#bear's hymn

[onbearfeet]

A puzzle for the Tumblr sleuths

So today (6/29/2023) I was handed this piece of paper and asked if I could read the penciled writing on the second page.

I can't. And it turns out to be a bit of a mystery.

So, context. The ink handwriting belongs to my paternal grandfather, who developed a very specific hand as a finance officer for the US Army. I can read that easily enough. It seems to be the lyrics for a hymn (the "city four-square" is presumably heaven) ... but it's not any hymn I've ever heard, nor one my dad could find in his giant internet hymn index (yeah, that's a thing). Originally we thought he'd written down the lyrics so he could sing them in church, but now it's looking more like he ... wrote his own hymn? He wasn't known to write music, but he was a deeply religious man who taught Sunday School for decades, so maybe? Weird that none of us ever heard about it, though.

(And hey, hi, before you dunk on the guy for his religiosity, this is the grandfather who made sure, after his son married a half-Jewish woman, that his very Jewish-looking granddaughter knew all about the Holocaust and that Nazis are to be FUCKED UP AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY, do not pass go, do not collect 200 Nazi dollars, especiallyif they were going after Jews. He's why I started that riot in the third grade. He also considered participating in the desegregation of the Army to be one of the greatest honors of his life. The man wasn't perfect, but for a dude born in 1918, he was TRYING. I get religious trauma, I HAVE religious trauma, but Granddad generally tried to be one of the less shitty ones.)

More context. This piece of paper was found in a box of old family photos and documents that Dad's sister sent us with the explanation that "your baby pictures are in there". Some of the images Dad recognizes; some contain people and places that ring absolutely no bells. (It happens when you're an Army brat raised all over the world, 70-odd years ago. He doesn't have any particular memory problems, but nobody remembers everything after 70 years.)

The pencil handwriting is NOT Granddad's, nor Grandma's. Dysgraphia kinda runs in the family, though, so it could be a relative. The only candidate we could think of was Granddad's sister, Alice, from whom we have no handwriting samples, but Granddad and Alice didn't get along AT ALL and I don't know why she'd have been writing on his piece of paper. They were hardly ever in the same physical space after about 1940.

Additional context: Granddad was in the Army from 1940 to 1960 and moved around A LOT, so very few things got kept from pre-1960. Thus, either this paper is post-1960, or it was really important, or both. Granddad died in 2000, and his arthritis fucked up his handwriting before that, so I would estimate the ink text was created no later than 1990. Going by the color and condition of the paper, I would guess it's significantly older than that.

I don't know who put it in the box with the photos; it might have been my aunt, or Alice (who was close with my aunt), or literally anyone else. We're hoping the pencil text will explain the ink.

Oh. And Granddad was absolutely privy to some wild shit in the Army, so there is a slim but nonzero chance this is bizarro spy nonsense. I know he turned down one job offer from the CIA, but that story always had the air of "they already knew me from that thing that time". I very much doubt this is spy shit, but you never exactly know. Every few years I find out something new and insane about my grandparents.

So, uh ... anyone know how I might get some help reading this thing?

P.S. If you need something to call him other than Granddad, feel free to use JB or his Army nickname--Bear. Yeah, I know. But dude was a GIGANTIC BEARLIKE HUMAN. The name fit.

[little-demy]

"You ... Can you see me? You can? Oh, you can! You, you can see me, aren’t you, little one?"

Recently I started writing OC imsert fic, because I can't stop myself from being self indulgent regarding things I enjoy, pretty much that

Canon divergent, retelling, fix it fic in which Ghost met an odd shade before they arrived in Dirtmouth. Thus starts their journey together throughout Hallownest.

More below!

Read them here!

[honeybyte]

the tragedy of Denver Maldonado / Harbinger

[winchesterhymns]

It's pathetic, I know

A jealous fool who won't let go

If I was sorry for my actions

Would I ever stoop so low?

Got no reason to live

And I've got nothing left to give you

But my love, love, fuck it, this is love

- This is Love by Air Traffic Controller

Dare I say, Dean after Sam goes off to Stanford and he feels like he's been left behind, all he had to give was his love, but that wasn't enough to make Sam stay, and now he's jealous of everyone Sam chose over him

All Dean could give his baby brother was his own fucked up version of love, and all Sam could do was accept it, especially since neither of them had a good role model for what familial love was supposed to look like or anybody else to love them, but what happened when Sam understood that what they did was not normal? The kissing, the intimate touching, the being so close they were practically in each other's skin was NOT normal and now Sam knew that, but Dean was left all alone in the dark.

So Sam leaves, and Dean has no idea why. Yes it's because of the hunts, because of all the fighting with their dad, but as far as Dean knows, his brother hates him, so Dean can't help but to feel responsible for his baby brother's departure. Dean was the problem, not any of the ghosts or supernatural shit they fought on the daily. No, it was Dean.

Sam was Dean's whole world, the only reason he was still breathing was because he took care of Sammy, he protected him, shielded him. But now that's over, that's no more and Dean? Dean is no one now.

[parxgender]

cub/he/hy/it/she pronouns flags 2/2

androgyne / bigenderfluid / transhet nonbinary bisexual / bear / polyamorous

[seekingtheosis]

Reflections on the Feast of Exaltation of the Holy Cross - September 14

Delve into the profound significance of the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross in Orthodox Christianity. Explore its historical context, theological implications, and relevance in modern times.

In the name of God the Father, Christ Jesus His Son and the Holy Spirit, One True God. Amen. But God forbid that I should glory, except in the cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified to me and I to the world. Galatians 6:14 Dear brothers and sisters in Christ On September 14 of every year, the Church as a whole celebrates the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross.…

[mx-monster]

Thinking horny thoughts about Minotaurs so here’s a lazy Drabble

Cw: m/f, breeding kink

Male!minotaur god of agricultural x Female!human offering

your villages crops are failing. If it continues there won’t be enough to store for winter. In the face of a grueling winter and the real possibility of starvation, the villagers turn to the god of agriculture. They choose you as the offering. They lathering you in sweet smelling oils and dress you in the finest scarlet dress the village possesses. Gold necklaces are clasped around your neck, silver bracelets slipped onto your wrists. A crown of wildflowers rested on your brow.

You’re paraded through the village while neighbors, family, and friends gather on the streets chanting prayers and singing hymns to catch the God’s attention.

You’re left standing alone in a barren field One of the many your village had tried and failed to cultivate. The light of the full moon bathing you in its silvery light.

It doesn’t take long before He’s towering over you. He was magnificent.

“Do you know what this ritual entails?”

What do you say to a God? How do you say it? So you don’t answer. At least, not with words. Without looking away from the God before you, you lower yourself to the ground. Dress pooled around your waist, you spread your thighs and bear your sex to His hungry eyes.

He spends hours between your legs. Alternating between opening you up on his thick fingers and dragging his large, hot tongue along the seam of your cunt. He pushes you to the edge of ecstasy, only to reel you back in.

Your thighs are slick with the proof of your need. You feel wetness steadily leak from your cunt onto your ass. He slides his hips in between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your slick entrance.

“You’re ready. Know that if we do this I will spill inside. My seed will take and you will become pregnant. Do you understand?”

You nod. God, you understood. You wanted it more than you wanted anything else.

“Say it.”

“I want it, please. I-I need it. I need it so bad,” you sobbed, frustrated tears streaming down your cheeks. He had spent so long teasing you, you’d absolutely die without release. You nearly screamed in relief when He began slowly fucking into you. He was so thick. Even with all the preparation you felt every inch of Him splitting you open.

“Such a greedy cunt you have,” He grunted, “taking me so well. Begging for my cock so prettily. I’ll give it to you. Give you anything. Everything.”

It doesn’t take long before you felt an orgasm rip it’s way through you. Your vision blacks out as a wrecked scream tore from your throat. You felt his cock pulse, spilling hot seed into your starved cunt.

When you finally came back to your body you noticed that the once barren field was now filled with healthy vegetation.

“Your village will one day be the capital of a mighty and prosperous kingdom. Our children’s children will sit at it’s head and one day pass their crown to the heads of their children. But that is a conversation for later,” he pulled you close, enveloping you in a strong embrace, “now, we rest.”

[kalisbaby]

“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

sidi, grandpa, every meadow, every flower, every tree, every grove, every olive, every orange, every plastic rose covered with dust on an abandoned counter, every portrait of a martyr hanging on a wall since forever, every gravestone, every sura, every verse, every hymn, every ḥajj mabrur wa sa ‘yy mashkur, may your ḥajj and effort be rewarded, every yalla tnam yalla tnam, every lullaby, every red teddy bear on every Valentine’s, every clothesline, every hot skirt, every joyful dress, every torn trousers, every days-spun sweater, every button, every nail, every song, every ballad, every mirror, every peg, every bench, every shelf, every dream, every illusion, every hope, every disappointment, every hand holding another hand, every hand alone, every scattered thought, every beautiful thought, every terrifying thought, every whisper, every touch, every street, every house, every room, every balcony, every eye, every tear, every word, every letter, every name, every voice, every name, every house, every name, every face, every name, every cloud, every name, every rose, every name, every spear of grass, every name, every wave, every grain of sand, every street, every kiss, every image, every eye, every tear, every yamma, every yaba, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, all…

[deermouth]

Let Me Speak First Of Revelations And Next Of Dark Deceit Then I'll Speak Of Champions Of Lovers, Gods, And Beasts My Song Is Long And Twisted It Worms, It Winds, It Wends It Carries Few, It Drowns Many And Those I Love, It Rends My Song Has Taken Hold Of Me It Grips My Tongue, My Throat My Voice Cries Truths I Never Knew And To Fight Is Just To Choke So Let Me Dwell Eternal And In Ruined Flesh Ascend For My Song Has No Beginning... And The Current Flows On Without End If I Could Trace With Bloodless Fingers If My Hands Could Shape The Flow I'd Bear This Song To The Precipice And Rend Us Both To Dust Below We'd Both Go Plunging Downwards One Final Fall From Grace I'd Howl, I'd Scream In Victory And We'd Be Gone Without A Trace But We'll Never Be Rid Of Each Other My Song, My Sorrow and I So I'll Bear It Trembling Onwards To Drift On, To Dream, To Die And Where My Final Footsteps Fall Something Dreadful Shall Arise Its Gaze Shall Fall O'er Trembling Plains Its Wrath Shall Scald The Sun And Where Its Howling Forebears Walked Some Day There Shall Be None The Wise Man Knows The Taste Of Rot All Lovers Part As Dust And Even The Kings In Their Bowers Of Steel Shall Wither In Ruin And Rust This Rotten World Shall Wheeze Its Last This Hateful Hymn Shall Cease But As My Last Breath Splits My Throat I'll Wheeze Through Splintered Teeth One Last Song Of Revelations Of Prophets' Dark Deceptions Of Love, And Gods' Defeat Of Love, And Gods' Defeat

The Silt Verses (2021-2024), chapter titles

[ofstarsandskies]

@sakuradreamerz for a finally not-Lulu SMT IV AU Starter

"So... you're a Royal Messenger I hear?" Ludger asked through his best fake-it-till-you-make-it smile his reserves allowed. "Have you ever, um, sent anything weird in your opinion? N-Not like, 'I'd never show this to my parents'! More... 'I'm pretty sure this is a massive threat and I can only hope it doesn't cause a massive war'."

Wow, that didn't sound suspicious and accusatory at all...! Backpedaling engaged, "S-Sorry, it's just... I've been wanting to learn about the inner working of Nohr! My home is very, very, very remote-- it doesn't even have an official name! So now that I'm a free dr--bird, I feel I ought to learn more about my home country!"

[evilios]

🏺 On Fear of Gods.

Specific religion: ancient Greek polytheism.

Unsourced claims that "actual fear of the Gods was frowned upon in ancient times" remind me badly of the "everything before Christianity was good and now we have fear instilled in us by Evil Monotheism" and it bothers me so much so why don't we look at our sources.

I don't think it's wise to look at just poetic sources for votive claims, though poetry does show us another perspective on the feared and respected Gods, so I am using Homeric Hymns (trans. by Apostolos N. Athanassakis, *just my personal preference) as a source. Previous commentators in [ this post ] have already mentioned that many festivals, such as the beloved by many Thargelia, were festivals to appease Gods and shoo away the dangers awaiting old communities.

Let us look at cases of the Gods causing fear in the very people that do respect them:

Awe, reverence, and pale fear seized the mother; and she yielded her seat to the goddess and asked her to sit.

(to Demeter, 190-191)

All night long they propitiated the glorious goddess, quaking with fear, and as soon as dawn appeared they told the truth to Keleos, whose power reached far, as the fair-wreathed goddess Demeter had ordered them.

(to Demeter, 292-295)

Demeter is among feared Goddesses not just because she is amazing and deeply awed (though she is); her wrath brings devastation. Appeasing Demeter out of fear of what happens if you don't is simply a norm of the society her cult thrived in: one reliant on agricultural luck.

When you are here you shall be mistress of everything that lives and moves; your honors among the immortals shall be the greatest, and those who wrong you shall always be punished, if they do not appease your spirit with sacrifices, performing sacred rites and making due offerings.

(to Demeter, 364-369)

Persephone's becoming as the queen of the underworld is marked, with the words put into the mouth of God of the dead himself, by this statement: they will honor you or they will be punished. Aside from being a sweet thing to say to your newly-made-queen wife, it's a reflection of an ancient belief that non-appeased Gods are terrifying.

Through the precious tripods he entered his temple and lighted a flame to guide the ships, enveloping all of Krisa in light; and the wives and fair-girded daughters of the Krisians raised a cry at the radiance of Phoibos, for he instilled in them great fear.

(to Apollo, 443-447)

Apollo is not at all posing danger to these people. In fact, a few lines below, he wonders why they hide away in fear and instills courage in their hearts so they may speak. But he is feared for such is the nature of a God. His voice is "loud", his presence is "mighty". Like other immortals, he overwhelms you with the very presence.

When he saw Aphrodite’s neck and lovely eyes, he was seized with fear and turned his gaze aside.

(to Aphrodite, 181-182)

I should provide context: Anchises feels fear upon realizing that Aphrodite is divine. The very fact alone is enough to instill this primal reaction in him, because she is so much above him.

Now the god became a fearsome, loud-roaring lion in the bow of the ship and then amidships a shaggy bear he caused to appear as a portent. The bear reared with fury and the lion scowled dreadfully on the topmost bench.

(to Dionysus, 44-48)

Dionysus is probably the most obvious God to be afraid of: he turns into terrifying creatures most often, instills frenzy, and causes disruption and desolation if he's displeased frequently. Most people know the account of Pentheus or the story of Minyas' daughters. Dionysus is a notoriously fearful God.

A lot of mythical narratives serve to instill fear of misdemeanor, it is not a thing that only existed in Christianity: the idea of hubris is the idea of not crossing the clear-cut line between mortal and divine. If you do, you are punished as so many were, in myth. Ancient Gods are feared while being respected and beloved, those are not opposites of each other because the divine beings are not human despite sometimes appearing human-like. They are forces of nature, patrons of inter-human relationships, ones who control how things are done. And it just happens so that if things are done wrongly, they let humans know through signs, messengers, or punishment depending on the wrongdoing.

There's cultural background behind religions that cannot be overlooked just because it reminds you of aspects of Christianity and to say that recorded aspect of fear within many religions is an invention of Christian faith is simply disrespectful to these religions.

I'm not going to police your personal religious practice, this is not my business; so please do not make it about that. But there's a difference between having no fear in religion personally and claiming that it's historically a "Christian invention" that did not exist in some magical glorious ancient past.

[theoihalioistuff]

Do you have any information on misconceptions about Hades & Persephone? I'm not well read but all the portrayals of them as a #goals power couple doesn't seem quite right to me (also am I losing my mind or did Persephone get girlbossified?) I could be totally wrong of course! There's a lot to learn in the world. Hope your day is good ^-^

Hi Anon! Sorry for taking so long to reply, (I'm in the middle of exam season and have tons of work to do T~T)

There's a lot to unpack here, as this is basically the most popular greek myth nowadays and one of the most affected by misinformation and people spreading their headcannons as facts. Broadly, in every surviving account their marriage is a forced abduction, where Persephone is very much unwilling. For example in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (our earliest and most complete source): she cries out in fear for help as she's seized and dragged away under the earth "So he, that Son of Cronos, of many names, who is Ruler of Many and Host of Many, was bearing her away by leave of Zeus on his immortal chariot — his own brother’s child and all unwilling", is mournful and despondent until she gladdens at the news of being brought back to the surface and reunited with her mother, is "grieved to tell the tale" of her abduction, and finally is not so much tricked as force-fed the pommegranate "I sprang up at once for joy; but he secretly put in my mouth sweet food, a pomegranate seed, and forced me to taste against my will."

On the other hand, it's true that their marriage is one of the few where they are presented as standing on equal footing and ruling jointly (compared to, for example, Zeus and Hera, where she's generally very much subordinate to him), to the point where Persephone frequently eclipses her husband as sovereign in myth (sending forth the dead in the Odyssey, recieving Herakles when he goes to the underworld, permitting the return of Sisyphos and Alkestis, etc.) and it's widely theorised that Persephone predates Hades in her role as ruler of the underworld. Also in several parts of Magna Graecia their marriage seems to have displaced Zeus and Hera's as the ideal model in cult.

I get the appeal many feel for the myth (though also frankly sometimes get a bit tired of it), but regarding original sources I would certainly hesitate to call a kidnapping and a forced marriage a #goals power couple. As for Persephone getting "girlbossified", I completely agree and find it really disappointing how in most so called "feminist retellings" the only sort of shallow "empowerment" she gets is "fiercely stricking a pose and looking cunty in black next to her bad-boy misunderstood sweetie of a goth/millionaire fifty-shades-of-grey husband."

All that aside, for a great retelling that in my opinion successfully presents Hades and Persephone as a compelling love story and skillfully avoids the pitfalls where most other retellings fall short, I can't recommend @a-gnosis comics enough. They're really well researched, original, beautifully drawn and peopled with actually well written characters (non-perfect, endearing, interesting, etc.) instead of 2D caricatures. She balances a delightful romance without ignoring and addressing the beats of the original myth (as much as possible anyway, no easy feat in my opinion), and all her comics are free to read on her tumblr, deviantart and comicsfury. I really recommend them to anyone interested!

[yandere-wishes]

⋆⭒˚．⋆ Ｄｉｄｎ＇ｔ Ｍｅａｎ Ｔｏ Ｓａｙ Ｉ Ｌｏｖｅ Ｙｏｕ ⋆⭒˚．⋆

⋆｡‧˚˚ Yandere!Acolyte Men x Reader ˚˚‧｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡♡ 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝐿𝓎𝓇𝒾𝒸𝓈 ♡ ˚｡⋆

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽☀︎☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

✩彡 Master Sol - Bittersuite | استاد سول

I can't fall in love with you.

He's choking on his guilt again. Scorching memories reciting hymns of fire and black smoke. He can not love, he can not pine, his romances always end in doom. End in bitter blood drenching stars and ghosts scattered across solar systems. Sol can not love you, he must not love you. You're safer out of his reach.

L'amour de ma vie.

He wants to be the one, etching galaxies across your heart and spilling stars into your bones with every kiss. Your smile dips his world in midday pink, all roses and sun blooms. Your voice trails after him, haunting halls and abandoned training rooms. Your name sticks inside his throat, sticky caramel abrading his tongue to be let loose. Love of his life.

Love so bittersweet.

There are other universes, he likes to think, where his mistakes are little and he has the right to hold you in his arms. You call out to him during missions, all epithets and formality, he longs to hear to say 'Sol'. just 'Sol'.

Longs to kiss you in the dark where his memories can't reach him. You're so bittersweet…

"(Y/n)…"

⭒⭒✮ Yord Fandar - Halley’s Comet | یورد فندار

I don't want it.

He chews on the thought of you, sour under his tongue. He watches you parry under the stars, saber humming orthodox hymns. He can spill lies from his lips like coronal rain. But the confession never sticks, he shouldn't want this, want you.

And I don't want to want you.

In his dreams he's more honest, leaving a galaxy of love bites across the vast expansion of your essence. Kissing the dark corners of your eyes and sucking tenderly on the pearls of your spine, open-mouthed when he reaches your nape. Curling fingers in the nebula of your hair. You sing his name so freely it has him seeing stars.

But you're all it takes to break a promise.

He kisses you, against the temple wall, drinking in your devotion like elysian ichor. The stars in your eyes explode, whispering tenets between each breath. He feels the force reverberating between your bones, holy, ethereal. This is wrong, fundamentally, spiritual, he doesn't want to want you…But he has to.

"I, I need you."

༻｡｡☾ Qimir - Bossa Nova | قیمیر

Love when it makes you lose your bearings.

His love is an asteroid field, cataclysmic and labyrinthine, always dodging bullets aimed point blank at tattered hearts. He's always caught wondering who's truly lost. You or him. Swimming through wandering stars and pretending it's just a force-willed romance. But love doesn't lie to keep one compliant. Caging you between quasars and stella novae.

Some information is not for sharing.

"Eyes down, you've not yet earned to see my face"

You obey, little lamb that you are. Eyes tracing the ebony of his boots. He wonders if he should tell you, grasp your chin, and force his mask off. Shatter your world with his eyes. But you're too cute like this, pining after your master and playing little lovers with Qimir. It's torture most sweetly, he traces the crown of your hair with metal instead of lips, whispering sabbath shibboleths into your head. His love is red in every way.

A lot can change in twenty seconds. A lot can happen in the dark.

The cave is pitch dark, hidden from prying moonlight. It's in the dark that Sith revel in the dark that they renew. Qimir knows some things can only be confessed in blood. That's why he pushes the jagged edges of stars between your lips. Apex of your throat in hand forcing you beneath him. You giggle stardust as he marrs your bones, kissing cuts and open wounds. He lets his mask slide off, to the tune of your heartbeat. Savoring its clank and all it entails. Your shock and fear taste delicious on his tongue as does your fruitless struggle. He kisses you again all passion and possession. He likes you better when you taste of horror and shattered realities.

"You belong to me..."

✧࿐ Torbin - Birds of a Feather | توربین

We should stick together.

You pull him through the temple, laughing as you run away from another angry master. Torbin follows lovestruck, he sees peace in your eyes, in your smile. Hears it in the candance of your voice. He kisses your knuckles when you beat him at saber practice and passes you heart-shaped sticky notes during lessons. He wants to be here with you forever. Together in an eternal blush.

 I'd never think I wasn't better alone.

He whispers your name between breaths, kissing each syllable. He traces your face in the stars, cursing the remote planets he's been sent to. He misses you, but the phrase is never quite worded right, his master can never know, never understand the rhyme behind his eagerness.

Home, home, home. He repeats the words with frantic reverence. Home is where the lights paint you in their heavenly glow. Where you hold his hand and kiss fireflies across his cheek. Home is you, it's always been you…

I'll love you 'til the day that I die.

You trace the scar across his eye, dejected. Torbin kisses the hollow of your palm, basking in your presence. He made it back to you, that's all that matters. Not the witches or the massacred planet. Not the disappointment of his master or Sol's new apprentice. You're the only thing that matters to him, the only thing that has ever mattered.

"Stay with me forever my love."

Happy final week of the Acolyte!! It's been a great 7 weeks ~💜

[sammyunhinged]

To Ares

One of my favorite Homeric Hymns because of how unusual it is. It serves to remind us that Ares is a protector, a leader, and a guide.

Supremely strong Ares,

golden-helmeted chariot-rider,

tough-hearted, shield-carrying

guardian of cities,

bronze in armor, brave of hand,

the tireless, spear-sharp

rampart of Olympos,

father of war-winning Victory,

the ally of Themis.

You are a tyrant to the rebellious,

a leader to the most just,

you carry the staff off manhood,

you whirl your disc of bright fires across the sky

among the seventh tracks for the constellations

where blazing horses bear you forever

beyond the third orbit.

Hear me, helper of mortals,

whose gift is the courage of youth.

From high above, shine down upon our lives

Your gentle light and your warrior’s power,

so I may drive away bitter cowardice from my head

and subdue my soul’s beguiling impulse,

so I may restrain the shrill rage in my heart,

which excites me to charge

into the chilling din of battle.

Rather, blessed god, give me the courage

to stand my ground within the safe laws of peace,

shunning hostility and hatred

and the fate of a violent death.

Translation by Jules Cashford. From 4th or 5th century Roman Empire.

[marlshroom]

its not a hymn its not a song

[ID: an illustration of the kageyama brothers from mob psycho 100. they are standing side by side, facing the viewer, leaning into each other slightly in a half-hug with a fond expression. mob is wearing a sweater vest and t-shirt, and ritsu is wearing a hoodie. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

that you grew up singing in church

[ID: an illustration of dimple and mob from mob psycho 100. dimple is in his god form and his carrying a passed-out mob on his back with a slight smirk. mob is wearing his monkey shirt. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

this ones a little bit louder and its a little bit worse

[ID: an illustration of mob and reigen from mob psycho 100. their backs are turned from the viewer, and reigens arm is wrapped around mobs shoulder. reigens dress shirt is tattered and mob is wearing his middle school uniform. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

its all- its not- its all- its nothing

[ID: an illustration of mob and teru. mob on the right is facing teru to the left of him and flexing his muscles with a bashful expression. teru is facing mob on his right and holding mobs forearm, looking at mob with a happy expression. teru has long hair, earrings, a clip holding his hair behind his ear, and is wearing a cardigan with dress shirt and tie. mob is wearing his gym shirt. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

its something harder to find

[ID: an illustration of ritsu and shou. ritsu, to the left of shou is grabbing shous arm, while shou, faces over his shoulder at ristu with a sly expression. shou is wearing his typical bomber jacket outfit and ritsu is wearing a hoodie with a jacket on top. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

the thought of biting n a bullet

[ID: an illustration of serizawa and his mother. serizawa and his mom are in a tight embrace, with serizawa collapsed on the ground holding his mom, and his mob hunched over, bearing the weight of her son, her hands gripping serizawa's clothes and his hair. serizawa is wearing his claw uniform, and his mother is wearing a sweater, pants, and slippers. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

shot out of sight and out of mine

[ID: an illustration of mob, teru, reigen, serizawa, tome, dimple, ritsu and shou. tome, to the very left, is wearing her highschool uniform. she is leaning over, looking to the right of her with a smirk. serizawa is looking at the viewer with a slightly strained smile, wearing his spirits and such uniform. reigens body is facing the left, while his head is turned towards mob. he is wearing his normal suit and tie and has a slight smile. mob in the center is facing directly toward the viewer with a smile, wearing a turtle neck. dimple, in his ghost form, is above and to the right of mob, putting a bunny sign behind his head. teru is leaning into mob, with his hand around his shoulder and winking towards the viewer. he had his long hair, and is wearing a shirt and jacket. ritsu has his hand on mobs back, wearing a shirt over a long sleeve shirt. he is looking at mob with a slight smile. shou on the very right has his arm resting on ritsus shoulders, facing the viewer with a wide grin. he is wearing his usual outfit and has a buzz cut. they are colored in a flat yellow, with red radiating from their points of contact. the background is solid white. END ID]

it's not just anything...

inspired by this song