This Mans Aura Is Just Straight Up Dad Energy. You Cant Tell Me Otherwise

Why is he so FUCKING HOT and then shes just THE WHOLE DAMN MEAL

Sindel vs Erron Black.

OMG Theyre so cute!!!

I don’t even know what to do. 

via: _emilyoram credit: @bertiebertthepom

Love IS INDEED a force to be reckoned with huh🤣🤣🤣

i can explain–

Blathers is just me with fucking birds

A Muse's Death

( I always wondered if I would ever post any of my writing on here. That is if anyone would ever read it😅it always had scenarios of what it was like for the gods when a mortal lover died, especially when they were younger...so I wrote it. It is and was a roller coaster to write. I didn't make a name for the woman or design besides the eyes cause I couldn't think of a good one sorry )

Also the poseidon in this is based off of @neal-illustrator Poseidon but younger if that makes sense

(ENJOY)

At the beginning, when man and Gods were oh so connected, there was once love. The ocean, a bringer of life and beauty, could also be a harbinger of destruction and death. Even under all of that however, a young heart was present. A heart that bled, loved, and sometimes yearned.

A young woman, beautiful as the sun reflecting off of the surface of the cool ocean. Her eyes sparkled like gems in the radiant rays, lips as red as the succulent pomegranate. She had so much to be happy and grateful for. A loving Father and Mother, a thriving village, food and a home. But her young heart yearned for something she did not have yet; love. Someone to hold her, to share beautiful memories with, protect her and comfort her.

Everyday, without fail, she would visit the village's small Temple of Poseidon just off the beach. The young woman would speak to the God, bring him offerings with a smile and joy on her face, without fail. And everyday, without fail, he would be there. Listening, hiding in the shadows just out of her view. He did not want to scare the poor woman, as she had never truly laid eyes on him. Then, one day, he finally decided to reveal himself to this beautiful muse.

At first, the young woman was startled by the young man's sudden appearance. She had never seen him before, no clue as to who this stranger was. His eyes were a striking bright blue, long brown braids framed his chiseled face, and a small beard adorned his chin. Their eyes met, and they gave a little smile to one another. She outstretched her hand to the young God, her eyes saying that she knew who he was. After a moment of hesitation, he took her hand and left the Temple with the young woman.

The young God and young woman talked for hours, hand in hand, about themselves and anything and everything. Only when the moon hung above them in the heavens did they depart from one another. With a small kiss and a promise that they would see each other again, he returned to the duties of his domain. For two years, in between his duties and hers, the young lovers saw each other almost everyday. Each day was filled with new stories, adventures, and talk of dreams and plans for the future. As the seasons changed, the young lovers grew closer and closer. Everything seemed...perfect.

But as we all know, every beginning has an ending. And sometimes, it's not the happy ending we hope for I'm afraid dear readers

After a long 3 months of the young God's duties taking all of his time for his beautiful muse, he finally made his way to her village. On the journey there, the God passed a ship with men loudly celebrating a recent victory. They had many spoils to bring back to their homeland. However, some of the spoils caught the young God's eye. It looked familiar in some way to him. It was at that moment that one of the boisterous men held up a clay vase in victory. The art on the vase was unmistakable, it was from his muse's home Temple.

He raced across the water's surface, his breath catching in his throat. Voices began to ring through his mind.

What have they done? Why did I stay away? You're not going fast enough Poseidon, GO FASTER!

The young God's heart stopped as the sight before him unfolded in his mind. Fire, destruction, death everywhere he looked. The once thriving village was now nothing but ruins and a waste land. The smell was sickening, and the silence deafening. He ran through the rubble and carnage, tears filling his eyes as he searched each person's face. It had already turned to night fall, the roaring fires helping to illminate the gruesome sight. His heart raced with every step he took, and with every face he saw, the voices grew louder.

Where is she?

His eyes darted, blurred from the tears threatening to escape, then stopped in shock. The young God's gold blood run cold as a trail of blood became clear in his vision. The voices were thunderous now.

No, please...

His breathing hitch as he ran, following the trail.

Please, not her.

The Temple came into view as he stopped. It had been desecrated beyond recognition, vases and offerings were destroyed and thrown in all directions. The trail led into the now destroyed temple. A faint light emitted from inside, a single lit torch remained on the wall. As he stepped into the doorway, his breath halted as the same tears he held in ran down his cheeks.

No no NO!!!

Illuminated by the single untouched torch, there laid his muse. She was reaching for the ocean, her hand outstretched onto the floor as the pool of blood made a dark abyss underneath her. Her body, once full of life, now laid bare, degraded, bruised and full of holes. The young God's body shook as sickening sobs left his body.

"This can't be true! No please wake up! "

He held her close, shaking her endlessly while he begged, pleaded even, for her to wake up. His chest was tight, he couldn't see straight, this wasn't the same pain as his father gave him. What was this?

"What is this?! Why does it hurt?! Wake up please!! My muse, please!!! "

His sobs and pleads were unheard as it echoed throught the empty village. He held her tightly, not wanting to believe that she was really gone. He looked into her eyes, the life gone from her beautiful eyes. A new voice entered the young God's mind.

They must BLEED, they must BURN...

The God's sorrow changed into a burning rage. His heart, now as black as the deepest depths of his domain, a raging fire stronger than the ones outside. He laid his muse down, placing one last kiss on her lips, now blue and cold. The voice rung again, this time a little louder as the young God stood.

Make those pigs BLEED

He stepped out of the Temple, glancing one last time at the young woman. Tears still fell from his eyes, but now he felt numb. He stepped into the water, his body changing as he went in deeper. His eyes burned bright blue, his body as black as the shadows, and monstrous claws sprung from his fingers. He slung below the surface, racing to where the vessel was last seen.

They took her from you

The ship came into view, a fire now lit on the vessel as the sound of celebration still rung in the air.

Your muse

He raced closer to the vessel as the voice became louder

They BEAT her

MURDERED her

DEGRADED. HER.

He grit his teeth as he lifted out of the water, the side of the sickening vessel only inches from him. Time seemed to stop around the young God. The voice spoke again, only this time, more sinister.

Are you going to allow that, Oh Powerful King of the 7 seas, Oh Lord Poseidon?

No. He would not. The young God erupted from the black ocean, his body growing to monstrous sizes, almost reaching the heavens themselves. The ocean roared and tossed as the God readied his trident, storm clouds forming in the skies. He looked down on the vessel, the once joyful men now frozen with fear plastered on their faces. He felt nothing as he swung his sharp claws and bludgeoned the ship with his trident until nothing but bodies and wreckage was left.

As he stood there, looking at what he had done, an uncontrollable sobs left his body as he fell to his knees on the surface of his ocean. The rain fell harder as the God's body shook and jolted with every sound that escaped him.

"They will NEVER hurt me like this again. " He looked out at his domain, the water now slightly calmer. "They WILL respect me, and they will FEAR me. " His rage needed to be known. These nuisances would never hurt him again. "This is the last time you foolish mortals EVER TAKE ANYTHING FROM ME!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I AM POSEIDON, KING OF THE 7 SEAS, EARTHSHAKER, AND I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!! "

This shit will never NOT be funny lol ody didn't even wanna be there😭🤣

odysseus getting palamedes, one of their most valuable assets in war, killed simply because he did not like him is hilarious to the highest degree. he did NOT care which side won

Que the Jurassic park music with some pokemon game touch to it!!

Hoomans, let mes tell yous bout me best friend

Meet Nova The German Shepherd And Pacco The Ferret, That Are The Unlikeliest Of Best Buds .

I l99k g99d in a suit

suit Kankri

Best damn story I've ever read

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are sofine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddessAthena.”

Arachne tosses herhead, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall,“What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanchesand looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy.Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with histime. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for herwares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman withgrey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarledhands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid,but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyesand declares, “Athena should thank me,since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her andkeeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into thecrowd.

They will tell tales ofher hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumpsinto the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place,mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, andArachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do issay her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she sayscoolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as avirtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers herto a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard tofind, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” thebaker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for takingmoney from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag ofsweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders,“Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well thefirst dozen times.

“Thank you for yourhelp,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She growshungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. Thesun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’stall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens tooverwhelm her.

But Arachne does notbelieve in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those taleswill be true.

She ties a scarf aroundher braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only toher thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma andbegins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legsand arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once whitedress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her bodyand drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her headand bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easilyto the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. Sheswallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts hishead to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might besmiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” sherepeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, lookingat her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweetbread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are bigenough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Insteadhe gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comicallysmall in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He lickshis fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying thesecond time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaverArachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales ofHephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad,angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face,and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legsonly to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire,replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?”he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into acoughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, anddoesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up atthe corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive insidethe volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal thatshe can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me,girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack offher shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I havewoven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrowand doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal handscould be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind theoppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its placestands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of herhusband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest,richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales ofAphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,”she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully.It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges.The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and upalong the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage andher worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experiencedartist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part insurprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestussays, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t takeoffense.

The goddess smiles andArachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphroditeis the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” thegoddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows.Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says,“She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber.Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena willlose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says,“you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales oftheir friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because whywouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, bothhappily married.

Gods hate being made tofeel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they sayAphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne winsthe weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestussays, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at herreflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestusleft if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says,not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrenchupon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger ather. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weaveme a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite asthe goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales ofher hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes asexpected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goesred in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept thedeath blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’svolcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has nohope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe indefeat, in loss.

It was a terribly longjourney on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now shehas eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps inbetween crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver ofsunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke ofallowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellowcolor – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven yearsfor her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all thattime, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’sa large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as thesun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched theearth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t returnto her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurriesand runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking forand scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looksonto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skittersdown his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is thata piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him,waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand–

His face slowly fills witha cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  Shejumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in hismassive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landingin front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s runningafter her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost toosmall for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares forseveral moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himselfout of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that samebreeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes,that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exactmoment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, madeentirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brushdown the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, thatAphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in sevenyears.

They’ve told tales ofher hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at theweb, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto thegoddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,”she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in frontof a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “GoddessAphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” shereturns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stayscool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuckin this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course availablefor her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Pleasecome with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dressfor Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take yousomewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at herloom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would youlike me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Ofcourse not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing thespider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for thegoddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for amoment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at thegoddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where elsewould I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your companyequal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of herhubris.

“An excellent point,”Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii