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HERA: who is this
ZEUS: who is what
HERA: who is this naked youth
ZEUS: youre going to have to be more specific
HERA: the one at your feet
ZEUS: oh
him
what about him
HERA: where did he come from
ZEUS: where did any of us come from
you know?
could be from the sea
or my own head
or spit up by an angry snake
hard to tell
HERA: did you kidnap him for sex
ZEUS: what
no
what?
HERA: did he kidnap you for sex
ZEUS: no
he’s
my cup guy
this is Ganymede, Official Cup Holder
he holds the cups
HERA: really
ZEUS: youve been saying forever that we need a guy to hold all the cups we use
HERA: i’ve never said that
ZEUS: someones been saying it
i just thought id save us all a little trouble
HERA: why isn’t he holding any cups
ZEUS: what
HERA: if he’s the cup holder why doesn’t he have a cup to offer me
i’m thirsty
ZEUS: I’m
EARTHQUAKE
[ZEUS raises his hands and all of Mount Olympus begins to shake violently. HERA is trapped underneath a falling rock]
ZEUS: sorry babe
cant hear you over all this earthquake

Dirtbag Zeus on thetoast.net (via laurencombeferre)

disneybombshell I couldn’t help myself

(via the-green-witch)

"you’ve been saying forever that we need a guy to hold all our cups"

"um, darling, we already have a guy for that"

"…"

"our daughter?"

"…"

"Hebe???"

"….. DAUGHTER MEET YOUR REPLACEMENT"

(via disneybombshell)

getsby:

y’all are like “ooh everyone is beautiful” “ooh everyone deserves to feel hot” and then three seconds later you’re making fun of people who cover their acne with makeup and people who haven’t mastered winged eyeliner yet like grow the hell up you don’t get to pick and choose times to be body positive

This is where the mountains crumbled
for the first time.
This is where we found a pile of rocks
and pretended we knew something about rebuilding.
Are you still sorry about any of it?
Let’s forget about the candles we left on all night.
Let’s forget about all those clouds we ran from.
Baby, the storm was us the whole time,
and you have to promise to tell me when the
monsters stop showing up here.
I can’t remember the last time I was destroyed,
but I have a feeling it was all in my head.
Maybe these poems were never about how many
people got their hands on my heart,
but whose blood was on my own fingertips.
I don’t know what the war tasted like,
but I remember the graveyard after.
If I survived before, it wasn’t the right way.
If I survived before,
it means I can do it again differently.
Do these pieces of wood everywhere
means someone is building is something or
someone is destroying something?
Maybe the important thing is that it doesn’t matter.
Maybe the important thing is that it is our choice
what to make of it.
Y.Z, the reminders we never had (via rustyvoices)

(Source: psych-facts)

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