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trying on a metaphor

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@ranting-always

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i need to know every language immediately
"it's raining. reminded me of you"
ok kiss me then : /
i regret every single thing i ever said
i said those things too softlyđ¶
How To Become a Myth
- Nikita Gill
1.
Fly into the sun, defy anyone who tells you that you cannot love Him.
The ocean will break your fall. even if it is by drowning you.
(You knew he would burn you, Icarus you simply thought he was worth the risk)
2.
Get stolen by a God away from the meadows you once knew, wood nymph.
Become Queen of the Underworld. Turn the land of the dead into home.
(You knew didnât you, Kore? How to survive you would become Persephone?)
3.
Turn yourself into an echo of the person you used to be, then fall in love with him.
And when he doesnât notice you Instead falls in love with himself, pine away.
(Narcissus could never love you, dear Echo. Not the way he loved himself.)
4.
Become an indestructible monster. Become the thing that warriors speak of in hushed breaths in terror.
When you finally do die at someoneâs hands make sure it is glorious.
(Theseus was the only end worthy of you, Minotaur.)
5.
When the Sea God assaults you, turn people into stone. Turn Gods into stone.
Turn anything that threatens you ever again into stone.
(Medusa, Athena turned you monster to protect you. She took your beauty to give you power.)
6.
Adore her so much that the world grieves with your broken heartâs song.
Almost save her from the Underworld. Almost.
(Orpheus, all you had to do was not turn to look at her.)
7.
Marry a God King.
Watch him betray you over and over again. Become bitter and cruel.
Recognise he will never respect you. Promise to make him suffer till he does.
(Hera, I know why you couldnât leave him, it was all for love, it was all for love)
8.
Become an undefeated warrior in a war where you lose everything you love.
Even the one you love most of all. Donât realise it. Keep fighting.
(Achilles, Patroclusâ love would have made you immortal anyway.)
9.
Be unhappy in your marriage. Find a dangerous Prince who promises you a real love.
Run away with him
Do not think of the consequences.
(Helen, you didnât just launch a thousand ships you set kingdoms ablaze.)
10.
Destroy everyone you love in a murderous rage.
Go on a journey hoping it will kill you
(Hercules tell the truth, you hoped those tasks would be your destruction didnât you?)
Addendum:
Donât become a myth. Stay human.
Stay mortal.
It is less wounds.
I promise. It is less wounds.

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And thatâs the story of how I was diagnosed with adhd
HASSHASGSAHA
head not empty. too many fictional characters wreaking havoc in it.
No because we need to talk about how absolutely hilarious it was when Patroclus kissed Achilles in front of Briseis.
Like please imagine yourself as Briseis. Youâre living in your small farming village outside of Troy with your family. Thereâs been talk of war, but not just any war, a war thatâs going to spoken about for centuries. A terrible, bloody thing where men will die by the thousands. Youâve all heard the whispers on the wind- The Greeks have Achilles. The greatest warrior of your time. The boy who canât be killed.
They descend upon the farming villages first, as you all knew they would. Itâs strategic- Dismantle the working class and the royalty will follow. Youâre holed up somewhere in a barn with a group of children behind you, some of them your siblings, some of them family friends, when the men enter the building. You know what that means. If theyâre taking the time to search and loot the village, all the able bodied men are dead. Your father is dead. You donât have time to process it before one of the Greeks pulls you to your feet and carries you away. He leaves the children. Youâre the only one old enough to be considered a prize.
Youâre standing on a podium, clothes tattered and covered in mud. Your hair is wind swept and tangled. Your hands are bound and thereâs a thousand eyes tracing your body. You know why youâre here; your mother had pulled you aside a few nights before the war started and sat you down. She told you about the girls who get taken. She needed you to be prepared- as prepared as you could be. You think youâre going to this barbaric looking King whoâs much taller than you and much broader than you- Terrifying, loud, and proud. Some of the worst things a man can be.
But then youâre turned in the other direction, to face another leader, a Prince to be exact, and you feel the color drain from your face. Theyâve spoken of bright blonde hair and a nimble body, green eyes and bloodied hands. Youâd seen him in your nightmares. Achilles. Aristos Achaion. The savior of the Greeks, kills a hundred men by the day. He wants you and heâs not taking no for an answer. Not only are princes known for their appetites but heâs young, younger than the rest by years, and you know that only means he'll be all the more ravenous. The rumors say that he's half god, and the stories of his presence on the battlefield speak enough of his stamina- He won't tire easily like the old Kings might.
Now youâre in his tent, you and him and another boy. His advisor, maybe? His right hand, at least, to be so comfortable in the Prince's tent. That boy approaches you slowly, timidly, speaking gibberish to you in hushing tones. Did you miss something? Did Achilles bring you back as a present for this man? Why was Achilles still here, then? To ensure you behave? As if you werenât equally terrified of them both. The companion touches you and itâs gentle. Your mother told you it was a rarity and you should be eternally grateful if theyâre gentle. Be gracious, she said, but you canât bring yourself to do it. You flinch away, lash out. Thereâs a pause, a few more words, and he tries again. You kick away.
He huffs. Heâs annoyed. Frustrated. Youâre making it worse for yourself, you know you are. He straightens up, glancing around the tent- for what, you donât know, and then suddenly, heâs grabbing Achilles by the shirt and dragging him into a kiss. A kiss. Not the way your father greets his friends, but the way your father greets your mother. Itâs hard pressed, white knuckle grip releasing from a wrinkled tunic. And now Achilles, Aristos Achaion, the boy who canât be killed, is standing there with reddened cheeks and eyes wide as saucers.
And now this companion of his, this much smaller, much less proud boy, this boy whoâs not suited for war in any regard, stands there with nothing shameful on his face, and motions between the two of them at you, as if to say- This man you fear, this half god, this man who kills by the hundreds, this man who will kill multitudes by the time he dies, this boy who canât be killed, he answers to me and we wonât hurt you.
man i loved this part and i actually did laugh when he literally just kissed him. but this â was so prettily written
hope ur ok, olivia rodrigo // @fairycosmos via tumblr // seven, taylor swift // hozier via twitter // p.s. i still love you, jenny han // enough for you, olivia rodrigo //Â @grocerycores via tumblr // @frenchtoastlesbian via tumblr // hope ur ok, olivia rodrigo
this thread feels like listening to a song after a long time and still remembering the exact lyrics and beats and everything while you sit there unhinged and mumbling every word while the shock in your eyes for remembering it all takes over your sense of being and you're about to cry but you're so happy that even though you're not obsessed with one direction, atleast not as much as you were in third grade anymore, you'll sing little things while laying on your back with your feet against the wall, anyday.
< marina 3 my beloved

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When Marina said "Capitalism made us poor" , I felt that.
đ„
They told me life would be a bed of roses, they never mentioned the thorns so well coated with petals.
rhetorical question
[rhetorical question]đŁ
NOUN
a question asked in order to create a dramatic effect or to make a point rather than to get an answer.
 EG. You, you are a rhetorical question, waiting for an affirmation, waiting for someone to emphasize your ever passive remarks. Ironic, isnt it? You, you are a rhetorical question, mocking your listeners in every word you say; express. Wondering why? Well you, so sly, so so sly. Youâre a rhetorical question in all your glamour and drab, like a confident statement with a question mark at the end as if to bolden the smirk you hide profusely. Youâre a rhetorical question in all of your secretiveness, but how popular is your secretiveness? You, you are a rhetorical question and you construct yourself in a way to leave everyone baffled. You are a rhetorical question, even on your days full of complete certainty, questioning yourself still so you pass on the confusion to others. With what doubt? You, you are a rhetorical question, a paradoxical sentence, a cloud on a sunny day waiting to pour just to gloom the flowers that have just blossomed. But youâre still waiting for that affirmation, that emphasis on your passive remarks, because youâre hoping to plant more blossoms, even if just to make up for the ones youâve destroyed.
Youâre a rhetorical question, Iâm sorry not to have replaced the question mark at the end.