permission) and chatted with you a bit. You apologized for being so distant as of late; royal duties had been keeping you at bay. He accepted your apology more readily than he had expected. It was hard not to with your bright smile and the cute way you pushed your hair behind your ears. He asked if you had time to visit the old tower for memories sake, and you happily agreed. The kingdom had yet to find the tower (you insisted to him that you wanted it kept secret in case you needed to run away again), so you simply told your guards you were heading out for a stroll.

Once at the tower, you two ventured inside and reveled at how dramatic your lives had changed. You even reminisced your life before being reincarnated. As the sun fell, you got up and suggested that you both should head back before it gets dark.

"Yan!Thief?" You peered at his gloomy expression. "Is everything okay?"

He nodded. got up, and hugged you. You let out a gasp before embracing him back. When he left go, you caught a tear slipped down his cheek. Your hands shot up to cup his face. "Yan!Thief?! What's wrong? I'm here. Did something happen?"

He sniffled and brushed a hand over your cheek. "I'm so sorry."

You were about to demand an explanation until you caught a glimmer shine from a blade in his other hand.

When you woke, you found your ankle chained to your bed--not your bed in the beautiful castle you were meant to be in but in the tower you had escaped from a year ago.

Yan!Thief came in the room and apologized with tears streaming down his face, exclaiming that you were just too irresistible to give to any other man or even the kingdom. He promised to take care of everything.

No matter how much you screamed, threw items in a fit of rage, or revealed that you only had romantic feelings for him all this time, he wouldn't budge. It was only until he bought a longer chain that he freed you from the bed. Your heart broke when you discovered he had discarded the wedding dress you had worked hard on and abandoned in the tower long ago, and even more so when you saw that he had built a new door in front of the original secret entrance.

You were back to square one, only this time with no way out and betrayed by the one person you truly trusted in this universe.

[sarafangirlart]

How it feels to see positive reviews of a shitty book

[wordsmithic]

Anglophone Greek Myth retellings demand money from you, and then they have this much nonsense in just one page......

1. Patroclus' name is shortened to "Patro" and the writer believes it to be the coolest name. Meanwhile it's like shortening "George" to "Geor" 😂

2. He's also called "Sex" and "The Son of Sex" which sound weird even in English. Idk if it's supposed to come from the Latin "sextus" but in any case the logic and the sound are horrible.

3. Why is Patroclus adjacent with anything Spartan, and even called Spartan?? And his House is Spartan. Perhaps he was born in this life as a Spartan (whatever that means) but og Patroclus was characteristically not Spartan. Do Anglophone writers die when they write about other Greek cities except Sparta, Athens and Thebes?? Genuine question because I don't know at this point. Would it kill the author to have here the name of the region Patroclus is from?

Actually I even doubt that the author did a basic Google search for the origins of the character who inspired her. Not to mention she uses "Spartan" like it's a faction or a family, as if Sparta and Spartan people are not real today.

4. Nemean jaguar?? (as in, from Nemea, Greece). Is "Nemea" another gang so all their animals are described by Nemean? I doubt it, cause the phrasing "Animal Protector: Nemean Jaguar" makes it look like "Nemean" is the animal's origin. Has future Greece been populated by a distinctly American animal? This is probably a play on "Nemean Lion" and it sounds quite stupid.

Excuse my harshness. I don't speak like this to writers I consult. BUT this is a published work??? And hear this: The problem is not the fantasy/futuristic setting or any other creative thing the writer has thought. But there are elements of a real culture there, and they're written like shit. If one page is like this, I can't imagine how nonsensical the whole work is. And she wants us to pay for this book??

How do you spend months or years writing and then publishing something for money without getting it fact-checked?? How can you just write nonsense and sell it as if Greeks don't exist out there and as if your audience is stupid?

Writers who don't want to write elements of another culture accurately are like the comedians who complain they can't do comedy anymore because of "cancel culture".

Anyway if you don't want to end up writing a fuckfest of idiocy, please let me (or someone else) be your Greek Cultural Sensitivity reader because we Greeks are ddyyyyiiing out here with all the bullshit we see every day 🫠