🩷I’m very dry and people often can’t tell when I’m joking, so don’t hesitate to ask, I don’t mind. I’m not always very serious on here.
🩷I like to post about history, the arts, astronomy, fashion, and just general aesthetic vibey shit. But mostly, I post stupid fandom bullshit.
If you argue or act hostile in the reblogs or comments of my posts, I sacrifice you to Persephone, sorry babes.
🖤I love anything and everything vintage. History is my passion and reblogging aesthetic vintage moodboards is my second passion. I also love learning about folklore and various cultures. Art history is also dear to me.
🪻Alongside history I love flowers and astronomy.
🫀Horror is also dear to me. Especially southern gothic and religious horror.
🎵 Lana Del Rey, Ethel Cain, Sabrina Carpenter, Frank Sinatra, and Fleetwood Mac are my favorite artists.
🍒I’m a waitress at a shitty little diner, and I make that a way bigger deal to my personality than I should.
🚬 I love Persephone, Anne Boleyn, Rapunzel, fruit, gas stations, motels, sweet tea, New Orleans, mermaids, old cars, bees, deer, bats, and diners.
🦇I write sometimes so you can check out my ao3 here or my writing tag here for smaller things. I don’t really stick to a genre or write large projects, I mostly write stupid shit when I have time.
🦚I’m too obsessed with my own face and post fit pics here
You guys have to learn to separate art from the artist or you will never be able to enjoy or find comfort in anything again. Please I beg of you, you will go insane if you always associate media with the people behind it. There is always someone flawed behind even the best of content.
Literally no one asked but here's my ideal Helen of Troy interpretation
Her marriage to Menelaus is...fine. He treats her well, he's proud to pieces of the daughter. The early years especially feel like a fairytale come true.
But then as the years roll by the two of them stop trying for each other. Helen no longer gets flowers at her bedside every morning, Menelaus stops hearing all about Helen's latest tapestry.
And when Paris comes around, Helen can't lie, she's a little charmed. She'd never leave Menelaus of course, that's a given, but a little attention is nice. It makes her feel like a person again instead of a nice piece of furniture.
And then when Helen wakes up the next morning she's on a ship to Troy. And then she's in Troy, standing before King Priam and Paris is saying something about new wife and WHAT THE HELL?!
Helen tries to escape. She tries literally everything, but Troy's guards are everywhere. Paris somehow always knows where she is. The gods don't answer her prayers for escape. So she starts praying for Paris's death instead. And finally, FINALLY he's dead. But she's still in Troy...WHY IS SHE STILL IN TROY?!
Helen decides she's had enough and tries one last escape attempt. Everyone in the city is asleep, something about some horse. She knows the Achaeans are in there, she impersonated all of their wives and heard whispers. They're coming for her, but she's not gonna just wait around and hope it works out. She steals a guard's armor and books it out of the palace, and there in the chaos of battle...there's Menelaus. She runs to him and won't let him go, even as they're setting sail.
And in Egypt, with the two of them alone as much as Helen just wants to get the hell home and STAY there....it's kind of nice. Her and her Menelaus together again. Finally able to talk. Able to spend time together. Able to work on their marriage. And by the time they finally return to sparta their love is stronger than it ever was.
Alastor being a famous radio host who was killed whilst dragging a body must’ve been insane for New Orleans at the time. Imagine Al Roker got shot and we found out he was actually a serial killer the whole time.
I’m accepting the ‘Varian is actually Quirin and Gothel’s illegitimate child’ theory I’ve seen floating around occasionally into my canon. Purely and absolutely because I think that would be hilarious.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Rapunzel was normally so good at staving off the suffocation of boredom and loneliness. Despite her circumstances, she made each day worth living before her life even began.
But there was a point where every day felt the same, all blending together in a muted grey puddle like mixed paint, no matter how many shades you add to make it better. There was a point where you no longer feel like adding more colors, unable to even lift your brush.
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