#Writing the Word on Our Heart

[doulafaith]

Written Upon Our Hearts

Written Down on the chambers of our Hearts   Jeremiah 31;31 “These things happened to them as examples and were written down as warnings for us, on whom the culmination of the ages has come.” 1 Corinthians 10:11 Context: Deuteronomy 11: 18-21 & Deuteronomy 27: 1-8 Focus:“You shall therefore lay up these words of mine in your heart and in your soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand,…

[gentlebeard]

If I could hold you for a minute, Darling, I’d go through it again

For @edsbacktattoo & @stedesearring 💕 Show: Our Flag Means Death - Season 1 & 2 Music: Francesca by Hozier YouTube

[lazycranberrydoodles]

ughhhhh so probably the tgcf scene i think the most about is in the final battle when hua cheng is holding xie lian and backwards gripping eming with his other hand i . god. this is referenced off of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel (i’m pretty sure everyone has seen it by this point) which is surprisingly pretty topical for tgcf.

[sir-toastington]

more art from my gf DeathRay (Grumpy Bear is both our favorite)

She also made her own Care Bear Cousin- Gloomheart Bat! Specifically nocturnal, she's rarely seen by the other cousins with the exception of Brightheart who's also nocturnal.

She stands for the importance of patience, and listening to others without interrupting while they share their feelings.

[nighttimepatrons]

Not Without Maedhros

Thinking about a Fingon fic set in Mandos where Fingon is ready for reembodiment but won't leave the halls without Maedhros. Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually seen Maedhros's spirit yet...

The only way he can tell the passage of time is the influx of spirits into the Halls, the halls get larger to accommodate them all. Surely Maedhros is around here somewhere.

It's about Fingon being asked if he's consider Life again and he says he has, but he'd like to wait for Maedhros first. He does not want to leave without Maedhros.

More spirits enter and he waits.

When asked again he is indeed ready for Life but it is disturbing to him that it as taken this long for Maedhros to find him. So he reaffirms that he is waiting, he will not leave without Maedhros.

Spirits come and some start to leave.

The asking stops, and in its place he is told: "it is to leave these halls", "you have lingered long enough", "you can feel the yearning for Life in you, go on, it's time to go". He always says the same: Not without Maedhros, not withouth Maedhros, not without Maedhros.

It seems impossible, but the population of the Halls actually seems to decrease.

And yet he waits. He waits until all of his family has walked out of those great, beckoning doors. He waits as his fellow spirits dwindle around him.

He waits, until he is alone in the vast, silent halls.

[tetzoro]

the day the earth stood still is the day i felt your presence leave it, and then every day after that.

[usefulquotes7]

Some people come into our lives, and leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never, ever the same. Flavia Weedn

[eyrieofsynapses]

good evening, all. it is May the 25th. our lilacs are blooming, just as the ones at the Watch House did. and I am thinking about remembrance of the fallen, and GNU, and the love in commemoration.

y'know, I read Night Watch… oh, maybe a year ago and some months ago. and the lilac symbolism, the remembrance of the Watch, has always struck me with the depth of the emotion of it, the tangibility of it in the flowers. but I wasn't aware that today was the day until I saw commemorative posts, all that gorgeous artwork and more, on my dash.

I was also not aware, until now, that fans commemorated the day not only because of the book reference, but in support of Terry Pratchett and of those with Alzheimer's. which knocked me over a bit because of course, of course the group that would use GNU to honor him would do that. and… I've been thinking about GNU a lot, lately, and this caught me again.

I read Going Postal a bit ago, and reread it recently. both times, the parts about GNU made me tear up. this idea of the names, the memories, the lives of the clacks workers who dedicated themselves to ensuring that people heard each other's voices—all those names spoken again and again and again by that which they poured their souls into, winging along in the air as they could not, an eternal reminder that they were loved—how could that not touch a person's heart?

when I found out that fans online used it to memorialize him, I damn well cried. hell, I still tear up just thinking about it. do you know, there's a code for an HTTP header "X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett" written by Reddit users to put in webpages, where it goes unseen by the average user? and in 2015, when Netcraft took a survey, there were eighty-four thousand websites using it? it's eight years later—how many thousands upon thousands of websites have this now, do you think? how many little cables of light has his name flown along, now? how many times?

that alone is absurdly and unimaginably lovely in its own right, but… there's something else to it. there's something about remembering with the lilac sprigs every year, just as Vimes and those who were there remembered their dead. something about how, when we take up our lilac sprigs, we carry a little piece of the characters in our hearts, too. I kept trying to put my finger on why that makes me tear up the way it does. the conclusion I came to is this:

what greater way to honor a writer is there, but to honor them the way they did the characters they poured their heart and soul into? what better way to say we know you and you are not forgotten and your work and words and gifts to the world are held in our hearts forever than to remember them by their own words, their own vision? how else could we say you embodied all the good you believed in and wished to see in the world, but to memorialize them after the little pieces of their soul they wrapped in ink and put upon the page?

it is a knowing of the writer, to remember them in their way. it is not a worn-out faceless platitude, but a reminder that their work has been read and will continue to be, that the characters and world they loved enough to bring to life last just as their name does. such remembrance is warm and loving and delights in their memory even as it grieves.

and now Pratchett's name has been written in his tradition, over and over and over, across the vast plane of the Internet, where it will—with any luck—continue to fly for generations to come.

there is no way to truly express the beauty of that… but perhaps we can catch a glimpse of it in the lilacs, both ours and the Watch's.

[carecarry]

oh universe, why do you have to play hard to get? i’ve had my fair share of summer romance. what if, just for fun, you could make me fall in love every ber months?

[kinokoshoujoart]

the sos awl development team really looked at rock and said “even if we could fix him (we can’t) he would never agree to it, carry on king”

[randik-86]

Don't let the sadness take over your heart,

Let me take that burden from you,

Ease the strain that weighs heavy on your soul,

I want to nurse the love that has been bestowed upon us,

With a seal of my kiss on your lips,

Promising you to offer all that you need...

©️randik86

[bitesizedpoetry]

[hopecomesbacktolife]

read another Star Trek novel, experiencing indescribable emotions again

[kiwiaok]

how does one write about infinity? I only have access to all the things finite. I am restricted by words, by languages, by my abilities. how do I overcome this? how can I write everything when I still know nothing? perhaps all I can do is try, gather all the stardust I have on my fingertips, and sculpt it into a shapeless clump of clay in my palms, breathe life into it until it flickers back at me, and then say: "it's everything" because it will be my everything.

[simonnebethel]

find the word tag

was tagged by @andyswritings to find drip, burn, reach, and throw!

She was in the barn, in the same corner that she put Beau in when he first darkened her doorstep. Rainwater dripped from a crack somewhere above her, and she moved an inch to the side as she gathered her thoughts.

She returned back to the house after a few minutes of solemn thinking and tried to clean the remaining mess. There was blood all over the walls and floors, and the rug would have to be thrown in the trash. Or burnt, along with her dress. She liked that dress.

Judas was standing before her, his right hand bloody and a wild, terrified look in his peridot eyes. He eyed the corpse as if it would move again but when it didn’t, his gaze turned to Ana. “Are you okay?” He murmured, reaching a hand out. He had more rings than he had fingers, and his nails were painted black. A memory sprung to the front of Ana’s mind, another memory of the same hand helping her a long time ago. “I can summon my father if—”

The memory ended, but Ana’s shock and pain wasn’t over yet. She was thrown into something else, but this time it was a yellow barrier. A shock of yellow hit her eyes, and she could not move past it. She tried to push herself through it in whatever corporeal form the spell had decided to give her, despite the pain it caused just behind her right eye, but she failed. She was about to give up when the yellow barrier formed into something else. Electric yellow eyes, sharp and brilliant makeup, a pale face, and black hair. “Now…who could you possibly be?” The smell of cypress and benzoin hit her nose just before she was thrown far, far away.

tagging: @sleepyrxsetea @kidukami @thelivingdeceased

your words are: divide, palm, broke, and worry!

[ovenscookbook]

SWEET JESUS