#APOLLO HEAR MY PRAYERS!!

[meowdyjac]

I HAVE A PREDICTION ON THE

Mario & Luigi Series

Come 2026 when the next Mario movie comes out, there will be a NEW GAME for either the switch or the new console!

[yourwitchybrother]

Gods give me the strength I need to get through the week 🙏 Praise be and all that jazz

[thechthonicherbalist]

A Prayer

My Lord Apollo, Lord of the Sun, of Dance and Music, of Poetry and Art, of Herbs and Flowers and Healing, Protector of Seers and Bringer of the Light that illuminates the Future, Greatest Player of the Lyre, Greatest of Archers, Upholder of Justice and Averter of Evil. Please hear my call. Illuminate this night and ward of the darkness that seeks to invade my thoughts and emotions. Lend me your light and bring joy and warmth back to my life. Let the spring of my creativity well up once again, so it may bring to flourish art and writing as it once used to. Heal what has been wounded in me, cure what has been infested by the sickness brought into my life. Heal my body, this pain, this fatigue, that plagues me. These fevers and inflammations. Hold me in your protective and healing embrace and guide my path towards a brighter future. Let your song fill my life, let it ring from my lips in passion, in joy, in beautiful emotions. And please, keep safe my heart and my soul; these most vulnerable parts of me, that endured so much and need a gentle healer's touch, to wake up and mend. Don't let go of me, be with me every step of the way. I do not know where I'm heading, so I want to trust you, to guide me to safety, light and warmth and joy, to a place of healing. 🌄

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: The Sun

Aleister Crowley: and now as we approach the winter solstice Crowley: great god apollo, great master brain thinker guy thoth Crowley: all the little thelematic sprites and boggles Crowley: now is the time that the great beast says Crowley: DO AS THOU WILT!! Crowley: I'M THE GREAT BEAST!!!

Crowley: now that its the winter solstice Crowley: its time to pay tribute to the spirits of the season Victor Neuburg: how're we gonna do that boss? Crowley: we're gonna eat this big block of hashish and fuck Crowley: love to keep the holiday traditions alive

Crowley: great sun god ra, hear our prayers and Lauren M Davis: [appearing in a flash] who dares call upon my fiery majesty? Davis: whom the egyptians named ra, the greeks named apollo, the aztecs named Huitzilopochtli? Davis: as the duly noted owner of the sun, that is infringing on my intellectual property Crowley: your...? Crowley: oh man i am too high for this right now

Lauren M Davis: since the dawn of time, mankind has yearned to destroy the sun Davis: i do the next best thing Davis: i own it! Davis: as surely as disney owns day of the dead Davis: as surely as family guy owns double dribble Davis: as surely as snapesnogger owns nagas Davis: i will copyright the sun!

Davis: Gaze upon the fiery majesty of the sun ©!!! Davis: NO on second thought, don't! Davis: no one look at me! Davis: you! plants! Davis: you dare to photosynesize with my holy rays?? Davis: I hope you got a good lawyer

Crowley: you can't own the sun Crowley: the sun is Crowley: Crowley: its Crowley: its you know Crowley: it's Victor Neuburg: its a star isn't it? Crowley: SHUT UP NERDBURG I KNOW WHAT THE SUN IS Crowley: I WAS JUST Crowley: I WAS JUST PAUSING FOR EFFECT OR SOMETHING Crowley: I DON'T EVEN LIKE YOU AT ALL, JUST SHUT UP!

[childofapollo888]

oh, healer apollo,

god of sunlight, god of music,

hear this prayer .

let me feel the warmth of your sun's rays,

let me be healed from the sickness that burdens my mortal body .

lord apollo, keep away ill,

banish it & let me heal .

i honor & praise you,

so mote it be ☀️

[mediumgayitalian]

The slam of his car door is loud enough to make him jump, echoing across the dipping valleys and proud hills. He curses to himself, standing frozen, one, two, three, four, but no one comes running. A light dusting of snow falls in a perfect circle around an invisible border, and Lee shivers as he jogs over to it, worn sneakers squelching over the wet, half-thawed grass.

As soon as he steps onto the bottom of Half-Blood Hill, he feels the difference, the balmy breath of warm summer under the clear December sky. The power of Thalia’s tree sends its usual shiver down his back, and he touches it, briefly, as he speeds past, sending his usual prayer of thanks. He pauses at the crest of the hill, using the bright gibbous moon to survey the camp, marking his path.

“Two, four….twelve,” he mutters to himself, craning his neck to map every one of the patrol harpies. He crouches for a while, watching them, tracking their patrol: paired, hexagonal, staggered circuits around the cabins. Four minute window of opportunity.

He can do four minutes.

As the two harpies walking the Apollo-Artemis circuit begin to cross the common, Lee bolts. He keeps low and close to the shadows, sprinting fast and on the balls of his feet to stay quiet, and ducks behind whatever shadow is closest whenever something looks his way. By the time the harpies turn back towards Cabin Seven, he’s already on the rickety porch, tossing his backpack inside the window Michael left open for him and throwing himself in after it.

He lands palms-first, tucking into a roll to absorb the momentum. He freezes, panting, by the leg of what is usually Amir’s bed, straining to hear past the crickets and cicadas.

One, two, three, four.

Nothing.

He’s good.

“Took your damn sweet time, didn’t you.”

“Hello to you too,” Lee grumbles, pushing himself upright. From across the cabin, lounging on his bed like a goddamn French monarch, is his dick of a brother, grinning like the little shit he is. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, most people say hello, et cetera, et cetera.”

Michael shrugs. “You’re late. I watched you on the hill; you coulda made that run twenty minutes ago.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“I’m always asking me.”

“Get over her, boogerbrain.”

“Real mature,” Michael mocks, but ambles over anyway. He retches like a twelve year old when Lee hugs him, but twists his hands in the back of Lee’s shirt when he lets go too fast. Lee hides his smile in his over-gelled hair.

“You might miss me less if you actually write me letters, you know.”

“I didn’t miss you,” he responds automatically. “And I wouldn’t have to write you letters if you stayed home, already.”

Lee sighs. “…I have school, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure your dumbass bio teachers have loads to teach the guy who can do open heart surgery with his eyes closed.”

“Yeah, yeah. If anyone could do with a good, old-fashioned, public school humbling, it would be you, hothead. You ready to go?”

Michael pulls away with a roll of his eyes. “Only since yesterday. Been waiting for your sorry ass.”

“My sorry — your sorry ass doesn’t have a car!”

Michael snickers, jogging back to his bunk and grabbing the black duffel bag resting under it. Lee makes quick work of packing his own bag, stuffing in a couple squares of ambrosia and and giant roll of bandages, just in case, before creeping over to the only bed left with someone still in it.

“Hey, kiddo.” He folds over the sheet pulled all the way over messy blonde curls, immediately plaguing the cabin with loud snoring. He rests his palm over a sleep-creased cheek, mapping his thumb over the freckles dotting pudgy cheekbones, and brushes back the hair plastered to his baby brother’s forehead. “Will, sweetheart, get up.”

It takes him a couple minutes of gentle prodding — when Will is out he is out — to wake up, squinting blearily in the dim fairy lights strewn across his bunk. He blinks, one, two, three, four, then gasps.

“Lee!”

“Oof,” Lee grunts, shifting his weight as he is abruptly accosted with an armful of child. He smiles, curling around Will’s flailing, chattering form, tightening his hold on his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hi, buddy.”

“—missed you so much! Is this why your letter was late? Are you staying? Is this why Diana left yesterday? Is she here now? Is Cass coming? Is everybody coming? Can I —”

“C’mon, Motormouth,” Michael interrupts, cuffing Will’s ear as he walks by. “Go get your sneakers on. We’re going for a drive.”

“‘Kay,” Will days happily, dashing off to find the light-up Star Wars shoes he refuses to throw out, even though there are literal holes in the soles.

“You got his bag?”

“Yep,” Michael affirms, holding up a straining backpack. “Toothbrush. Hairbrush that he won’t use. Three comic books. Change of clothes. And two more changes of clothes for when he inevitably destroys the first one,” he adds when Lee opens his mouth. He shoots him an exasperated look. “Me and Diana have been chasing after the little brat for four months, dude. I got him.”

“Alright, alright,” Lee grumbles. “Heaven forbid I double-check.” He turns over to the door, where Will is tying his shoelaces, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “You ready, Will?”

He tugs on the two loops. The entire knot unravels. Quick as a flash, he stuffs the laces inside his shoes, scrambling to his feet.

“Yes,” he lies. He scratches at his throat.

Lee and Michel sigh in unison.

Luckily, the reaction is hardly more than itchy eyes and a cough. Lee herds him towards the door, sliding the backpack over his shoulders and holding out his arm and —

“Hold on a sec.”

“Why?” Will whispers.

“Shh,” Lee says.

Window cracked open, Michael exhales. The release of his bow hardly makes more than a soft hiss.

The angle is odd, limited space as there is, but Michael never misses — the clunky arrow whistles through the open window, sailing past the sloped roofs of the west wing cabins, and thunks somewhere behind the first layer of trees in the forest. Immediately, it lets loose a burst of sound identical to a dropped bottle and a group of teenagers cursing. In seconds, the curfew harpies are screeching, descending upon the source of the noise with the fury of a thousand sun chariots.

“Go go go go go,” Michael orders, wrenching open the door.

Will, immediately, takes off, gleeful at the opportunity to run away with permission (usually, he’s running from one of them, screeching at him to get back here). (Or Chiron, although Chiron has a much easier time catching up, what with the six limbs and all). (…Is Chiron an insect? Technically?)

“How long do we have?” Lee whispers, once Michael has caught up.

He shrugs. “Seven minutes, give or take? More than enough time.”

Lee worries his bottom lip. “More than…” He glances at the forest. Vaguely, in the low firelight, he can see the odd wing, hear the odd screech. Nothing looks very close. He glances at the rapidly approaching Athena cabin, just a few yards out of their way. Hm.

“Detour!” he decides. “Will, c’mon!”

Ignoring Michael’s hissed complaints, he veers towards to neatly maintained cabin. He slips in the space between Cabins Six and Four, holding tight to Will’s hand. He counts the windows as he passes — one, two, three, four — and stumbles to a stop, crouching down in the dirt.

“Oh, are you — for the love of Zeus.”

Lee ignores his eye-rolling, scanning the ground for pebbles. He selects a handful of them, careful not to choose anything too big, and jogs a few steps back.

“What’re you doing?” Will asks, too loud, but at least he tries to whisper.

Instead of answering, Lee launches the first pebble at the window.

It pings off harmlessly.

Waiting a breath for the harpies to come running, he continues, firing off pebble after pebble with increasing strength. Finally, after pebble #7, a face appears behind the clear glass, bleary eyes widening when they take in the sight in front of them. Quickly, the latches are undone, and the window is yanked open.

“Lee?!”

Lee grins. “Hey, Carter.”

“What’re you — you’re — it’s December! What’s going —”

“I need a favour,” Lee whispers. “Can you — cover for us?”

For the first time, Carter looks away, brows raising as he notices Micheal, who taps his (watchless) wrist obnoxiously, and Will, who waves brightly. Carter waves back, small smile tugging at his lips.

“Cover for you?”

“Just, like, infirmary stuff. I don’t think anything will happen, and if it does we’re an IM away, but —”

“Lee,” Carter says exasperatedly, “cover you guys for what?”

“Oh.” Lee clears his throat. “I, um. I need to do something for my family.”

Smiling, Carter rests his elbows on the windowsill, chin in his hands. “Mysterious.”

“We’ll be back by tomorrow evening,” Lee assures.

“And then you’ll stay for a bit?”

Lee’s mouth goes dry. “You want me to stay?”

Carter ducks his head, fingers tracing a mindless path on the windowsill. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you for a while.”

A thousand gods of prophecy could not predict the sound that comes out of Lee’s throat.

Something between a whimper and an awkward laugh, his voice cracks four seperate times. Carter giggles. Lee prays, genuinely, that a crater opens up beneath him and drops him right at Lord Hades’ feet.

“Everything okay, Lee?”

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Carter giggles again. Lee flushes. Michael gags exaggeratedly behind him, pausing mid-heave to whisper something to Will, and then there’s a giggle, and then two people fake-retching. Carter peeks through his dark eyelashes, pleased expression softening his heart-shaped face, and Lee counts twelve of his own capillaries straight-up explode.

“Well,” he says, too loudly. “I’m — well.”

“I think you have harpies to run from,” Carter suggests gently.

“Indeed.” Lee clears his throat, nodding. “As you have so astutely observed, we do —”

Michael, recognising the strained tone to his voice, groans. “Fucksake, Lee —”

“— and so I bid you adieu —”

“Dude, oh my gods, snap out of it —”

Lee can’t. He barely has control over his own mouth.

“— and vow to see you again in the eve.”

Feeling his soul exit his body, settle in front of him, and then crumple up and die, Lee fucking bows. There is the very distinctive sound of a hand slapping over a mouth, muffling an eruption of giggles, and then the hand of mercy, also known as Michael Yew, clamping on the back of his lava-hot neck.

“Please excuse him,” he says grandly. “He was dropped on his head as a child. He’s normal, usually.”

“Except when you wear your glasses,” Will pipes up. Lee makes a mental note to find Clarisse’s spear and shove it through his own eye. “He gets real weird when you wear your glasses. Once he walked into a wall and broke his nose.”

“…Did he.”

“Yep. And last time he —”

“God, this hurts me to say,” whispers Michael, “but I have to put a stop to this conversation. We’re on a time limit. C’mon, Will. Bye, Carter. Sorry for — well, you know. Apollonian dramatics, not always easy to control.”

He turns, dragging Lee, still hunched over, out of the Cabin Six shadow.

Lee does not un-hunch until they are well over the crest of Half-Blood Hill, harpy screeches beginning to echo behind them.

“I have never been more embarrassed to be related to you in my life,” Michael informs him, the second he’s upright. “Like, genuinely, I’m considering disowning you. That was atrocious, Fletcher. You need to get ahold of yourself. Where is your game? Your dignity?”

“I think he lost it when he was born,” Will says thoughtfully. “Or maybe when Carter smiled at him the first time.”

“I hate both of you,” Lee croaks.

Neither of them seem too incredibly bothered, snickering to each other as they duck into the car.

Willing his flush to go down, Lee herds them into his car. He takes a moment in the cool air to chill the hell out, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, then slips behind the wheel. He checks that Will is belted in properly, slips the car into neutral, and coasts down the road, waiting until Thalia’s tree slips out of sight before turning it on and hitting the gas.

“Where’re we goin’?

“You,” Michael says, flipping down the vanity mirror to glare sternly at Will, “are going to dreamland. It’s three in the morning. Time for bratty children to sleep.”

“What? No! I’m not tired!”

“Fine, fine,” Lee says, exchanging a grin with Michael. “Stay awake, then. As long as you like.”

Will narrows his eyes. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“No trick?”

Lee crosses his fingers. “‘Course not.”

“Fine,” he relents. He settles into the booster seat Lee dragged out of the trunk for him (which he hates), arms crossed over his chest, and stares out the window.

Counting off on his fingers — one, two, three, four — Lee and Michael begin to hum.

At first, nothing happens. Will taps absentmindedly on his knees, humming along to the parts he knows, but soon his fingers slow. Lee and Michael keep it low and quiet, cycling through quiet folk songs Michael’s dad taught him, matching with the rumbling of the car, the slight breeze of Lee’s cracked open window. Michael kicks softly at the base of his seat, one, two, three, four; and matches the rhythm of the radio static, the click of the blinkers on every turn.

Will’s out in twenty minutes.

———

The drive is long.

Michael curls up sometime around four, fogging up the windows with every snore. Lee keeps the radio on a low hum, letting the background noise keep him focused as he navigates. The Atlantic Ocean is ink-black in the early morning, and the waves crash loud enough that he can hear them over the sounds of the engine, and for a while they’re still far enough from the city that the air smells fresh. Even when it starts to sour, and the noise gets a lot more urban, it’s early enough and he’s east enough that the traffic is minimal. Never non-existent — he actually cannot imagine what a traffic-less New York would look like; he doubts he’ll ever live to see it — but enough that he keeps at a steady 35.

The drive through Jersey is uneventful. Farmland and suburbs, nothing he hasn’t seen every day of his life, nothing he didn’t see the last time he made the drive. He entertains himself by counting every brown car he sees, randomly wagering the number by the time he gets there. He’s relieved when he finally crosses the memorial bridge, driving down the exit ramp and pulling into the first big parking lot he sees. Michael wakes up as he puts the car in gear, killing the engine.

“We here?” he asks, popping the joints along his spine.

Lee yawns. “Pretty much, yeah. Pulled off the highway.”

“‘Kay.” He glances in the backseat, where Will is starting to stir. “You nap. I’m gonna find a place for him to change and brush his teeth, maybe get breakfast for all of us.”

“Sounds good”

He crawls in the backseat as Michael guides Will out of it, accepting the blanket tossed his way. He slides his hoodie over his face, lies back, and conks out in minutes.

———

“Yo, Lee. Get up. I got food.”

“Timizzit?” he asks, shaking the grogginess from his limbs.

“Eleven. You slept for four hours. We gotta be at the theatre in an hour.”

“When’s she on?”

“Fuck if I know, man. Diana said noon, I’m gonna be there at noon. You wanna piss off Diana?”

“No.” He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, reaching blindly in the direction of Michael’s voice. “Food, please.”

A bag of grease is deposited into his waiting hand. He is pleased to find three cheeseburgers within it, and immediately tears into them with a fervour that can only be described as ‘ravenous’, or perhaps ‘revolting’. Esurient, perhaps, if one was feeling poetic.

Finally awake enough to function, Lee looks critically at the scene in front of him. Michael is dressed in the same button-up and slacks he wears to his dad’s performances, on the years he’s in the U.S., and Will is in jeans without grass stains, real shoes, hair mostly brushed. Michael has even managed to find a shirt that’s not half-unraveled from Will picking at the seams.

“Nice,” he says, nodding in approval.

Michael picks at his nails, visibly preening. “Oh, it was no big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Dweeb.”

He polishes off his last burger, then ducks inside the nearest store to find somewhere to get changed. Diana told them it didn’t matter, really, what they wore, but Lee knows better. He knows what this means for Cass, and while yeah, sure, it wouldn’t really matter if he showed up in sweatpants, he wants to show her that he put in the effort. That even if her mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, they will. All of them. He wants her to see them and know that they did this for her. He wants her to see them and know that they tried, that they care.

Hair perfectly placed and clothes as unwrinkled as he can get them, he hurries back to the car. The theatre isn’t far, and they have a little under an hour, but he doesn’t want to push it. Finding parking will be hard enough.

“Are we on a quest?” Will asks, five minutes out on the road.

“Eight year olds don’t go on quests.”

“Diomedes was ten when he fought the Trojan war.”

“Are you Diomedes?”

“No.”

“Are you ten?”

“No.”

“Then no quests for you.”

“Aw.”

“Your quest can be being quiet for twenty minutes,” Michael grumbles, making a face when Will sticks his tongue out at him.

———

part two

[themodernwitchsguide]

orphic hymns to apollo and diana

i should mention that i did NOT write these!! they are from like the 1st century AD lol

APOLLO:

Blest Pæan, come, propitious to my prayer, illustrious power, whom Memphian tribes revere,

Slayer of Tityus, and the God of health, Lycorian Phœbus, fruitful source of wealth.

Spermatic, golden-lyred, the field from thee receives it's constant, rich fertility.

Titanic, Grunian, Smynthian, thee I sing, Python-destroying, hallowed, Delphian king:

Rural, light-bearer, and the Muse's head, noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread:

Far-darting, Bacchian, two-fold, and divine, power far diffused, and course oblique is thine.

O, Delian king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky:

Whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure, who, omens good reveals, and precepts pure:

Hear me entreating for the human kind, hear, and be present with benignant mind;

For thou surveys this boundless æther all, and every part of this terrestrial ball

Abundant, blessed; and thy piercing sight, extends beneath the gloomy, silent night;

Beyond the darkness, starry-eyed, profound, the stable roots, deep fixed by thee are found.

The world's wide bounds, all-flourishing are thine, thyself all the source and end divine:

'Tis thine all Nature's music to inspire, with various-sounding, harmonizing lyre;

Now the last string thou tuned to sweet accord, divinely warbling now the highest chord;

The immortal golden lyre, now touched by thee, responsive yields a Dorian melody.

All Nature's tribes to thee their difference owe, and changing seasons from thy music flow

Hence, mixed by thee in equal parts, advance Summer and Winter in alternate dance;

This claims the highest, that the lowest string, the Dorian measure tunes the lovely spring.

Hence by mankind, Pan-royal, two-horned named, emitting whistling winds through Syrinx famed;

Since to thy care, the figured seal is consigned, which stamps the world with forms of every kind.

Hear me, blessed power, and in these rites rejoice, and save thy mystics with a suppliant voice.

DIANA:

Hear me, Jove's daughter, celebrated queen, Bacchian and Titan, of a noble mien:

In darts rejoicing and on all to shine, torch-bearing Goddess, Dictynna divine;

Over births presiding, and thyself a maid, to labor-pangs imparting ready aid:

Dissolver of the zone and wrinkled care, fierce huntress, glorying in the Sylvan war:

Swift in the course, in dreadful arrows skilled, wandering by night, rejoicing in the field:

Of manly form, erect, of bounteous mind, illustrious dæmon, nurse of human kind:

Immortal, earthly, bane of monsters fell, 'tis thine; blest maid, on woody hills to dwell:

Foe of the stag, whom woods and dogs delight, in endless youth who flourish fair and bright.

O, universal queen, august, divine, a various form, Cydonian power, is thine:

Dread guardian Goddess, with benignant mind auspicious, come to mystic rites inclined

Give earth a store of beauteous fruits to bear, send gentle Peace, and Health with lovely hair,

And to the mountains drive Disease and Care.

Dividers by @vibeswithrenai

[undeadmagick]

Khaire, Apollo Musagetes! Patron of the arts, son of the heavenly Zeus and the gentle-natured Leto, with the works of art I have dedicated to you, grant me the inspiration to create more in your name. Guide my hand across the canvas and allow your golden beauty to be reflected in the sight. I pray to you for the gift of the arts to be enjoyed and celebrated, to have my work spoken with reverence. Warm-hearted and gifted Phoebus, hear my prayer and look kindly upon me and know how I praise and honor you so.

[allarica]

"To Apollo, come, propitious to my prayer, illustrious power, and the god of healing, golden-lyred, the field from thee receives its constant rich fertility. To thee I sing, Python-Slayer, hallowed, light-bearing Leader of the Muses, noble and lovely, armed with arrows dread: far-darting, twofold and divine, power far diffused, and course oblique is thine. O king, whose light-producing eye views all within, and all beneath the sky; whose locks are gold, whose oracles are sure, who omens good revealest, and precepts pure; Hear me, blest power, and in these rites rejoice"

Part 8/? of Allarica’s Greek Gods

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[cherrywine-sunnydiety]

Allow me to tell you a story about a big help I had from the gods a couple months ago.

I was quite tight with money during that time, the holidays had just blown over and I was still recovering, and the bills were stacking to the point I was losing sleep and having anxiety attacks.

Keep in mind I have only started this journey with them not too long before this, so I was a little skeptical that they would help but I was at a point where I was crying and praying with everything in me.

One morning I decided to go to the beach since it isn’t a long drive and before I started driving a sent a quick prayer to Hermes (which I had never done, it was always Apollo) because I remembered he is the god of travel and I wanted to return safely.

Everything was fine that day until I was returning home and I got into a very light car accident (I got rear ended). You can imagine how upset I was. I thought I would have to spend even more money to fix my car and pay the insurance.

Thankfully it was just a scratch and a small dent and when I was figuring it out with the insurance (having severe anxiety because I had never done it before) they told me that I didn’t have to worry, I was going to be paid a generous amount for the crash and that was that.

When I tell you I was so shocked to hear that. I went back home and cried and thanked them for their help. I’ve been worshiping since then.

Now I think Hermes is completely responsible for this but at first I thought it was some twisted joke from Apollo for not praying to him instead of Hermes but it turns out Hermes was just really eager to help me when he heard my first call for him.

[relovaaa]

Sing, o' Muse (of When the Horizon Blooms)

I recently wrote a song about Percy and Apollo using the titles of my favourite Perpollo fics, and I wanted to share it with the people! I'll reblog this in a bit with links to the ones I used.

The Lovers of Apollo Club They say it must be so inclusive But true members are quite elusive Instead of a thousand, there's only, what, three of them? Once I'm done tallying tragedies on my fingers Let's focus on a boy

Too popular for his own good Too powerful for the king's peace of mind Every step he takes, he's asking for disaster But he's his favourite anyway

I never though I'd see the day

Moment by moment, I'm watching the latest Olympian romance bloom Their future is so... bright And as I'm walking through my gardens, I look into the distance and say

Sing, o' Muse Of when the horizon blooms Of when the sun meets the sea Look at this god forsaken fool you made me Singing of a love that isn't even mine

I'm constantly re-reading their chronicled fate They'll love each other more than the ocean and the sky But do you know? That it's not all sappy Tumblr poetry

I'm using the power of a prayer Day in, day out, at an altar for the best god To make sure that their life is like music, vast and magical And there won't be a single day without their light

Moment by moment, I'm watching two broken hearts heal I always pinch myself to make sure it's real For the first time in centuries, I can hear him calling

Sing, o' Muse Of when the horizon blooms Of when the sun meets the sea Look at this god forsaken fool you made me Singing for a boy who'll never be mine

'Tis the season for love I'm by the salt water springs And doing nothing but waiting It's about time for new summer romances, and I'm hoping to fulfill my latest mission...

The boy flows with the currents He's afraid to love like he had once before The god paces back and forth, trying to gather the words But somehow he's become a stuttering mess despite his normal eloquence

Every time they pass each other, there's hope But it's for only sixty seconds They always get too nervous But, one fateful day, I overhear something...

"No more hypotheticals, my love. We only have our future to look forward to." It's nothing more than a whisper, but it rings loud and true

And so the muses sing Of when the horizon bloomed Of when the sun met the sea They've made us into god forsaken fools Singing of a love we could never have

[whispers-of-delphi]

You said we killed the Gods, that they are dead, but I disagree.

I see them in everything. I feel them around me.

I know Hestia, the first and the last.

I feel Hera in family and Zeus in the storm. I see Posieodon in the seas and the calm waters or running creeks.

I know Hermes is there on the road less traveled or the one we take, the one we know by heart. He's in the goods we purchase for fun or the ones we need to live and stay warm. He's in the dice we roll at the table, the children that play and giggle with laughter.

I see Hephestus in the athimes that lay on our altars. The armor we wear, though symbolic in nature. I see Demeter in the harvest and Persephone in the changing of seasons. I feel Hades in the cemetery where we go to rest and Thanatos in the funeral homes where we honor the dead.

I know Hecate watches over us when we struggle at the crossroads and Nyx in her gentle night holds us while we sleep.

Aphrodite in love that we want to give, in the roses with thorns, in their beauty can hurt. I feel her sting when I get too close, knowing there there. I see Ares in war, all fighting affairs.

I hear Orpheus in poems, in promises made and broken.

I feel Dionysus in the frenzied crowds, singing and cheering in the heat of the moment. I feel him in the exhaustion after a long night out, and in the relief of coming home to rest. I taste him in the wine, feel him in the steady buzz of it working its way through the body. I see him in the vineyards, the ivy that grows along the paths less traveled, overgrown through time. I feel him in madness, in deep contemplation, of life and of death, in blood and rebirth. I feel him in dark times when all feels lost.

I feel Achilles poised with his spear, ready to fight knowing death is near. I see him in rage - in my heart he is dear. I feel him in my emotions, my mourning and passion.

I see Apollo in the Hawks and crows that circle the skies. Feel him in the warmth of the sun. I see him in the healing hands of the herbalists who make our teas and mend our wounds. I see him in the cards pulled one by one, the pause of thought before interpreting their meaning. I smell him I the insence burned in his honor, in the olive oil poured and the bay leaf burned at his altar. I see him in the ruins of the desecrated temples abandoned long ago, lost in time but not forgotten. I hear his wisdom in the art of silence, words unspoken but perfectly understood. In the moment of silence as an archer takes aim of his arrow and the continued silence to watch it hit its mark. I feel him in the rythmic beats of the stereo, in the pounding drums at a concert loud and clear. I feel it in the aftermath when ears are shot, and nothing seems to make it past the awful ringing from loud guitar screams. I see him in the lines before the show, in people gathering and sharing stories, and I see him in the garden with blue and purple hyacinths blanketing the ground, their scent wafting upwards.

I see Hestia in the fires that cook our food. To her, we give thanks, the first and the last.

We might have forgotten the Gods but they are not dead to those who know how to look.

They've answered my prayers and left me signs. Guided me here and gave me a home. Shown me friends and family and given me a teacher who listens and loves. Makes me feel seen and heard, not small, and ignored.

The Gods are not dead. We just forgot how to find them.

[theic-manic]

That beautiful moment when the synchronicties all finally make some sense.

Thank you Apollo and Hermes for hearing my prayers ☀️🪽💓🙏

I'll admit, after Apollo woke me up before dawn's crack & after my usual gratitude to Hermes for helping me receive & interpret messages from the Divine & can he please help me figure out whatever the shit Apollo was on with today's vague messaging, I went into full

"Look, Apollo dear, I'm not mad, but I really shouldn't need a lawyer to formulate my prayers to you ... though thank you for the spiritual growth buff & for actually adhering to the boundaries I set upon finally figuring what they actually are, which is a huge part of a lesson you've been helping me with for months HOWEVER in order for me to continue to use my career & union rep work as devotional acts I'm going to really, really need your help to keep shit at a sustainable level", Hermes fucking pulled through with the divine inspo translation assist (while arranging next day delivery for an Oracle deck I ordered over the weekend which has been dedicated to Apollo but I digress) :

Two quotes I saw suddenly made sense after I realised that while appearing contrary they are in fact connected via a perspective shift

The left quote, "Some witches believe in karma. Some witches are karma" is giving unhealed shadow until I realised that the second quote "you might just be the answer to someone's prayer" means that sometimes we're the good that the universe decided someone really needs right now.

So when I thought about how I have managed write some pretty critical communications for a few new neurodivergent colleagues I figured out a huge communication barrier that has caused a bunch of otherwise easily avoidable issues (which also acted as a personal healing lesson)

So okay Apollo, you might occasionally push me too damn hard when helping me speed run some huge, life changing lessons but I do appreciate that you're willing and able to work with me on achieving a balance of serving others while also working on myself.

And so this interpretation of Blood and Glitter really speaks to me, thank you DJ Hermes for the track played on Apollo's behalf.

[my-name-is-apollo]

Hello! I'm currently trying to research the ways Apollo would be worshipped and prayed to by his followers in everyday-life for a writing project but I'm struggling to find any sources on actual practices and rituals, whether from the ancient Greeks or present-day worshippers.

do you know of any reliable sources for ancient Greek practices or anyone who does work with Apollo that I could ask directly?

Hello! The usual way to worship Greek deities seems to have been making an altar for the god, offering some sacrifices, praying to them and pouring libation. This was also accompanied with music, songs and dances - and I can give you a lot of instances for this. This was common to almost all the gods I believe, and the difference was probably that certain kinds of offerings were given to certain gods.

Since you asked specifically about Apollo, here are some instances I have found:

[Apollo]: and in as much as at the first on the hazy sea I sprang upon the swift ship in the form of a dolphin, pray to me as Apollo Delphinius; also the altar itself shall be called Delphinius and overlooking for ever. Afterwards, sup beside your dark ship and pour an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. But when you have put away craving for sweet food, come with me singing the hymn Ie Paean (Hail, Healer!), until you come to the place where you shall keep my rich temple.

- Homeric hymn to Apollo (Trans. Evelyn-White)

Here Apollo himself instructs the Cretan sailors on how to worship him. And they do the as instructed:

Also they made an altar upon the beach of the sea, and when they had lit a fire, made an offering of white meal, and prayed standing around the altar as Apollo had bidden them. Then they took their meal by the swift, black ship, and poured an offering to the blessed gods who dwell on Olympus. And when they had put away craving for drink and food, they started out with the lord Apollo, the son of Zeus, to lead them, holding a lyre in his hands, and playing sweetly as he stepped high and featly. So the Cretans followed him to Pytho, marching in time as they chanted the Ie Paean after the manner of the Cretan paean-singers and of those in whose hearts the heavenly Muse has put sweet-voiced song.

- Homeric hymn to Apollo (Trans. Evelyn-White)

In the Iliad, the Greeks also do something similar when they bring back Chryseis in order to appease Apollo:

They brought forth the hecatomb for Apollo, who strikes from afar, and forth stepped also the daughter of Chryses from the sea-faring ship. Her then did Odysseus of many wiles lead to the altar, and place in the arms of her dear father, saying to him: "Chryses, Agamemnon, king of men, sent me forth to bring to you your daughter, and to offer to Phoebus a holy hecatomb on the Danaans' behalf, that therewith we may propitiate the lord, who has now brought upon the Argives woeful lamentation." So saying he placed her in his arms, and he joyfully took his dear child; but they made haste to set in array for the god the holy hecatomb around the well-built altar, and then they washed their hands and took up the barley grains. Then Chryses lifted up his hands, and prayed aloud for them: "Hear me, god of the silver bow, who stands over Chryse and holy Cilla, and rules mightily over Tenedos. As before you heard me when I prayed—to me you did honour, and mightily smote the host of the Achaeans—even so now fulfill me this my desire: ward off now from the Danaans the loathly pestilence." So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. Then, when they had prayed, and had sprinkled the barley grains, they first drew back the victims' heads, and cut their throats, and flayed them, and cut out the thighs and covered them with a double layer of fat, and laid raw flesh thereon. And the old man burned them on stakes of wood, and made libation over them of gleaming wine; and beside him the young men held in their hands the five-pronged forks. But when the thigh-pieces were wholly burned, and they had tasted the entrails, they cut up the rest and spitted it, and roasted it carefully, and drew all off the spits. Then, when they had ceased from their labour and had made ready the meal, they feasted, nor did their hearts lack anything of the equal feast. But when they had put from them the desire for food and drink, the youths filled the bowls brim full of drink and served out to all, first pouring drops for libation into the cups. So the whole day long they sought to appease the god with song, singing the beautiful paean, the sons of the Achaeans, hymning the god who works from afar; and his heart was glad, as he heard.

You can find more examples in Argonautica by Apollonius Rhodes:

1.402: Next, piling up shingle near the sea, they raised there an altar on the shore to Apollo, under the name of Actius and Embasius, and quickly spread above it logs of dried olive-wood. Meantime the herdsmen of Aeson's son had driven before them from the herd two steers. These the younger comrades dragged near the altars, and the others brought lustral water and barley meal, and Jason prayed, calling on Apollo the god of his fathers:

1.452: [after saying his prayer] He spake, and with his prayer cast the barley meal. And they two girded themselves to slay the steers, proud Ancaeus and Heracles. The latter with his club smote one steer mid-head on the brow, and falling in a heap on the spot, it sank to the ground; and Ancaeus struck the broad neck of the other with his axe of bronze, and shore through the mighty sinews; and it fell prone on both its horns. Their comrades quickly severed the victims' throats, and flayed the hides: they sundered the joints and carved the flesh, then cut out the sacred thigh bones, and covering them all together closely with fat burnt them upon cloven wood. And Aeson's son poured out pure libations, and Idmon rejoiced beholding the flame as it gleamed on every side from the sacrifice, and the smoke of it mounting up with good omen in dark spiral columns.

1.961: Here they built an altar to Ecbasian Apollo and set it up on the beach, and gave heed to sacrifices. And the king of his own bounty gave them sweet wine and sheep in their need; for he had heard a report that whenever a godlike band of heroes should come, straightway he should meet it with gentle words and should have no thought of war.

2.694: and at length Orpheus spake as follows, addressing the chiefs: "Come, let us call this island the sacred isle of Apollo of the Dawn since he has appeared to all, passing by at dawn; and we will offer such sacrifices as we can, building an altar on the shore; and if hereafter he shall grant us a safe return to the Haemonian land, then will we lay on his altar the thighs of horned goats. And now I bid you propitiate him with the steam of sacrifice and libations. Be gracious, O king, be gracious in thy appearing." Thus he spake, and they straightway built up an altar with shingle; and over the island they wandered, seeking if haply they could get a glimpse of a fawn or a wild goat, that often seek their pasture in the deep wood. And for them Leto's son provided a quarry; and with pious rites they wrapped in fat the thigh bones of them all and burnt them on the sacred altar, celebrating Apollo, Lord of Dawn. And round the burning sacrifice they set up a broad dancing-ring, singing, "All hail fair god of healing, Phoebus, all hail", and with them Oiagrus' goodly son began a clear lay on his Bistonian lyre; how once beneath the rocky ridge of Parnassus he slew with his bow the monster Delphyne, he, still young and beardless, still rejoicing in his long tresses.

2.911: Quickly they drew in sail and threw out hawsers, and on the strand paid honour to the tomb of Sthenelus, and poured out drink offerings to him and sacrificed sheep as victims. And besides the drink offerings they built an altar to Apollo, saviour of ships, and burnt thigh bones; and Orpheus dedicated his lyre; whence the place has the name of Lyra.

4.1694: and they made for Apollo a glorious abode in a shady wood, and a shady altar, calling on Phoebus the "Gleamer" (Aigletes), because of the gleam far-seen; and that bare island they called Anaphe, for that Phoebus had revealed it to men sore bewildered. And they sacrificed all that men could provide for sacrifice on a desolate strand; wherefore when Medea's Phaeacian handmaids saw them pouring water for libations on the burning brands, they could no longer restrain laughter within their bosoms, for that ever they had seen oxen in plenty slain in the halls of Alcinous.

- Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica (trans. Robert Cooper Seaton)

Notice how often the Argonauts had nothing fancy to offer, but they managed with whatever they could get, and I suppose this held good for day to day worship.

And then you have the Hyperboreans, who are said to be constantly singing as a form of everyday worship:

Moreover, the following legend is told concerning it: Leto was born on this island, and for that reason Apollon is honoured among them above all other gods; and the inhabitants are looked upon as priests of Apollon, after a manner, since daily they praise this god continuously in song and honour him exceedingly. And there is also on the island both a magnificent sacred precinct of Apollon and a notable temple which is adorned with many votive offerings and is spherical in shape. Furthermore, a city is there which is sacred to this god, and the majority of its inhabitants are players on the cithara; and these continually play on this instrument in the temple and sing hymns of praise to the god, glorifying his deeds.

- Diodorus Siculus, Library of History (trans. Oldfather)

They were also said to have regularly asses for Apollo:

Yet was it with these that Perseus the warrior chief once feasted, entering their homes, and chanced upon their sacrifices unto the god, those famous offerings of hecatombs of asses; for in their banquets and rich praise Apollon greatly delights, and laughs to see the rampant lewdness of those brutish beasts.

- Pindar, Pythian Ode 10 (trans. Conway)

There is also this interesting story:

Apollon and Artemis had a very great affection for him [the Babylonian man Klinis (Clinis)] and he frequently attended with these gods the temple of Apollon in the land of the Hyperboreoi where he saw the consecration of the sacrifices of asses to the god. Returning to Babylon, he too wanted to worship the god as among the Hyperboreans and arranged by the altar a hecatomb of asses. Apollon appeared and threatened him with death if he did not cease from this sacrifice and did not offer up to him the usual goats, sheep and cattle. For this sacrifice of asses was a source of pleasure for the god only if carried out by the Hyperboreans.

- Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoses 20 (trans. Celoria)

So goats, sheep and cows were the usual sacrifices made to him. Wine and water could be used as libation. There was also a practice of offering cake to Apollo:

Enthrypton : Made of pastry; a flat-scone, that is. Alternatively, cake crumbs. Some associate it with initiation-rites. And Apollon is called Enthryptos amongst the Athenians.

- Suidas s.v. Apollon (trans. Suda On Line)

And Pythagoras was said to have forbade all animal sacrifices when praying to Apollo Genetor (giver of life), so non-animal sacrifices were also there (Jason also offered barley meal in Apollonius' Argonautica).

Anyway, this is what I could find. I hope that answered your question, at least as far as the textual evidences go. As for modern day worshippers, I've known @teawiththegods for a long time. She also has a podcast/YouTube channel to help beginners, so you can def check that out!

[khaire-traveler]

I’m going to be brutally honest, I am a minor who is afraid of worshipping anything or anyone. I’m afraid because I think of the possibility that gods or goddesses are not real and my mind is making that allusion to comfort me due to me not having friends and usually being lonely. I want to start. I really do. I want to experience feeling that at least someone is going to be there for me through my thick and thin. I don’t have an alter nor do I pray. I’m currently sick with Covid and I feel awful. It was my first time praying to a Greek god. I prayed to Apollo, I mentioned his family, and his parents. I don’t know what to do or get started. I obviously can’t openly do stuff due to my parents. I want to start, I want to do this, but I’m so lost. I just need help. I know some knowledge about Apollo and his stories and his family as well. This is kind of stupid and I know I’m going to regret this but what if someone else is going through the same thing? My name is Khloe but I’m called Koko.

Have a goodnight <3

Hey, Koko,

There's no shame in feeling doubtful, but if I'm going to be honest, this isn't something I can answer for you. I can give you suggestions, but unfortunately, I don't have all the answers. This is the kind of thing that you have to figure out for yourself, in my experience. I used to have the same fear, and it took a long time for me to push through it. Even then, I still struggle sometimes which is completely normal. Many people have felt this way; you are not alone in this worry.

The way someone put it to me once was "So what if they're not real? You still grew as a person because of your faith. It still improved your life." Initially, that didn't really help to hear, but as time went on and I became more comfortable with the fact that I may straight up never know "the truth", it became something I understood. In any spiritual path, I feel this is a fact many people have to face: the reality that we don't know anything for sure... and that's actually ok. That doesn't make our beliefs any less valid. It doesn't make our time spent worshipping or the words we said in prayer any less real. If your faith gives you hope, that's what matters. Faith can be a beautiful thing, even when it's a little scary due to the uncertainties, but there aren't many things in life that are certain. Another thing is to keep track of your experiences, specifically things that renew your faith in a sense. It takes time to build a good list of these things, but even things like an answered prayer or a reminder that a deity is present are helpful to look back on.

Honestly, I can't tell you what's right for you. I can't force you to work through the fears and worries you're having. All I can do is suggest the things above and advise you to do what you feel is best for yourself. I say give it a chance because truthfully, what do you have to lose? You could be denying yourself an absolutely amazing experience, but you won't know until you give it a try. And if it turns out it's not for you, that's ok, too! There's nothing wrong with deciding that it isn't your path later on. I wish you well, and take care. 🧡

[mastermindmp3]

Oh, misery, misery! Again comes on me The terrible labor of true prophecy, dizzying prelude.

- Robert Fagles' translation of Agamemnon by Aeschylus

Cassandra is a song about a universal truth: the warning unheard, and the people who do the warning.

There are many, many variations on the myth of Cassandra, the prophet whose visions were always true, but never believed. In all of them, she is the daughter of the King and Queen of Troy.

Aeschylus said she promised the god Apollo to marry him in exchange for her prophetic powers. When she later walked back that promise, Apollo cursed her to never be believed. Hygneius sources say Cassandra never promised anything, and that the gift of prophecy was only given as an attempt to win her affection. When it did not succeed, Apollo cursed Cassandra. Men who do things for you expecting to be rewarded in sex: a tale as old as time.

Even later versions cut Apollo entirely - instead, Cassandra fell asleep in a temple, and snakes whispered prophecies into ears, giving her this power to foretell the future. In all versions, this power cannot save her. After the fall of Troy, Cassandra is kidnapped by Agamemnon as a concubine and later killed by Agamemnon's wife, Clytemnestra (or her lover, depending on whose telling the tale.)

I don't think Swift is directly mapping her experience to the myth in Cassandra, the song. Instead, the prophetess is a metaphor. It is all about the ways that public opinion is swayed by the first voice it hears, even if the truth comes out later.

The myth of Cassandra has become shorthand in the modern understanding for someone whose warning was correct, but not heeded. Swift's Cassandra, while pulling from this cultural consciousness, is much more concerned with Cassandra as a person; Swift depicts a very personal picture of her narrator, who clearly relates to the Prophetess.

It is empathy, all the way down.

The song itself is very clear with its imagery: Swift's narrator is "patching up the crack along the wall," repairing a small damage, when the unnamed family come along and burn her life down. So, she turns her "smiles into snarls," pacing with pain in her heart and venom whispered in her ears by snakes. The Narrator watches as the world realizes she was right, and then, she throws their image of perfect puritans in their face.

Bet they never spared a prayer for my soul.

It's all very I told you, you should have listened to me. And clearly, now that the truth is out, and it's cool to hate the ones she's held in her ire for years, Swift's narrator gives herself a little bit of room to say:

Do you believe me now?

It's almost very funny that I'm discussing this today - there has been a recent uproar about, specifically, scientific paper mills that exist to make money, as opposed to actually conduct research. To what end? Credentialing is a whole thing, but it's basically buying legitimacy. Scientific fraud is definitely not what this song is about, but the fact that truth tellers are so ignored in favor of profit or not shaking the status quo.

Swift loves a universal truth, and anyone who warns of duplicity is liable to be lambasted. Swift says to them - you were right, justified, and allows anyone in that position to feel both the grief and pride.

New hot take: Cassandra is the song for Retraction Watch nerds (me) and Brian Deer. I'm only partially being facetious.