#Θᾰ́νᾰτος

[eternal--returned]

Alphonse Mucha ֍ Noël, L'Illustration magazine (1896-7)

[creatureffeature]

faerûn's most normalest guy. human rogue for maximum Regular Dude points. he's supposed to look like just some guy so people will disregard him in a crowd but also pretty because people often trust attractive folks more. he's a resist durge because i'm too much of a pushover to be mean to the nice pixel people

name explanation under the cut because i'm a complete dork <3

[SPOILERS] moros in greek myth is the personification of "impending doom" that drives mortals to their inevitable fate. he's the son of nyx, and hesiod implies that nyx gave birth to him without the assistance of a father. he's the brother of the fates, thanatos (personification of death), and the keres who personify violent death/terminal sickness

i picked the name moros mostly because of the greek myth figure being born from one parent and the connection to a "spirit of violent death" which is definitely something you could call orin :]

also the myth figure moros (along with thanatos) is associated/conflated with the "rider of the pale horse" in christian myth and i like that as a theme thing lolol. "The fourth and final Horseman is named Death (Greek: Θᾰ́νᾰτος, Thánatos, Latin: Mŏrs or Thanatus)."

i had to delete all my mods to get bg3 to work so i said goodbye to all my old saves so i have to reinvent moros AGAINNNN

[eiyu-no-yakata]

Welp time to change thanatos’ tag

 from 

Θᾰ́νᾰτος

to just

Thanatos

As it appears tumblr and specifically the archive dont like greek letters. Meaning it says the tags contain no posts but are at the top of the list of most used tags on my blog.

[eternal--returned]

Cy Twombly ֍ Beyond (A System for Passing) (1971)

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In this particular tub, two knees jut up like icebergs, while minute brown hairs rise on arms and legs in a fringe of kelp; green soap navigates the tidal slosh of seas breaking on legendary beaches; in faith we shall board our imagined ship and wildly sail among sacred islands of the mad till death shatters the fabulous stars and makes us real.

Sylvia Plath ֍ Tale of a Tub (1956)

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. . . death, or the moment before death, is the only reality. Hence to live, to exist, to participate in reality, is to die.

John Nathan ֍ Mishima: A Biography (1974) 

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Light an Italian cigar, it's slim, tastes bitter. I inhale the space between continents, stretch my legs. it's moments like this—you can feel it happening—that you grow transformed partly into something else strange and unnameable— so when death comes it can only take part of you.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the 8 count concerto." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

[eternal--returned]

"One step beyond that line, reminiscent of the line separating the living from the dead, and it's the unknown, suffering, and death? And what is there? who is there? there, beyond this field, and the tree, and the roof lit by the sun? No one knows, and you would like to know; and you're afraid to cross that line, and would like to cross it; and you know that sooner or later you will have to cross it and find out what is there on the other side of the line, as you will inevitably find out what is there on the other side of death. And you're strong, healthy, cheerful, and excited, and surrounded by people just as strong and excitedly animated." So, if he does not think it, every man feels who finds himself within sight of an enemy, and this feeling gives a particular brilliance and joyful sharpness of impression to everything that happens in those moments.

Leo Tolstoy ֍ War and Peace (1869)

[eternal--returned]

"But in the last three, four weeks we've gotten a . . . a serenity at home." Well, there it was. I got out fast then, before anyone could say "serenity" again, for it is a word I associate with death, and for several days after that meeting I wanted only to be in places where the lights were bright and no one counted days.

Joan Didion ֍ Let Me Tell You What I Mean (2012)

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CAESAR: Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear, Seeing that death; a necessary end, Will come when it will come.

William Shakespeare ֍ Julius Caesar (1599)

[eternal--returned]

If patriotism and erotic desire are identical, and if the object of erotic desire is death, then patriotism is also a desire for death. But it is more than simply desire; it is at the same time a means of obtaining death.

John Nathan ֍ Mishima: A Biography (1974) 

[eternal--returned]

Was it death he was now waiting for? Or a wild ecstasy of the senses? The two seemed to overlap, almost as if the object of this bodily desire were death itself . . . As their tongues explored one another's mouths . . . they could feel their senses being fired to the red heat of steel by the agonies of death as yet nowhere prefigured. The pain they could not feel yet, the distant pain. of death, had refined their awareness of pleasure.

Yukio Mishima ֍ Patriotism (1961) 

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Mazzy Star ֍ Unreflected (1993)

The unreflected feeling Of a shortened final soul

The life that cuts the cold Now is in your past In our memories We don't have much to say

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it's amazing, amazing, amazing. we're clearly at the edge. it's thunder in a snail's shell. it's the red mark on the black widow. it's the mirror without a reflection. it's the singular viewpoint. it's in the fog over Corpus Christi. it's in the eye of the hen. it's on the back of the turtle.

it's moving at the sun

as you put your shoes on for the last time without knowing it.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the circus of death." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

[eternal--returned]

it's there from the beginning, to the middle, to the end, there from light to darkness, there through the wasted days and nights, through the wasted years, the continuance of moving toward death. sitting with death in your lap, washing death out of your ears and from between your toes, talking to death, living with death while living through the stained walls and the flat tires and the changing of the guard. living with death in your stockings. opening the morning blinds to death, the circus of death, the dancing girls of death, the yellow teeth of death, the cobra of death, the deserts of death. death like a tennis ball in the mouth of a dog. death while eating a candlelight dinner. the roses of death. death like a moth. death like an empty shoe. death the dentist.

Charles Bukowski ֍ "the circus of death." what matters most is how well you walk through the fire (1999)

[eternal--returned]

Jacques Brel ֍ Le dernier repas (1964)

A mon dernier repas Je veux voir mes frères Et mes chiens et mes chats Et le bord de la mer A mon dernier repas Je veux voir mes voisins Et puis quelques Chinois En guise de cousins Et je veux qu'on y boive En plus du vin de messe De ce vin si joli Qu'on buvait en Arbois Je veux qu'on y dévore Après quelques soutanes Une poule faisane Venue du Périgord

Puis je veux qu'on m'emmène En haut de ma colline Voir les arbres dormir En refermant leurs bras Et puis je veux encore Lancer des pierres au ciel En criant Dieu est mort Une dernière fois

A mon dernier repas Je veux voir mon âne Mes poules et mes oies Mes vaches et mes femmes A mon dernier repas Je veux voir ces drôlesses Dont je fus maître et roi Ou qui furent mes maîtresses Quand j'aurai dans la panse De quoi noyer la terre Je briserai mon verre Pour faire le silence Et chanterai à tue-tête A la mort qui s'avance Les paillardes romances Qui font peur aux nonnettes

Puis je veux qu'on m'emmène En haut de ma colline Voir le soir qui chemine Lentement vers la plaine Et là debout encore J'insulterai les bourgeois Sans crainte et sans remords Une dernière fois

Après mon dernier repas Je veux que l'on s'en aille Qu'on finisse ripaille Ailleurs que sous mon toit Après mon dernier repas Je veux que l'on m'installe Assis seul comme un roi Accueillant ses vestales Dans ma pipe je brûlerai Mes souvenirs d'enfance Mes rêves inachevés Mes restes d'espérance Et je ne garderai Pour habiller mon âme Que l'idée d'un rosier Et qu'un prénom de femme

Puis je regarderai Le haut de ma colline Qui danse qui se devine Qui finit par sombrer Et dans l'odeur des fleurs Qui bientôt s'éteindra Je sais que j'aurai peur Une dernière fois