#「 → visage — the prophet 」
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lotrmusical · 5 months ago
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My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.
i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'
#taking this as a challenge to see how much of ozymandias and the raven i can remember. no i'm not bored at work what gives you that idea#i bet ive got most of ozymandias. the raven may be a lost cause#i met a traveller from an antique land / who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone / stand in the desert. near them on the sand /#half-sunk a shatter'd visage lies whose frown / and wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command / tell that its sculptor well those passions read#...something or other i do not recall / the heart that mocked them and the heart that fed / and on the pedestal these words appear /#my name is ozymandias king of kings / look on my works ye mighty and despair /#nothing beside remains. round the decay / of that colossal wreck . something or other#the lone and level sands stretch far away#decay of that colossal wreck indeed (my memory for this poem)#oh well.#once upon a midnight dreary as i pondered weak and weary / over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore /#while i nodded nearly napping suddenly there came a rapping / as of someone gently tapping tapping at my chamber door /#tis some visitor i muttered tapping at my chamber door / only this and nothing more#?? (it's downhill from here)#ah distinctly i remember it was in the bleak december / and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor /#something?ly i sought the morrow / vainly had i sought to borrow / from my books surcease of sorrow / sorrow for the lost lenore /#for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels .name lenore / lost to me forevermore#(then there is another stanza; bird-infested word bonanza / which i used to know at some point but do not know anymore /)#something something something door. darkness there and nothing more#oh it's the 'silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain / thrilled me filled me with fantastic terrors never known before' bit#anyway. deep into that darkness peering something stood i hoping fearing / doubting?? dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before#but the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token / and the only word there spoken was the whispered word lenore#(more missing chunks)#oh i remember 'surely said i surely that is / something at my window lattice' because it's such a stupid rhyme#bird time bust time idk#ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore / tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore /#a billion more stanzas i dont remember. except for 'prophet!' said i 'thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil!#whether tempter sent or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore /' etc. wait you can only add 30 tags to posts now?? i had more raven chunks#ask#anon
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bhaalswn-arch · 1 year ago
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One more 'cos I am vibing ( plus I wanted the purple to be seen )
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thegracefallen · 10 months ago
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@bloodsalted @ruinedmyself @loyaltylanced @loyaltyguided @alwaysaweapon @unbearablyindifferent @goldshadows
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parumpoes · 11 months ago
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:: The Prophet ::
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shallrise · 1 year ago
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always the fool ... ft. @ofthclight .
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twinstateline · 10 months ago
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tag drop part two .
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reb3lwife · 10 months ago
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tag drop part two .
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lupaeusmoved · 11 months ago
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tag drop part two .
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sxltedgxn · 11 months ago
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✘ tag dump pt . i
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harbingered · 1 year ago
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tag dump 2 / ???
⸻   in character   ✦  give the humans fire & they will burn themselves to the ground  ˎˊ˗
⸻   answered   ✦  i have drunk the blood of kings  ˎˊ˗
⸻   visage   ✦   i have seen the fall of babylon  ˎˊ˗
⸻   about   ✦  the wrath of god & all his angels & all his prophets  ˎˊ˗
⸻   dash games  ✦   i am the god of all things  ˎˊ˗
⸻   muse  ✦   you already know how this will end  ˎˊ˗
⸻   dash comm.  ✦  fine . make me your villain  ˎˊ˗
⸻   aesthetics  ✦   i am the patron saint of your demise  ˎˊ˗
⸻   music   ✦ creation through destruction  ˎˊ˗
⸻   clothing  ✦  i am a burning fire . i am a violent tongue  ˎˊ˗
⸻   drabble  ✦   don't hesitate . bare your teeth . go for the throat .  ˎˊ˗
⸻   crack  ✦   GIMMIE TRIANGLE  ˎˊ˗
⸻   desires  ✦  crawl inside this body - find me where i am most ruin . love me there  ˎˊ˗
⸻   one liners   ✦  kneel before me  ˎˊ˗
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lupaeusarc · 1 year ago
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tag drop part two
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charmantevamp · 2 years ago
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I'd tell your fortune, but the words don't rhyme.
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gestae · 2 years ago
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RAM. ( tag dump )
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facts-i-just-made-up · 10 months ago
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What is under an anon's sunglasses?
The fact that you yourself are anonymous but do not know is the most horrifying idea to me. Imagine a zero-dimensional (digital) being, a mere disembodied spherical reminiscence of a head wearing sunglasses and behind the sunglasses are no eyes and they have no hands to feel so they themselves go to ask a liar-prophet what exists behind their sunglasses because they know though he will not tell them the truth, they know it won't matter because they themselves are not a real being but a mere avatar for the question of another thing, a real-brained creature amusing itself.
You who asked- You are God to your anonymous visage and you do not know, nor do you truly care to know, for the existence of your own less-dimensioned face is merely a joke to you.
You are a cruel god, and I am but another game to you like that of your own creation. Was it truly any different from Christ?
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smokey07 · 1 month ago
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Challenge Time!:
We know that Neoptolemus, according to some sources, started his trip to Epirus to start his own legacy and kingdom along with Phoenix and also his newly acquired slaves; his concubine Andromache and Helenus the prophet. However old Phoenix dies along the way and Neoptolemus has to stop and offer him a burial before continuing
So the challenge goes such:
Neoptolemus genuinely crying over dead or dying Phoenix showing there is still some emotion and emotional connection under the Visage of warrior and king and our psycho that we know.
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For me Neoptolemus is kind of associated with blood and the color red (surprise haha), not in a sense of active battle, combat and injury resulted from it but “blood on your hands”, unnecessary violence and innocent casualties.
Just to justify why I have to add it all the time while drawing him.
Oh yes and cameo from Helenus and Andromache.
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shortnotsweet · 11 months ago
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[ “PATIENCE” ]:
Give me one more sigh to the top of the mountain—baby, roll those eyes to the top of the mountain. Close your eyes, be patient, it's coming! All my dreams have been weighing me down, like an anchor to my bed.
— BAD SUNS
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It’s only a second—a split second—but in that moment Jason wonders who has dreamt up Nico Di Angelo before.
It’s not strange for godly children to be granted prophetic visions, or omniscient images from a greater force not buoyed by themselves—Fate, a god, the recesses of their own trauma, what have you. But—no. Jason wonders who else has dreamt of Nico, not as a distant figure blotted out in the plotted landscape of some prospective quest, or as an omen of all things foreboding and unknown, but really dreamt. A real dream.
The Nico in front of him—for this split second, mind you, and isn’t this second stretching longer than any second before—has his face upturned to the wind, and his eyes closed to the sound below them. The city sprawl, honking and screaming and polluting the air with its babble. Jason can barely hear it now, can only observe with a sudden micro-awareness the thinness of his fingers and the delicate bones of his wrist as he extends them. The skull ring glints there, the darkness of the band cutting into the pale of his skin like a shadow cast, and Jason remembers, dumbly, Oh, yeah. Summoning the dead. There’s a lot of that in Chicago.
Jason doesn’t care about scrape of skeleton bones clawing themselves out of asphalt or the lingering of unresolved souls. Instead, it’s the feathering of Nico’s lashes against his own cheek, the downward slope of his mouth, sharp jut of his jaw belaying a quiet softness to his face that was easy to miss. For someone as unsubtle as Nico, it seems that it’s easy for a lot of people to miss crucial things such as this. By the time Jason had started noticing, he just couldn’t stop.
Nico exists, sometimes, as if he is not entirely of this world. It’s not a stretch for some godly children, a child of Death especially, but with Nico it has become increasingly more evident in the little moments, the subtle gestures. Maybe it’s Jason’s own godly genes—he can almost feel the texture of the wind against Nico’s skin as it kisses his cheek, the inhale of air—or maybe it’s just Jason. Freakishly detail oriented Jason, who stares at his ceiling at night, awake, but doesn’t dare toss and turn, who pours over blueprints and Lego models in his spare time and fixates on this kind of thing.
That’s the kind of thing Jason sees in his dreams, the image that flickers under his eyelids between memories of a life half lost to him and a visage of what comes next.
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