#trident tale

[courseyoulovemeyoudontknowme]

Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales (2017, Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg)

22/06/2024

[toyastales]

The Tiffany Titan by Pharrell Williams ring draws inspiration from Poseidon and his trident with angular, spike rondelles that frame the center pearl. Designed to allow the bands to move with the wearer's hand, its reverse-set diamonds maximize brilliance.

[kiraprismart]

Brand new comic! Nova and Ghostie discuss over whether or not Nova's spear weapon is truly a magical device or simply a precision instrument.

[comicavalcade]

Submariner Summer Day1

Ok doing this thing! Kicking off #SubmarinerSummer read through with Tales to Astonish #70, Namor's return to solo protagonist status for the first time since the brief Marvel superhero resurgence a decade earlier Starting off strong with a really nice, dynamic title page!

See, this is a name:

Also, lol, Marvel hitting you with a continuity footnote *right* off the bat! That Daredevil issue is actually pretty good...

"THIS is the land I was born to rule" The...the land? I'm gonna chalk that up to a mistranslation of Atlantean or something. Someone gimme a No-Prize!

"Nothing that lives shall ever rob me of my birthright!" Tell that to Marvel writers for the next 60yrs...

Namor is in fact a jerk about his royalty. And it is *wild* how harsh Namor is to Dorma at this stage, considering how completely he'll fall for her once he gets a clue. He regrets this move, though, pretty much right away; Dorma set him up for an ambush

So first of all, they are NOT being subtle about the visual asian-coding here. Also, Krang's justification is a running theme carried over from the Golden Age stories that will keep recurring; Atlanteans think Namor is SOFT on the surface world

Pretty good burn by LadyDorma, but she's already regretting her move. Luckily, Namor has a plan to get Atlantis back, even though it turned against him for being soft on puny humans...

...the Quest for Neptune's Trident! Get the aqua-mcguffin and the crown is his by literal divine right, thanks to the decree of Neptune himself. Gotta be honest, I dig the classic fantasy hero turn of this story!

Namor convinces Dorma to let him attempt the quest, though she doesn't need much convincing. Not exactly Dorma's finest hour tbh but then again, she's a woman being written by Stan Lee here. 😬 Still, the art is classic and lovely, Gene Colan is killing it.

Quest Step 1: The Cave of Shadows, from which

*none have ever returned*

Apparently, they got eaten by a giant squid Again, the art is dynamic and moody for this undersea romp. Namor, of course, gets the clue to the next step of the quest, but Krang has found him out! Cliffhanger!

A fun little story that dives right in and moves quick, its interesting that it starts with the status quo turned around and changing instead of establishing itself first. Great Silver Age art, too; engaging read all around! Tomorrow: Tales to Astonish #71-Escape...To Nowhere!

[shabadarada]

Publicly airing their kin list character inspo list

Honorable mentions: Umi (+ Mlgrm) chars who didnt inspire any of them but are scarily similar (e.g. Clair, Beato, Bern, Ange, etc.), 'Ichigo' Bleach + Tokyo Mew Mew (Heroine / Ichigo's namesake), Mysterious Watcher / Protector Trope, Gorgon Medusa + Perseus (Miso / Knight's reccuring motif), Irina Clockworker (Irene's namesake), 'I'm in the panopticon too you guys can all look at me but i can only use the spotlight on one of you' tumblr post

[g4zdtechtv]

Cinematech's Trailer Park - Trident's Tale (Multiplatform)

Rule the Seas.

[savingcontent]

Trident's Tale announced, new pirate adventure is coming to PC and consoles this May

Continue reading Trident’s Tale announced, new pirate adventure is coming to PC and consoles this May

[ambermarshallwrites]

Some Tales of Aquan for you Trident of Merrow fans, of which there are... dozens, surely?

🦗

[mydadleft471]

A Jester Indeed

Summary: You've heard tales of Messmer the Impaler from other Tarnished. They say he's a monster, that his flame will burn through your armor to the bone, and that he is not to be trifled with. So what happens when you, a not-so-serious individual, fight the Impaler and show him mercy?

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. Some warnings of violence, fighting, blood, and a stupid Tarnished.

This was a request from anonymous! They requested, "Messmer with a Tarnished reader who chose to spare him at the end of their battle, and she frequently comes by to annoy him." This was so fun, thanks anon! I wasn't sure how to incorporate the Tarnished coming back to annoy him, so I just made her a little shit whenever possible lmao. Hope you like it!

As always, thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I've gotten back into writing because of everyone's continued love and support and I can't begin to thank you guys enough! <3

You were so in over your head.

Traveling to the Land of Shadow was an ordeal all by itself. As you carved your path of carnage throughout the Lands Between, you’d killed many. It did not matter what they were; if they didn’t want to talk it out, you knew there was only one way it would end. No matter how many times you died, which had to be in the hundreds by now, you would come back and try again. Victory had always tasted so sweet. 

As did the amount of runes some bosses dropped.

Seeking out the Lord of Blood was certainly a task, but you had also found the husk of Miquella, Malenia’s twin brother forever cursed to be a child. Disgust must’ve been obvious on your features as Mohg appeared out of a pool of blood and referred to Miquella as dearest. You had a feeling you wouldn’t mind ending the Lord of Blood.

You did mind, however, the amount of bloodflame he threw at you. His trident could kill you in one hit if you weren’t careful, and it did, many times. Eventually though, he fell just like the rest. After you lit the site of Grace near Miquella’s cocoon and sat down, you noticed someone standing a few feet in front of you. They were donned in gold and black armor with an ornately embroidered white cloak. Carefully, you rose, ready to fight if necessary.

She introduced herself as Needle Knight Leda, in service to Miquella the Kind. She told you that if you wished to travel to the Land of Shadow, all you needed to do was touch the withered arm dangling lifelessly outside of the cocoon. Noticing your hesitation to follow someone you had just met, she tells you of her compatriots that would offer you assistance when you arrived.

You were never one to shy away from challenge and adventure, so you rested your hand upon the cold, much larger one. In an instant, your vision went white and suddenly you stood in an unfamiliar place. It almost reminded you of where you first woke up after crossing the fog, but it was more foreboding. You shrugged off the feeling of anxiety and started up the hill in front of you.

After stepping out into the open and seeing the vast landscape before you, you knew you had to explore every inch of this place. You would discover why this place was hidden, and you would almost certainly fight challengers tougher than you could imagine. The thought alone sent shivers of anticipation down your spine. With Torrent by your side, you embarked on your journey throughout the Land of Shadow.

That anticipation that had once set your soul ablaze was now fear coursing through your veins. After weeks of fighting, you had reached the Shadow Keep, home of Messmer the Impaler, who was another of Queen Marika’s children. Messmer’s guards and knights were no joke, and you had met your demise at their hands more times than you could count. But you had persisted and cut your way through his numbers, and here you were: in front of an imposing and cold metal door that would certainly lead to your number of deaths reaching the thousands.

Everything you had heard about Messmer was terrifying. You were unsure if you would actually best him. Many other Tarnished you’d met along your travels spoke of his flame, scorching and unnatural, searing them down to the bone before they were impaled on Messmer’s spear.

You tried to keep your spirits high. You had fought and beat Radahn, once known as the mightiest demigod of the Shattering. You’d killed Mohg. You even killed Miquella’s sister, Malenia, the Goddess of Rot.

So why were you standing here shaking like it was your first encounter with combat?

You sighed and knew you’d have to will yourself to open the door in front of you. Throwing caution to the wind and ignoring your nerves begging you to turn back, you pushed the heavy metal door open and stood in the doorway. You flinched and closed your eyes, expecting your death to be immediate. But you were fine.

Taking a few tentative steps into the room, you realized that it was almost entirely dark. A few candles sputtered weakly along the floor, but that was it. Perhaps the Impaler was out?

Your hopeful thoughts quickly died as the room lit up. Hundreds of candles sparked to life within mere seconds. You drew your weapon and looked around the room, your heart beating wildly against your ribcage.

“Mongrel intruder.”

A low, stern voice echoed throughout the room, sending shivers down your spine. Looking towards the center of the room, you shrieked when you saw a red snake hovering in front of you. It wasn’t poised to strike however, so you, although a stupid idea, reached out to pat its head.

“Thou’rt Tarnished, it seemeth.” 

The snake began to slink away from your outstretched hand. You saw a large towering figure sat on a throne in the very back of the room.

Messmer the Impaler.

“I am, yes. Why does that matter?” Your voice shakes and comes out weak.

He stands up, seemingly ignoring you. You realize how he towers over you.

“Mother, wouldst thou truly lordship sanction in one so bereft of light?” He does not sound amused.

“I don’t want to fight you. ” You realize that might not seem convincing with your sword drawn.

“Yet… my purpose standeth unchanged.” He saunters towards you. 

You really shouldn’t be here.

“Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death. In the embrace of Messmer’s flame.” From his hand, fire erupts and swirls, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s darker, a deep crimson with black tendrils dancing around like snakes. It’s beautiful, yet horrifying.

“But I can see sites of Grace! There’s one right outside your door!” You plead with him, your voice unnaturally high with fear. He pauses for a second, mulling over your words. Then his brow hardens and his gleaming gold eye narrows.

“The Tarnished, graceless and stricken, is also a liar, it seemeth.”

You were stupid and brave, but a liar? That crossed a line.

With his words as your only warning, he leaps into the air, creating an inferno of raging fire. He slams down next to you and you barely have time to roll out of the way. The explosion clouds your vision, and you don’t catch him hurtling towards you. His spear rams through your stomach as if you weren’t wearing armor, and you scream. Your hands grasp the handle where it impales you and it’s sticky with blood. Your blood.

Messmer comes closer as you fall to the floor. You have to admit, he’s quite handsome, even with your blurred vision. You don’t think telling him that would spare you.

“I don’t want to fight.” Your voice comes out weak and you spit out blood on the floor next to you. You’re beginning to fade.

His eye glows a blinding gold as he stands above you. He seethes with disgust.

“Then thou shalt run. Thine wishes are an impossibility. But rest assured, Tarnished,” he spits the word like an insult, and brings his face closer to yours. “The Impaler will see to it that thy fate never cometh to fruition. Thou shalt perish here, as many times as necessary.” 

With those words, you fade away and return to the site of Grace outside his door. You lay there in stunned silence for a few seconds before you dare to sit up. Looking towards the fog wall in front of you, you question yourself. Could you really defeat Messmer? He’s made his intentions crystal clear and you know that each time you face him, it will end in your painful death. 

No, you say to yourself. You take a few deep breaths and make a conscious effort to not give into the fear he instilled in you. That’s what he wants. He wants you to be afraid to face him, to give him the upper hand. But you won’t do that. Sure, he’s a demigod that’s launched an endless crusade on an entire race of people and has a curse that’s gotten him shunned from his Mother’s good graces, but you’re really good at fighting. And you’re persistent as hell.

Standing, you draw your weapon once more and walk through the fog wall.

He’s returned to his throne, and once he sees you, he grips his spear and stands.

“I warned thee, Tarnished. All thou wilt gain here is an acute understanding of agony.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve faced demigods before and won. I’ve died countless times and came back. This fight won’t be any different.”

He is taken aback by your confidence, but he quickly regains his composure. His face hardens and he leaps into the air once again, flame encompassing his form.

“So be it.”

You dodge his inferno and sidestep him as he rushes at you. You have a feeling he uses his fire to disorient you and shroud himself. You would be wise to keep the distance between you two as close as possible.

“A spear is a horrible weapon for close combat!” You holler at him and see his eye narrow. You’ve successfully pissed him off.

He ignites his spear and soars through the air, then rushes at you with multiple jabs, and you successfully dodge all but one of his attacks. He slams down into the ground next to you, and right as you reach for your flask, a myriad of spears burst from the ground and quickly end you. As your vision fades, you see him above you once more, looking down at you with something you could almost call pity.

You re-enter his arena with little time between your attempts. Though he manages to best you over ten times, you are growing more certain in his attack patterns, and you can seamlessly dodge and punish most of his moves. On your 16th try, you’ve managed to only get hit twice throughout the fight so far, and you still have 9 remaining charges in your flask. You know he’s beginning to worry from the way his attacks grow more and more desperate. He stops charging deliberate moves and instead swings wildly at you in an attempt to kill you instantly.

After side-stepping his barrage and rolling through his summoned spears, you quickly deliver a swipe that cuts his stomach and sends him to his knees. You breathe out heavily and watch his every move with your sword at the ready in front of you.

“Bested, by a meek Tarnished…” His voice radiates with pain and humiliation. He looks at you, his eye dimmer than usual. 

“Give up. I don’t want to kill you.” You hope he doesn’t push you to deal a final blow.

He weakly stands up, using his spear to hold him upright. He turns away, facing a giant statue of Marika holding a baby. How did you not notice that before?

“O Mother, forgive me.” You narrow your eyes and ready yourself for whatever he’s about to throw at you.

He reaches towards his eye that shines a brilliant gold as his long claws near it. In horror, you realize he is about to tear out his eye. Throwing your sword to the ground in an act of desperation, you fling yourself forward and catch his hand. Your weight makes him shift uneasily on his feet and you find yourself staring into the same eye he was about to pluck out.

He glances between your hands around his and your worried expression. He cannot understand why you would stop him. “Let go, Tarnished. I would give thee a fight to ne’er forget.”

You shake your head, clutching onto his hand tighter and trying your best to pull his arm down. “I’m not going to let you tear out your own eye! Are you crazy?”

“Thou hast me at thy mercy. Strike me down or release me.”

“I’ve told you before; I’m not going to kill you.”

His eye narrows and he releases his spear. It thuds onto the ground and the sound reverberates throughout the entire chamber. His other hand wraps around your neck, and he lifts you like you weigh nothing. You do not release his hand as you struggle to breathe.

“Thou’rt foolish and weak. Thy grace is false, thy blade is dull, and it seems thy mind is shattered.” He squeezes harder and you notice black spots in your vision. He peers into your eyes for the Grace you claim to have, and he sees flecks of gold dancing in your irises.

Hesitantly, he loosens his grip enough for you to breathe, but not enough to allow you your freedom. As expected, you heave in heavy gulps of air and cough. He wonders what Mother sees in you, a mere Tarnished, too weak to kill him but not strong enough to delay their inevitable demise at his hand.

“Thank you…” You mutter. You’re still clutching his hand.

“Why didst thou hesitate with thy blade?”

You give a tired and sputtering laugh. “Maybe I’m tired of killing.”

“Nonsense. Reveal the truth.”

“Will you at least put me down?”

He grits his teeth and slowly releases you. He expects you to immediately pick up your weapon and strike back, but you simply reach for one of your flasks.

You notice him watching you with caution. “May I?” You gesture to your flask.

“Fine.”

Unexpectedly, you close the gap between the two of you and unscrew the cork from the bottle. You then hand it over to him without a second thought. 

He doesn’t move, too shocked by your sudden offer. This would heal him, and if he so chooses, he could kill you again with all his strength returned to him.

“I do not require that.” 

You huff and roll your eyes. “Would you please just indulge me? I think you owe me after how many times you killed me, don’t you think?”

Wordlessly, he reaches down and takes your flask. Tipping it back, the liquid warms him as it travels down his throat. He instantly feels better and the wounds you inflicted on him earlier dissipate. When he looks down again, he sees you smiling. He hands the flask back to you and you replace the cork, then store it away in a pouch on your belt.

“There, all better.”

“A duller foe I have never met.”

“And yet, here we are. So, what’s next? Are you going to talk with me, or do you feel like you need to kill me again?” You gesture at his spear still on the ground.

“Why wouldst thou grant me mercy?” His face pinches in confusion.

“Because you don’t deserve to die.” You answer.

“Dost thou consider themselves judge, jury, and executioner?”

“No, but I know enough to understand that you’ve been shunned and cast out by Queen Marika, just like me.”

A Tarnished who speaks ill of his mother? He had yet to wrap his head around that.

“Speak plainly.”

“Okay. I know your mother made you go on an endless crusade in her name against the Hornsent for whatever they did to her. She’s done the same with Godfrey in the Lands Between. The Mountaintops of the Giants, once a land covered in fire, now lay cold with bodies and snow as their only inhabitants. Now, she wants me to fight my way through her remaining children to claim their Great Runes so I can have the burden of becoming Elden Lord.”

“Mother chose-” he begins.

“She cast you out because of your curse.” You interrupt him and his eye blazes out of fury.

“How dare thee!” He bends down to pick up his spear. You hold up your hands and make no move to grab your weapon.

“I understand your pain. I’m cursed to die over and over again until I fulfill her wishes. She doesn’t care for me.” You keep your voice even.

“Thou will never understand my pain nor my curse.”

“Maybe not, but I understand how it feels to be cast out and sequestered without honor or glory.”

Why was he talking to you? He should’ve ended you the moment you gave him your flask. He should’ve killed you 20 times over by now.

But he hesitates.

“Tarnished. Thou hast granted me mercy. Thy reasoning I shall never understand. But thy words ring true and hold merit.” 

“Does that mean you’ll stop killing me?”

“It means I shall consider ceasing hostilities towards you. Thy safety is not yet guaranteed.” 

You groan. These demigods are always so complicated. “Then what do I have to do to get you to trust me?”

“Thou wilt tell me everything.”

You blink at him. “Okay. We could’ve avoided my painful demise many times over if you had just said that earlier.”

The grip on his spear tightens. “I shall make the memory a reality if thou dost not hold thy tongue.”

He’s met with silence. Perhaps you had finally learned when you were to speak. Or maybe you were just thinking of another clever quip that would make him doubt his decision to spare you.

The hilt of his spear hits the ground and he stands taller. His voice echoes around the room. “Thou wilt stay here, within the Keep, so that I may have eyes on thee at all hours of the day. Thou shalt be safe and comfortable in exchange for your knowledge.” 

“You’re going to keep me prisoner?”

“Wouldst thou prefer a grave to a bed?”

“Fair point. We have a deal.”

You hold out your hand and he stares at you in bewilderment. He narrows his eye.

“What?”

You gesture to your hand. “It’s a deal. We’re supposed to shake hands to make it official.”

“I shalt not touch one so depraved.” He looks disgusted at the mention of touching you.

“Shake my hand or get used to killing me. Your choice, my Lord.”

“Thou wouldst jest, even now? When death stands before thee?”

“Can you just shake my hand?”

“...Fine.”

He reaches out and grasps your hand loosely, and you shake his hand. His skin is surprisingly soft. Just as you are about to say something, he pulls away.

“Come. Thy quarters are just down the stairs.”

“Good. I’m exhausted.”

“As am I,” he replies.

You follow him. “But I gave you my flask. You should feel fine.”

“Thou misunderstood. I am exhausted of thy prattling tongue.” 

You scoff, which earns you a small smile from him. You are steeped in an uncomfortable silence as he leads you to your chambers. You walk down a long hallway lined with ornate paintings and trinkets. This is somewhere you had not been while you were fighting your way up to Messmer. You wonder if he knows how many of his men you had dispatched. Considering he granted you some semblance of mercy, you think he has yet to find out.

He stops at a large wooden door. Twisting the knob, the hinges creak like they haven’t been opened in a century. The room is full of dust and stagnant air, but is otherwise beautiful and luxurious.

“I shall have servants clean thy room, of course, but this is where thou shalt stay.”

“It’s pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever stayed somewhere so nice.”

“For once, thy countenance is agreeable.”

“Well, for once, you’re being nice to me.”

His eye twitches in annoyance. “Was I not nice when I spared thee of another woeful death?”

“Seeing as I stopped you from plucking out your own eye, we’ll call it even.”

He felt like he was dealing with a petulant child whenever you opened your mouth to speak. Even threatening you with your demise just spurred you on.

“I shalt leave thee to thy quarters before my headache worsens.”

As he walks away, you call out to him. “Just admit that you haven’t had anyone so entertaining and interesting in your Keep, it’s okay!”

“Yes, my Keep hath never held a jester such as thee.” He replies over his shoulder, not caring if you heard him.

Smiling to yourself, you think that, yes, he does need a jester.

He’s much more handsome when he smiles.

[franzkafkagf]

Targaryens love to glorify the fire, the conquest, the dragons—constantly obsessed with being the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror. But what if Aenys didn’t come from Aegon at all? What if the entire dynasty they’ve been killing each other over was founded on the union of a queen and a simple bard who just loved to hear her sing while he played his lute?

What if Aenys wasn't the trueborn son of Aegon, but instead the product of something completely unexpected—genuine, human love? Think about it. While Maegor embodies everything about Valyrian supremacy, bloodlines, strength through fire and blood (and let's be honest, probably born from blood magic because Aegon was infertile and Visenya wasn’t about to let the dream die), Aenys was... different. Aenys was soft, “weak”. But he was so profoundly human—he loved stories, the stars, music. If Maegor was a blade forged in black fire, Aenys was a quiet song lingering in the air.

And isn’t it fitting? The Targaryens repeat the same mistakes over and over again because they are obsessed with the idea that they’re descended from Aegon the Conqueror, when they are really all descendants of a queen and a lowly bard. That’s the irony—this family that prides itself on Valyrian superiority and divine right is actually the product of something far more humble and human. Their “destiny” wasn’t fire. It was songs. Stories and songs are the lifeblood of Westeros. People remember through stories. The histories, the legends—these aren’t forged in blood, they’re passed down through mummer’s plays, puppet shows, songs sung at taverns. What are we told over and over in ASOIAF? That songs are how history survives.

Aenys was born of love and song. And that matters because look at how their dynasty ends. Egg grew up loving stories of knights and heroes. He wanted to be one of those heroes from the tales. He wasn’t drawn to power or conquest, he was drawn to the stories of honor, of justice, of doing what’s right. He thought that the return of dragons would be the salvation of the realm, that it would fix everything, and what did it lead to? Summerhall. A tragedy.

Look at Rhaegar. He wasn’t some warmongering conqueror—Rhaegar loved his harp, not his sword. He could make people weep just by playing a few notes, by singing a song. His magic was in music, in creating something beautiful in a world constantly obsessed with destruction. But what did Rhaegar do? He gave it all up to chase a prophecy. He abandoned his harp and took up the sword, convinced that the answers lay in some ancient, cryptic vision of three-headed dragons. He died in the mud of the Trident, not as a poet or singer, but as a fool chasing a doomed prophecy.

They thought their destiny was fire, but it’s always been about the songs—the things that outlive the fire. That’s what Aenys represented, what Rhaegar embodied, what Egg loved as a child.

But the Targaryens were too busy chasing dragons to hear the music.

[somepsychopomp]

contemplating a particularly evil AU where, after Odysseus escapes from Poseidon the first time, our favorite problematic god decides to set his sights upon Ithaca in order to get his revenge.

He doesn't raise the tides to drown all the inhabitants or cause earthquakes to break the island apart, no. Poseidon directly seeks out sweet little 10 y/old Telemachus...

and befriends him.

(Ody really shouldn't have doxxed himself with this one)

It starts with Poseidon disguising himself as a mortal man and infiltrating the palace, knowing that Odysseus was blown across the sea and is still struggling to get home. He claims to be a wise man taught in Athens, and is willing to offer his tutelage to Ithaca's prince. Though it irks him a bit to pose as a scholar from the city he lost to his niece, Poseidon convinces Penelope to let him take over the position of her son's tutor in all necessary subjects: reading, oratory, history (which will be easy, seeing as Poseidon lived through all of it himself), etc.

Telemachus is shy at first, but warms up to his new tutor quite quickly. [insert Poseidon's fake name] is not like the stuffy old men that Penelope first assigned to Telemachus' education. He's patient, doesn't reprimand the young prince when he falters, and rewards him for doing well with sweet treats and fantastical stories about faraway lands and monsters.

After earning the lad's trust, Poseidon approaches Penelope and says it's not right that such a bright boy like Telemachus isn't also taught in other aspects of manhood. He asks to take Telemachus out for his first hunt, to which she reluctantly agrees. (Penelope knows that her husband slew an adult boar when he was Telemachus' age so yeah)

Telemachus is both excited and nervous to be outside the palace without any guards or his mother. He asks how Poseidon knows to hunt and he laughs, saying that just because he's a scholar, doesn't mean he isn't also an athlete and a warrior.

Telemachus takes the bait, asking what competitions Poseidon won, who he beat, etc. He's regaled with entirely false tales of wrestling matches, chariot races, and spear throwing contests, as well as stories of successful hunts for bears and wolves.

It's truly the perfect opportunity to strike. The two of them are alone in the woods with no one else around, no one who would hear the prince scream as he was torn asunder. No one to find his bones...

"Do it," Poseidon says quickly, "Strike now."

At the behest of his teacher, Telemachus draws his bow and fires at the young deer upwind from them. The arrow hits the creature in the flank and it darts into the foliage. No time to praise the prince for his aim, Poseidon leads him uphill, showing the boy how to track injured prey. He's armed with a bow he never intended on using and a spear designed for hunting, as similar of a weapon to his trident as he can get.

Poseidon catches a glimpse of movement through the trees and throws his spear. It strikes the deer in the neck, felling it instantly. That night under the stars, the two of them feast on roasted venison over a roaring campfire. Poseidon insists that he couldn't have done it without his pupil, that Telemachus injuring the deer was what brought about its downfall.

Telemachus is beaming with joy, so excited to have gotten his first kill, when he suddenly turns withdrawn and shy. Poseidon asks what's wrong.

"It's just that... I always hoped I would go on my first hunt with my father..."

Poseidon pulls the boy against his side as Telemachus sniffles and tries to suppress his tears. Poseidon hushes him and says that while he can't speak for the king, he's certainly proud of his pupil!

"But do you think he'll be back soon?" Telemachus asks. Poseidon smiles and says only the gods would know. But for now, Telemachus should be proud of himself.

Penelope is pleased to find her son in one piece when he returns. He shows her the pelt from his first hunt and she assures him she's very impressed. What really matters to her is that Telemachus is safe and growing as a boy should- learning the useful skills he'll need as a man and a future king.

From then on, Poseidon has much more leeway with how he spends his time with the prince. They go to the beach so Telemachus learns how to swim, fish, and sail. He learns how to tame a horse and gain its trust, etc.

It's a nice way to pass the time, waiting.

Eventually, news turns up that every fleet from Troy arrived home, except for Odysseus'. No other king knows where he and his 600-person army vanished to. No one knows where he is, or when he'll return.

Penelope is saddened by this revelation, but knows her husband well and refuses to believe that Odysseus of Ithaca perished in something as simple as a rogue storm. Telemachus is heartbroken, though. He's just a boy and after having heard that nearby kingdoms received their men after ten long years, he got all his hopes up that he'd finally get to meet his father.

His mother tries to console him, to tell Telemachus not to give up hope. Odysseus is out there, somewhere. But her son is inconsolable until Poseidon gently asks Penelope if he can speak to him.

Poseidon tells Telemachus that sometimes things happen for a reason. Was this the will of some god, perhaps?

Telemachus doesn't know how to respond, but sniffles and asks if he did something wrong. If it's his fault his father isn't home. Poseidon hugs him tight and says it's not his fault at all! No, if anything, perhaps Odysseus' silver tongue got him in trouble, or that this delay in his' return is only a temporary misfortune. Perhaps it'll lead to greater things down the line. Telemachus doesn't really understand, but he begins to calm down after hearing both his mother & tutor tell him that things will be alright.

In the meantime, Telemachus wants to become someone that his father would be proud of. He asks Poseidon to train him even harder and help him grow into a great warrior.

Poseidon accepts and the two of them grow even closer.

Not long after, the first of the suitors arrive. They're the sons of local noblemen or other prominent families in Ithaca. For a while, the queen offers them hospitality without suspecting much, thinking that the gifts the men offer are condolences for her husband's late arrival. Then they start trying to woo her.

The suitors start harassing Telemachus, too. They see him as an obvious threat to the power they could steal for themselves. Odysseus was crowned the king at the age of 13 and the same could happen to Telemachus if Penelope declines to remarry. All of a sudden as more and more suitors invade his palace, Telemachus finds himself unwelcome in his own home. The suitors do not let him eat near them- they'll go as far as to snatch his food. They leer at him, call him small, and taunt him by saying he'll never be king.

Telemachus thinks there's nothing he can do to fight back, but then Poseidon steps in and tells the suitors to cease their unruly behavior. They gang up on Poseidon, who they perceive as an unimpressive middle aged man, before getting their asses handed to them by a middled aged man who knows how to wield a spear as though he was born for it.

Telemachus has never seen something so amazing before. His teacher defeated a dozen men alone! How is that even possible?

Poseidon doesn't answer him directly, only saying he's gotten into his own fair share of fights before. When news of the brawl reaches Penelope, she decides that Poseidon should be promoted to Telemachus' guardian until Odysseus returns, fulling both the role of tutor & protector. She won't have her only child be bullied and menaced by grown men, not in her halls.

It is at this point that Poseidon pulls out his greatest trick yet. And that is to tell the truth. For months now, he's been posing as a kindly old teacher. But in secret, he reveals himself to Telemachus as the god of the sea!

Poseidon claims he heard the boy pray for his father's return and came to him in disguise. (Poseidon didn't even know who Telemachus was until Ody pissed him off, but he was willing to bet that such a naive child would certainly pray for his absent daddy to return. And he was right.)

Poseidon warns that Odysseus is not who Telemachus thinks he is. He might have been a kind and gentle man before, but he turned into a merciless, vain monster who allowed over 500 of his men to perish because he was arrogant enough to think he could lead them through a terrible storm.

Telemachus can hardly believe it- he doesn't want to. He won't! His mother always told him that his father was the most clever man of all, trained by Athena herself.

"Ah," Poseidon says, his voice full of sympathy, "And what does Athena know of love? Of mercy? No, no, my poor boy. You've been misled. Your father is not the man you think he is, for he blinded my own son just so he could steal some livestock!"

Telemachus’ mind is racing. He doesn’t know what to think. Who is his father, really?

Trembling from head to toe in fear, he asks if Poseidon will punish him as vengeance for his own son.

And the earthshaker will smile at him, oh so softly.

“My poor child, why would I do that? You father has flung himself to the farthest reaches of the sea, but I am here for you. I’ve come to answer your prayers, to set things right between your house and mine.”

Poseidon cups Telemachus’ face and leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s head. “And should your father ever arrive on this isle, I will keep you safe from him.”

(And so Telemachus will grow up unsure of the man his father really is, all while struggling to see Poseidon as anything but)

[bigidiotenergytm]

The divine palace far exceeded in its splendor what Odysseus' feeble mind could even concieve.

Its hallway appeared to be endless, with its impossibly tall ceiling, taller than any building the former king of Ithaca had ever seen.

The inside of the palace was painted in various shades of blue, with white accents which gave it a clean, yet cold look.

Seashells, gems and pearls of varying sizes adorned the imposing walls, adding a touch of colour to the otherwise fully white and blue residence.

Carefully crafted reliefs depicting famous tales of heros, monsters and gods were also present, reminding Odysseus of the temples he often visited while he was still in the company of his beloved Penelope.

Poseidon glanced at the man who trailed behind him. The captain was completely awestruck; walking with his mouth agape and his eyes curiously darting from one corner to the next, eager to take in as much of this glorious sight as he could.

The god smiled unwittingly at the human's reaction. He had been so overcome by wonder that he had failed to notice he no longer required the aid of the bubble.

Truth be told, Poseidon had granted the man the ability to breathe underwater shortly before summoning a portal to his palace. However, it seemed like it would take said man additional time to notice the power he had been blessed with.

The god observed the human as he examined one of the large reliefs, clearly interested in the scene it depicted.

"I see you're impressed with my palace."

He started, causing Odysseus to swiftly turn his attention towards him. The former captain's expression then changed in an attempt to hide the fact that the god was right.

Poseidon let out a chuckle at the man's reaction before continuing.

"There is no need for lies, my dear king. After all, it's only natural. No human has ever set foot here. You should be honoured for the opportunity you were given."

Upon finishing his speech, he turned his eyes towards the small human, or rather the clothes he was wearing.

His chiton was torn and stained, reduced to no more than a rag after over a decade of constant fighting for survival.

Scrunching his nose in disgust, the earth-shaker lifted his trident as he spoke up again.

"I'm afraid those clothes, if one can even call them that, are highly unbecoming. I cannot permit a servant of mine to be dressed in such a vile manner."

As he spoke, his trident began glowing, preparing to obey its master.

Odysseus looked down at his poor excuse of a chiton, seeing it glow in the same way the god's trident was.

After a few short seconds, the glow disappeared. The mortal looked down, only to be met with a humiliating sight: his clothes had vanished, leaving him dressed in what his captor had provided him with instead.

And sadly, it seemed like generosity wasn't one of the virtues Poseidon possessed. His chiton was now replaced with a rather short, light blue skirt. Small pearls were sewn into the fabric, giving it a simple yet regal appearance.

Although the material was light and pleasant against his skin, it barely reached the middle of his thighs, being just long enough to not be completely indecent.

His chest was left bare, exposed for what felt like the first time in years. The rest of his body, however, was adorned with the finest jewelry.

In his hair there sat a golden clip in the shape of a starfish, successfully keeping the locks of unkempt brown hair from falling into his eyes.

A long necklace made of small, white seashells drapped down his chest, almost reaching his abdomen.

Odysseus looked at himself in disbelief. Once he had fully processed what had happened, he turned to the god of the seas, his eyes glistening in fury. He demanded an explanation.

Poseidon let out a small laugh at the mortal's reaction. Still, he opened his mouth to respond.

"As I previously said, those rags of yours were unsightly. Can't you even appreciate the beauty of the robes I've gifted you?"

He feigned sadness, as if the lack of gratitude truly wound him.

"But why? Why this? Why-"

"Because I willed it so."

The man's question was cut off by the god's abrupt answer. Poseidon's tone was stern; a clear warning and signal for the human to cease speaking.

Then, a sly, playful grin appeared on the god's lips.

"But, if you must know, I will tell you. One of your duties as my servant is to look presentable.

As for why your robes are the way they are, well, you have none other than your parents to blame. Because, my noble captain, you have truly splendid thighs.

Now, follow me!"

As he said that, he turned on his heel and continued walking down the seemingly endless hallway, forcing the mortal to follow behind him.

Perhaps the palace would prove awe-inspiring if it wasn't his PRISON.

Odysseus knew architecture. Knew it well, having built his own palace with his bare hands. He knew the intricacies, even down to the smallest gems were placed with reason. Even if this was Poseidon's domain— it was still that of a God's. One mighty. Powerful. Strong. The curves in the marble. The slightest blue hue. Even the statues of those past were carved with a delicacy that the sculptors of Gaia would ENVY. Everything hand-picked by the God of the Sea to represent him as a deity. The stories the walls told. The things they could share, if they were to ever speak. They told him what words could not. A palace was a King's pride. Their everything.

And all the mortal can focus on is how IMPOSING it all is.

Eyes do not dart out of curiosity. They analyze. What may seem as if a mortal is simply gawking is not what the Cunning is truly doing. Vantage points. Hidden spots. No, Odysseus can never escape. Escape would only be met with the bottom of the Aegean Sea. And, as BLASPHEMOUS as Odysseus has been— he knew this was still a bargain. A deal that the former king had presented HIMSELF. Does he not ahold to it; there was no stopping Poseidon from drowning Ithaca. From killing those he's sacrificed everything for.

A sacrifice leaves him Poseidon's. Only Poseidon's.

Curiosity can't be afforded anymore. Curiosity is that for who are still filled with HOPE.

Odysseus TENSES when the Sea God addresses him again. It means nothing good. The mortal has to stop his eyes from scanning. From giving ANY inkling he's trying to form some kind of plan. It works, he can only assume, from how Poseidon doesn't persecute it any further. This was only the beginnings of such a large palace. There'd be a time and a place to get used to these halls. To get the odds shifted.

Poseidon's eyes land on him and he FREEZES. That was just it. Any mortal's weakness. The unknown. The mortal offered his servitude, but he cannot imagine what it'll entail. How ruthless the God would be. The face Odysseus is given doesn't bring comfort. It makes him feel exactly as it proposes: DIRTY. That trident rises against him again, and he can feel his heart rate rise as it does. The God speaks. The God wields that weapon of his in his face. And Odysseus can only stand there as it glows.

Eyes screw shut. Expecting the worst despite the words.

Odysseus can feel it. The change.

Cold hitting skin where it did not before. Jewelry weighing his neck down. Stealing what warmth his skin has. For agonizing seconds, Odysseus can't bring himself to look. He knows. He knows what Poseidon's put him in to strip him of himself even further. Eyes are forced open. Forced to take in the 'gift' his God's given him because he knows if he does not, it'll only be worse. But it doesn't make it any less HUMILIATING. Hands can only go to the bottom of this skirt to fidget. He doesn't dare bring it lower to try and preserve modesty. Anything could be read as a sign of disrespect. Feeling its soft fabric, it reminded him of home. Of the sheets on his bed still waiting for him. Fingers feel the pearls embedded into the fabric. Different from the shells and pearls adorning his torso. The necklace given was long. Multiple rows leading to his pelvis, as three rows wrap around both sides to cling to his back. It felt suffocating. As if Poseidon himself was wrapped around him. Around his neck. Even the gloves and gladiator sandals weren't untouched. Turned a dark blue, waves now carved in them. Heaving them far more than chains ever could.

It doesn't stop him from asking why.

Only to be QUIETED. The mortal knew far too well of the Will of the Gods. How it's forever to be set; interwoven with Fate and Destiny. The same ruthlessness that provides his mercy. Jaw sets. The grip on the hem only grows tighter. Acting like a true servant, silenced and obeying. That smile only makes Odysseus grow colder. The Earth-Shaker continuously reverberating his core. Digging deeper, and deeper. Letting him sink more and more. Colder. And colder.

Until Poseidon says something that brings about more questions than it does answers.

... his... thighs? Odysseus can only blink in confusion. For once, a warmth greets him. Going immediately to his cheeks. This was the second time the Sea God has made him blush. And he can only curse himself for it. It seemed sick. It seemed objectifying. But what was a servant, if not an OBJECT? He all but willingly- all but eagerly— bestowed himself to be Poseidon's object. One who let live. One to let bleed. One to let weep.

The former king would then lower his skirt slightly after Poseidon turns around. His arms go to wrap around his waist, hugging himself- comforting himself, as he is all but forced to silently follow the God further into his abode.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Symbolism of Poseidon

🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊

One of the most severely under-respected gods in my opinion, Poseidon is the fearsome, ruthless, yet incredibly fatherly god of the oceans and the Maritime. He controls the oceans, brings bounties of fish to the anglers, and can protect or claim sailors of the seas. He is a father to many the young gods and goddesses, a particular ally of young virgin Artemis and her brother Apollo, protecting them from the wrath of Zeus through several tales of the Greek Mythos, as well as the father figure of beautiful Aphrodite, who came form his sea foam. Many things can be associated with him, so let’s take a look at some of the symbols of king Poseidon, shall we?

• 🐚 seashells and ocean curios: as the god of the seas, it’s no wonder that shells, scales, pearls, coral, and other ocean curiosities are timeless symbols of the king Poseidon. Many an altar dedicated to his might is peppered with spiraling and intricate shells, coral branches, and other ocean treasures!

• 🌊 Waves and seafoam: the story of Aphrodite is inherently, if not directly, connected to that of Poseidon’s. It was from his domain she was born of sea-foam, and their relationship would ultimately end in an affair later on in her story. Sea-foam is now widely associated with both her and king Poseidon, and waves are also connected to the two, often felt lapping at our feet as a symbol of love, in different forms from the two gods linked to it.

• 🐬 animals: it should come as no surprise that the vast number of creatures that paint the seas are all the epithets of Poseidon, from dolphins, to crabs, to octopus, the animals of the ocean blue are all symbolic of his domain and power. Some of the more well known are the dolphin, whom Poseidon used as messengers to deliver his word, and whom often followed him. Another is the seahorse, it is said the king created the odd little creature by combining the body of a horse with that of a fish, and that his chariot was led by four mighty seahorses!

• 🦪 foods: several foods can be attributed to Poseidon, after-all, the ocean, one of the biggest sources of food globally, is apart of his domain. Oysters, sushi, lobster, are all emblemic of the plethoric abundance his domain offers hungry humans willing to brave its tides!

• 💎 gemstones: a common theme with king Poseidon is that his domain truly does reflect him, and his symbolism is inherently connected to him. A few great examples of this are Larimar, a bright blue gemstone that resembles the sea and is named after dolphins, an important epiphet of the god. or aquamarine, a stone that in Ancient Greece was believed to be a talisman sent by Poseidon to shield sailors from the wrath of the sea! Pearls are also a safe bet, nothing is more representative of the wealth and prestige of the ocean than a pearl!

• 🔱 Other symbols: Poseidon’s symbols are widespread in many forms through green mythology, tridents are his infamous weapon of choice, a powerful tool wielded by the king of the ocean, as is lightning, a powerful energy he shares with Zeus.

🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊🔱🌊

Did you learn something new about king Poseidon? Let me know, and tell me how you worship him!

[ramayantika]

What right does a man have to dictate what rights another one of his own should have and shouldn't have?

And when we talk about mankind, the history of mankind, I hate to mention how I find the existence of women evade from these discussions and philosophy.

Even now in this glorious age of scientific development, I still see my women demand for something as basic as respect and independence to their lives.

And the goddesses laugh. That laughter is hysterical, it will shake all of you in your bones, will rattle your spines, and claim your soul. They laugh when they hear sleazy men talk about how any woman is theirs to violate for an immodest slip in her dress; how any woman is theirs to spit on for any skin that is left to bask under sun's warm glaze.

The goddesses's little daughters and little scholars clutch their little tridents, golden pots and books. The goddesses would descend earth and each of these men would seek to violate her brutally as the fantasies they hide deep dark in their hearts.

Such high talks about a golden past and glorious history of brave kingdoms and martyrdom fail when the descendants of these immortal tales of history's so called champions talk about how they cannot stop their wandering hands from grabbing her breasts, because she is out in the open, her body his to do as please, as long she doesn't belong from his home.

And then women in the end aren't goddesses. Men make fun of this fact. "You all aren't even the equivalent of the goddess's feet's dust and you seek to call yourself a goddess?"

It's true. Women cannot be goddesses. A single inappropriate glance at Kali's body would have her beheading the vile man's head, his skull amongst the many skulls decorating her garland atop her naked breasts.

Durga's golden face would sport blood of the men who seek to claim her, to possess her just because they want to trample a radiant woman who bows to none.

Alas! I stayed quiet that day. So did you. So did we. We did not become the goddesses our goddesses told us to be, and those men knew it, so they bound our hands by grass like an elephant tied to a tattered rope.

And Kali screams, Saraswati sings, Durga roars, Lakshmi walks away.

The witches were women. They keep on burning

[comicavalcade]

Submariner Summer 7

OK all, time for part 7 of the #SubmarinerSummer read through: Tales to Astonish #76, Uneasy Hangs The Head..! This cover is, frankly iconic. They even used it as the cover for the first Epic Collection. BTW, what do you all think of him in a cape?

Meanwhile on the title page, Namor stands boldly over a desperate Krang. It does not go well for Krang.

Krang having been dealt with, Namor turns his attention to Dorma, who still needs to be healed by the revitalizer before she dies. Vashti aids him as Namor monologues his way through the moment of truth

Dorma lives! Now the quest is truly ended! Now the prize is truly won!

With the trials all ended, its time to enjoy the fruits of their labor. Coronation time! And I have to say, a crown looks good on Lady Dorma

Namor sits the throne, crowned, holding Neptune's trident, with a royal red cape. Gotta be honest, never loved this Atlantean crown, but feel free to tell me if you disagree. Namor calls Dorma to his side, but not just her. Good ol' Vashti gets his due as well!

Then we see Krang in his cell, unrepentant and still plotting, even as Namor banishes him from Atlantis.

This pretty much wraps up the Quest for Neptune's Trident.

Of course, there is no happily ever after, for Namor or Atlantis, and the very next day (! geez, couldn't even give them a weekend??) catastrophe strikes. But not just any catastrophe...as usual, the surfacers are causing destruction to the environment and Namor must deal with it

This issue is essentially a quick wrap-up and epilogue, then tees up the next story arc, so its a bit neither here nor there. But its always fun seeing our heroes get their rewards, and we're left with something of a cliffhanger again as we wonder what waits on the surface.

So, next up on Submariner Summer, its Tales to Astonish #77: To Walk Amongst MEN!

[atopvisenyashill]

Harwin being sent by his liege lord on what was always meant to be a quick if difficult task, just stop the Mountain from reaving on the King's justice, that turns into this nightmare of a life where he spends years away from home, away from civilization, away from safety and stability and sanity, to watch everyone die around him, to watch magic he barely understands bring the man he's sworn to serve back to life again and again, because there's nothing else to do but keep fighting and hope you're making a difference and not fucking everything up and making it worse-

and then Arya shows up and she's just as precocious and wild and underfoot as she's always been, and she's alive and mostly safe and traumatized sure but she's in one piece, she's fared not that badly compared to some of the little girls he's seen, and I imagine it felt like a small miracle to have her there, just for a moment, proof that he can do what he was tasked with and keep people safe BUT

then Arya escapes and barely any time later, he's coming across Catelyn's naked, water logged body on the Trident and there's a direwolf guarding the body so it's not nibbled on that leaves the moment it hears them coming, and he's begging Thoros to bring her back, bring his liege's lady back, bring Arya's poor mother back, but all he can do is cry and watch as Beric kneels besides her, kisses her awake like something out of a fairy tale, then falls to the side, dead at last, as something much worse that wears Catelyn's face rises in his place. What can Harwin do?

He continues to serve.