Latest Posts by karchuckles - Page 3

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

i can explain–

Please explain🤣

i can explain–

I love how fucking Reptile is already inflating an acid bubble

when kitana said in mk:sm that reptile and mileena are inseparable all i could think was this…

Scorpion is literally all of my friends on Halloween

part 1 of the halloween subscorp … there is a bad joke regarding that costume choice.

I love how they predicted the future with Jacqui........Takeda put a ring on it, and now she a badass ninja bitch!!!!

Scorpion is the luckiest person we have ever met! He rode in the FUCKING BAT MOBILE!!!

remember this: scorpion was in the batmobile

scorpion, wraith from the netherrealm, got a ride on the batmobile

How is it that Reptile can roast a badass bitch so hard that she actually has to ask how dare you????? Has Cassie taught him this language?

Thank you! They are a big inspiration to me. I have joint problems with my left arm to where I can't use it sometimes and I'm not the skinniest girl, so seeing a character without a arm and some thiccness while doing things like a boss makes me feel better about myself

@bastart13 , thank you for making an adorable character we all know and love. This is an appreciation post for Isha in a picture you did. At least, I think and hope I did good

@bastart13 , thank you for making an adorable character we all know and love. This is an appreciation post for Isha in a picture you did. At least, I think and hope I did good

If this ain't some Phantom of The Opera looking shahookie.....

I LOVE IT💘💘💘

Shoutout to @bastart13 for making Lucio look so darn good!!!!

Behold a CG for Lucio’s new update and masquerade costume :D

Lining this…..may have killed me….with all the detail, but I really like his outfit. Phantom of the Opera is perfect for him.

Ah yes beautiful

Have a whole 1:30 of Good Omens scenes put over some very fitting vines!

Well this is art

Good Omens scenes as vines Part 2 (Part 1)

(Thank you to everyone who commented on my first vine compilation - it made me incredibly happy and motivated me to make a second part!)

Blathers is just me with fucking birds

The fact that Matt Mercer liked it is sending me to higher places

Bless him

It literally sounds like someone just screaming repeatedly. Death to their vocal cords

i’m sorry to whoever had to voice Guzzlord this episode

OH THEY FUCKING!!!!

Jill x Carlos

This was literally me the whole time playing the game

Carlos, watching Jill kick Nemesis' ass in the dissolving chamber:

Jill, watching Carlos defend her and fight Nicholai:

Jill, in the helicopter with Carlos, leaving Nicholai and Raccoon City to be completely flattened by the missile:

Someone make this a thing

👀

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 .

God, I love Romantic stories

I would love to see your take on Atalanta for Gods and Monsters

(note: this was done as a commission)

~

King Iasus has no desire for a daughter. He considers them weak,and therefore useless.

So when his wife dies to give him one, he leaves his baby atop amountain to be killed by the elements.

Instead, a mother bear stumbles across the child, and decides tocare for her.

She does not grow up weak.

~

Artemis hears rumors of a girl who lives in the forest. They sayshe is a wild, untamed thing, that she speaks the language of beasts ratherthan humans. They say she moves as if she’s born of the wind, faster than anyfour or two legged creature.

They say she’s faster than the great huntress of the moon herself.

Her huntresses say she is real, that they have seen glimpses ofher, have seen evidence of her existence, but that she always slips from their grasp.

So Artemis goes looking herself.

She finds her bathing in a stream, more woman than girl, dark skinand a tangled mass of black hair. She’s built for strength, built to fight,with scars and bruises littering her muscled body. “Goddess,” she greets, notturning to face her, and Artemis can’t help but admire her audacity.

“So you do speak the tongue of mortal men,” she answers. “I hadheard rumors otherwise. You know my name. I’m afraid I don’t know yours.”

She turns to look at her, something considering and judgmentalabout the press of her mouth and tilt of her head. “I’m Atalanta. Rumors areoften wrong.”

“So I see,” she agrees, biting her lower lip to keep from smiling,since she hardly thinks Atalanta will appreciate it.

Atalanta steps from the stream, uncaring of her nakedness andevery line of her tensed and prepared for a fight. “If you’re here to kill me,I won’t make it easy for you.”

She has no interest in killing her. That’s just a waste. “Raceme.”

Atalanta falters. “Excuse me?”

“Race me,” she repeats. “No godly powers. No cheating. Just you,me, and the forest.”

“So you’ll kill me if I win?” she asks, but she sounds moreconfused than angry.

Artemis shrugs. “One way to find out.”

They race. It’s close. Even though she thinks her life is on theline, Atalanta doesn’t waver, doesn’t hesitate.

Atalanta wins.

She glares up at Artemis, defiance and fear filling her eyes, andthe goddess just smiles.

“Have you considered joining my hunt?”

~

Atalanta is her best huntress. She gets along with the othergirls, smiles and laughs and never, ever stops giving all she does every ounceof her effort.

She’s been with them over a year when she corners Artemis, thesame anger in her eyes as when they first met. “You touch the others. Why doyou not touch me?”

“Do you want me to touch you?” she asks, neutral. Her huntressesare also typically her lovers, but she’s not going to require it. She wantsAtalanta in whatever capacity she’s comfortable with.

“Yes,” she answers, reckless and brave, an adult but still soyoung to Artemis’s ancient eyes.

So Artemis tugs her close, slots their mouths together, and workson undoing her heavy leathers.

~

When Atalanta agreed to help rid King Oineus of his mad boar, shehadn’t known it would end this way.

She hadn’t known this would be the story of her exploits whichwould finally reach her father’s ears.

“You didn’t tell me you were a princess.”

Atalanta closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before turning toface her goddess. “You didn’t ask.”

Artemis reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “You mustknow it doesn’t matter to me. You mortals are all the same to a goddess’seyes.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, instead leaning hercheek into Artemis’s hand. “He wants me to come home. He said – he’ll give thekingdom to me. He’ll name me his heir.”

“Do you want a kingdom?” Artemis asks.

“No.” She looks away. “I have no use for one, nor do I know how torun one. But I want him to give it to me. I want him to know he made a mistake,that my life wasn’t worthless, that my mother’s sacrifice wasn’t worthless, Iwant – I want him to be sorry.”

Her goddess sighs. “You know, making you a queen and being sorryare not one in the same.”

“I know,” she whispers, “I know. But I think I want it anyway. Ifonly so I can burn it to the ground. It’s my birthright. If I destroy it, fine,it’s mine to destroy.” That’s not very fair to all the people living there, allthe people she’ll be in charge of who did nothing to her, who were probablytold she was stillborn.

But she is bear-raised, she’s a huntress. She’s been hurt, and shewants blood.

Artemis doesn’t chastise her for her rage, her unseemly desire forbloody vengeance. “There will always be a place for you in my hunt,” she says,and kisses Atalanta for the last time.

~

Her position within her father’s palace is exhausting.

Her father treats her like a man, takes her fighting and fishingand hunting. He hires her tutors to teach her all she doesn’t know, saying thatshe’ll pick it all up quickly, she’s bright enough. But the rest of the palacestaff hover around uncertainly, unsure whether to treat her as a lady or a lordor a guest. The tailor comes and makes her a dozen beautiful gowns that shecan’t fight in, and then the blacksmith makes her armor that’s too tight acrossher chest.

She misses her leathers. The huntresses don’t wear metal armor, it’stoo heavy and loud, more of hinderance than a help. She doesn’t like the weightof the metal on top of her. She doesn’t like the weight of a lot of the thingsthat she’s being forced to carry.

Her father wants her to marry, to choose a suitable king to rulethe realm, to choose a man whose children she’ll bear.

She has no problem with marrying a man, and she would like to oneday be a mother. But she abhors the thought of giving up a single ounce ofcontrol over what is to be herkingdom.

There’s not much need for deceptive cleverness in the forests, butshe’s still capable of it, if needed. “Father,” she says, wearing one of thedresses that strain against her too wide hips and shoulders, not sitting righton her thick waist. Wearing a dress, like a princess, like a lady, like someonewho can’t kill a lion with her bare hands. “Surely you can’t expect me to marrya man just because he is noble? Just because he is wealthy? His sons will oneday rule our land. He must be strong so that he may sire strong children.”

Her father’s eyebrows dip together. All his advisors are glaringat her, but she pretends not to notice. “You’re right. After all, you got yourstrength from me.” It takes all her effort not to curl her lip. What strengthshe did not earn in blood and sweat was gifted to her by her mother. Not him.

“Let there be a contest,” she says, thinking of her first meetingwith Artemis. “A race. If any man can beat me in a footrace, he shall be myking and husband. If he should lose, he should be killed for his arrogance, tothink he could claim your land so easily, Father.”

He gives a great booming laugh and claps Atlanta on the back. “Ilike it! Very well, daughter, a race for your heart. And those who fail will beexecuted at the next dawn.”

The executioner grows to hate her.

He’s hasn’t been able to sleep in for many weeks.

~

There’s a formal dinner tonight, and Atlanta doesn’t know what towear.  Does she wear the armor so herfather can show her off as a warrior? Or a dress so she can be presented as alady?

In the forests, there was always something to focus her rage on.An animal to hunt, a woman to fight, Artemis there burning as bright as herbrother’s sun. But here in this stilted, silent palace, she grabs onto herbedclothes and tears them to ribbons, needing to do something.

“If you hated them so much, I could have just replaced them, mylady.”

She pauses, her face heating up. She glances up and there’s one ofthe servants with a basket of laundry balanced on his hip. He smiles at her, lightand easy, and she smiles back without thinking. “I – sorry.”

He shrugs, stepping forward to finish stripping her bed. “It’syour things, my lady. You may destroy them if you wish.”

Her face and throat feel tight, and she can’t cry, not now, nothere, not with an audience. “I don’t want to destroy them.”

He drops the sheets, mouth parting. “I – I’m sorry, PrincessAtalanta. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shakes her head and rubs at her eyes. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’tmean – I just don’t know what to wear, and nothing fits–” He grabs her wrists,and the callouses on his hands are different, not quite the same as the ones onher hands. His aren’t from fighting.

“You are the lady of this house and the future queen of thisland.” His voice is soft, his hands on her are soft, his eyes are soft. “Youdon’t apologize for anything. Especially not to me. You could have me killedjust for touching you.”

It’s been a long time since someone has been soft with her. Sheusually doesn’t allow it, even from those she cares about, wouldn’t have takenthis kind of vulnerability from the huntresses or Artemis, wouldn’t have knownwhat to do with it.

She doesn’t know what to do with it now.

“I wouldn’t,” she promises.

When he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ll want towear a dress to tonight’s event. It’s a summer party for foreign dignitaries,and on the surface the function is to socialize. If you show up in armor,they’ll take it as a threat.” He slips away and walks over to her closet,throwing it open. “My mother was a seamstress, and I may not be as good as shewas, but I know a trick or two, and we have a few hours. Let’s see what we’reworking with.”

“Okay,” she says, because what does she have to lose.

He pulls out a bright red gown and turns away as she gets changed.He walks around her with a critical eye. “The poor tailor doesn’t know what todo with you. He’s too used to trying to make women look small and modest.”

He carefully cuts away at the dress. He makes slits to mid-thighon either side so she can finally move again, and cuts the back wide open soit’s no longer too tight around her shoulders. He grabs some thin golden ropefrom one of the curtains and threads it criss crossing over her now naked backto keep the dress upright, and he cuts the sleeves off entirely. His hands movealmost too fast for her eyes to follow as he hurries to resew the edges intime.

She looks at herself in the mirror, and she doesn’t look like astranger anymore. Her muscles and scars are on full display, her meaty calvesand strong biceps, the claw marks from the wolf that tore open her shoulder andthe time she fell down a cliffside and bashed her knee wide open.

She’s a woman. She’s their princess.

But she’s a warrior too. She was a warrior first, and she thinksshe’ll always be a warrior first.

“Thank you,” she says, taking his hands like he’d taken hers. Nowhe’s flushing, and she wants – well, she wants. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think toask. What’s your name?”

“Hippomenes, my lady,” he says, looking at her like she’ssomething different than he thought, like she’s something interesting andspecial.

Looking at her like she first looked at Artemis after that fatefulrace.

“Atalanta,” she corrects, squeezing his hands, “You may call meAtalanta.”

~

Hippomenes keeps coming to her rooms, and she keeps letting him.She’s wary of ordering or asking for him, since she’s his princess. She wantshim to come to her only if he wants to.

He does want to.

He shows up to alter her dresses at first, but then when that’sdone and he’s run out of excuses, he keeps showing up anyway. He’s worked inthe palace his whole life, so he knows all the people and all the correct waysto do things, patiently explains to her how to play games in politics and howto win fights that are so rarely physical.

He’s teaching her how to be queen, and each day she falls more andmore in love with him.

Each day, the body count from her failed suitors climbs ever higher.

Hippomenes could never beat her in a footrace, and if she takes ahusband who doesn’t best her, after ordering all those men to die, her peoplewill kill her for her deception.

She’s in an impossible position of her own making, so she turns tosomeone who has the power to help her.

~

Artemis goes to Hephaestus, because he’s always the easiest tofind. She steps around the cyclopes and waits until he pauses in hammering awayat a sheet of metal. “What?” he snaps, impatient.

“I need to talk to your wife and sister. One of mine needs theirhelp.” Atalanta may not be her huntress of her lover anymore, but she’s still hers.

He frowns. “What does that have to do with me?”

“If I call them, they won’t come right away. But they will if youcall. If you do, I’ll bring the huntresses to Ares’s next war,” she promises,because his brother is one of Hephaestus’s few soft spots.

He scowls but calls out, “Darling, Artemis wants to speak to you.Hebe, you too.”

“I’m busy,” whines the goddess of chaos as she materializes nextto Hephaestus. The very air around them seems to get heavy with her presence,and Artemis shivers. It’s like being around Hera when she’s angry, but worse,somehow.

“Yes?” Aphrodite says, appearing with an arm draped acrossHephaestus’s shoulders. “Eris, you don’t visit often enough.” Only her brothersand mother still call her Hebe.

“I’m busy,” Eris repeats, then focuses those disconcerting honeyeyes on her. All of Hera’s children have her eyes. “What do you want?”

“To unite two people in love and shake the very foundations of akingdom,” she says. “It seems like something the goddesses of love and chaoswould be able to help me with.”

~

Aphrodite appears to the young man who has claimed Atalanta’sheart, carrying thee heavy golden apples made by Eris’s hands, and tells himthat if he challenges Atalanta to a race and drops each of these apples as heruns, she won’t be able to keep from stopping to pick them up, and he’ll winboth her hand and her kingdom.

A servant made king. Eris had been giddy as she’d shaped thegolden apples and pressed her magic into them.

Hippomenes reaches for them, but hesitates, his hands hoveringbetween them before he pulls them back. “She doesn’t want to marry. I love her,I do, you must know that, Lady Goddess. But she doesn’t want to marry, and shedoesn’t want to share her kingdom.”

Aphrodite smiles, because Hippomenes looks almost as if he’s aboutto start crying, but he doesn’t take it back.

He loves her enough to lose her, if that’s what she wants.

“I am here at the request of Artemis, who came to me on Atalanta’sbehalf,” she says gently. “She didn’t want to marry or share her kingdom. Thenshe met you.”

Tears falls from his eyes as he takes the three golden apples fromher hands, grinning so widely that it threatens to split his face in half.

~

When Hippomenes challenges Atalanta to a race, everyone laughs athim.

No one is laughing when he wins.

~

Atalanta and Hippomenes keep the three golden apples on the mantleover their fireplace for the rest of their lives.

They rule long, and they rule well.

gods and monsters series, part xxviiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

I'm just going to be reading these from now on

Hi Shana! I'm a big fan of your work, especially your Gods and Monsters series! Speaking of, can you do a bit on Nike please? Only if you want to of course! Keep doing what you're doing and have an awesome day!

Styx knows Ares needs help.

Hades knows this. Charon knows this. Persephone knows this.Icarus knows this. Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Hera, Artemis and Apollo knowthis. Possibly everyone who’s not Zeus knows this.

But there’s only so much any of them can do.

Hades and the underworld is always a place that he can cometo, a place for him to rest. Ares will go to his brother’s volcanoes and soakhis aching muscles in the magma, Artemis finds him on the battlefield, Apolloplays him to sleep, Hera turns the tide of wars by whispering in the ears ofmothers and wives, but it’s not enough.

There’s so much war in the lives of mortal men, and Aresstruggles to shoulder it all, to endure it all.

Athena had helped the most. Having another war god to sharethe load helped, and it’s not like Athena is displeased with her increase infollowers. But the wars didn’t stop, or even end more quickly, and if theyweren’t all praying to Ares they were still praying for aid in war.

Styx wants to do something to help. But she’s tied to thisriver, to this place, and she doesn’t mind, exactly, except of course for whenshe does.

That’s okay. The underworld is where everyone ends up oneday, and there’s someone right here who can help her.

She’s not afraid to go into Tartarus. Her river flows even there,and unlike those who are imprisoned there, she can leave whenever she likes.But just because she’s not afraid doesn’t mean she likes it, doesn’t mean it’sa place she goes often.

The edges are lined with active volcanoes, and the light oftheir magma is all there is to see by.

Those titans who retain their sanity, their personhood, arein the center of Tartarus. Those on the edge are more monster than god. Theytend to eat every soul that they find that’s less powerful than they are, andStyx wouldn’t say she’s less powerful, but she is differently powerful, and shedoesn’t want to have to call out for Hades to save her.

She can’t die. She is the space between life and death, but beingconsumed by a titan isn’t something she wants to experience regardless.

Unfortunately for her, the titan she needs isn’t the type tohang around the center of Tartarus, not causing trouble. He’s right on theedge. He’s always looking to cause trouble.

Pallas is large even for a titan, standing at the sameheight as a giant, so big that Styx could stand in the palm of his hand. Hisskin is mostly intact, but it’s stretched taught over his bones, and his mouthlooks like it’s filled with jagged glass rather than teeth. “What does thegoddess of the river of the dead want with me?”

His breath comes out putrid and rotten, like something diedin it. Probably several somethings did. She wrinkles her nose. “I need tocreate a person, and I want your help to do it.”

Keep reading

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

Excuse you, you little shit?? I am poor OF COURSE I FUCKING WANT IT

I mean, I think they're both cute

Sea otters and giant river otters are like if someone got two artists to design a giant otter, but ended up with two very different ideas on what they should look like cause one draws hello kitty fanart and the other was a nihilist.

My cats an asshole so this has never happened

I'm sorry, but what genius made this masterpiece

Lore Olympus as Vines Part 2

This is a whole ass mood. First, the face of oh shit is she bored of me? And then the face of shit oh shit she is just tired. Thank god

Look here bitch, you are me five years ago but guess what, listen to the sin gif and just get some therapy

I sympathize with her but:

This is what happens when you dont drink your respect women juice in the morning Apollo

#apollo #hades #asspollo

And that's the difference between Hades and asspolo

I mean, he did state the obvious