#mythaelogy

[0ghostwatcher]

Godhood is just like girlhood:

a begging to be believed

-kristin chang

Cassandra

Princess of troy

Prophet girl

Cursed daughter

"After screaming, [Cassandra] calls out the name of Apollo sixth times, then again a seventh time, but the seventh time, by shifting the inflexion of the name slightly, she shows its etymology. Apollo's name is cognate with the Greek verb apollesthai, "to destroy utterly, kill, slay, demolish, lay waste." By crying out "Apollon emos", Cassandra can designate the god as "my Apollo" and "my destroyer" at the same time in the same words."

- Anne Carson, excerpt of Cassandra Float Can, from Float (via mythaelogy)

[beholdingslut]

Hey did you change your url recently? Or come back to tumblr after a long time? I hope this doesn't seem rude, I just don't remember following you is all!

i changed my url from mythaelogy to this current one in may 2020 but alas i have been consistently running my mouth here since 2012

[consistantly-changing]

[Image transcript: "After screaming, [Cassandra] calls out the name of Apollo sixth times, then again a seventh time, but the seventh time, by shifting the inflexion of the name slightly, she shows its etymology. Apollo's name is cognate with the Greek verb apollesthai, "to destroy utterly, kill, slay, demolish, lay waste." By crying out "Apollon emos", Cassandra can designate the god as "my Apollo" and "my destroyer" at the same time in the same words."

—Anne Carson, excerpt of Cassandra Float Can, from Float (via mythaelogy)]

she gets me she just does

[nickandros]

top five popes

you're such a little shit. i actually have an answer for this.

1. pope borgia. fuck you.

2. pope francis. i'm obligated to put him here. god bless.

3. pope clement vii. got to be the pope during one of the worst times for the catholic church. also giuliano de' medici's bastard son. bit of a king.

4. pope john paul ii. was pope when i was attending catholic primary school and i still have weird residual fondness. also knew a whole lot of languages which was cool of him.

5. pope paul iii. giulia farnese's brother and michelangelo's sugar daddy. got nicknamed "cardinal cunt" before he was pope. said "fuck protestant lives".

[tragicophelias]

the Works of Hans Christian Andersen - the Mermaid

"Never had she danced so beautifully; the sharp knives cut her feet, but she did not feel it, for the pain in her heart was far greater."

[midnightlaundress]

Bean-nighe 👻🧺🌫🌫

[humaintain]

from the tinyletter i sent out just this saturday, “the waiting is[n’t] essential”. (i love you, ada limón)

[id below]

it does feel unnerving, doesn't it? knowing that this pause we have now will not be going away soon, at least not until the researchers, scientists, and medical personnel (bless their hard work & effort, & may they get the protection they need) find out a vaccine or a cure. i just hope because of this – after seeing the incompetence of our institutions and how demands that were seen as "impossible" were actually possible – we move the tipping point of this world into the direction of sustainability and accountability. we organize. we demand what are our rights. we amplify. i'm just so scared of what will happen if we just accept this as normal, when the pandemic starts to subside: if the world will just continue to descend into accepting intolerance and wealth disparity.

this is what i meant by the "is[n't]" in the title – physically, in these circumstances, of course we must wait. but the work of community, the work of bettering the world – it can always start now.

[zezran]

Happy Pride

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

[yvesolade]

— Yves Olade, “Self Portrait as a Hairpin Turn”

[hotniatheron]

mythaelogy replied to your post: lonely Flint and desolation Miranda and beholding...

if madi is the noteleanor as said above, what would you assign to eleanor?

Lady Eleanor Guthrie of The Buried, who has made Nassau inescapable even for herself

[1995lahaine]

mythaelogy replied to your post: Tell us the story!!

literally the best news to wake up to

i knowww i love it when collective action is successful

[natalieweepoetry]

         what is permanence          if not a fiction of mercy          what is a name to slice from the day’s          golden hour          if not a lighthouse

Natalie Wee, “BIRTHRIGHT”

[historicwomendaily]

historicwomendaily celebration week: favorite myth (nadz’ pick)

Diyan Masalanta is the Tagalog goddess of love, conception, and childbirth; the youngest of the gods and the daughter of Dumakulem, the god of mountains and hunting, and Anagolay, the goddess of lost things.

Aside from those three aforementioned domains, she is also known as the stopper of storms and earthquakes and as the patroness of Mount Makiling, found in Laguna. It is said that she wanders around the forests of the mountain, giving aid to those who reside there in the form of gold nuggets disguised as a basket of fruits and protecting its wildlife from those who seek to destroy them. This part of her legend remains up until the present day, strengthened by occasional sightings near the area of a seemingly–ethereal lady dressed in all white.

Upon the arrival of the Spaniards and the forcible conversions to Roman Catholicism, the friars rebranded her into Mariang Makiling (Maria of Makiling) and downgraded her from her status of a goddess into a mere fairy. Moreover, the fertility rites in Obando, Bulacan which were originally done in her honor were appropriated by the friars, turning it into the feasts of San Pascual (Paschal Baylon), Santa Clara (Clare of Assisi) and the Nuestra Señora de Salambáo (Our Lady of Salambao).

Her name means “be destroyed there.”

[vanillacokedays]

stillness.

the sunlight piercing your eyes as you crack them open and it burns and burns so much the eyes water as if to weep as if preparing for some tragedy that has not happened yet a tragedy that tears you apart again like your body which was ripped open a body that stained the sheets bright red and violent and living like the boy lying next to you all white skin and black hair with some sort of tenderness tenderness like scar tissue tenderness like the inside of your wrist or untouched part of your thigh and you are lying in this burning sunlight and staring staring at this creature and feeling ripped open and not knowing who you are and not knowing where you are and wondering if this is it and if this is all it will ever be and outside the birds scream I mean they scream the earth back awake and you can see the world ending just behind your eyelids and the birds orchestrate the whole thing as the world burns below them and maybe it is just all in your head or maybe maybe your eyes are burning because the world is burning just outside outside that very window outside this warm white bed and maybe you’re the bird or the fire or the spectator or the creature next to you or maybe you’re just what rips open and stains the sheets.

[nickandros]

hahaha i jest. top five perseus amell moments

1. being called perseus amell because i couldn’t think of a name and was convinced i wasn’t going to enjoy origins so i didn’t put much thought into it and now he’s stuck with a dumb name.

2. leaving his job as warden commander at amaranthine because there was too much drama at school, so he walked a-wayayayayayay.

3. being the concubine of the pope was a pretty top tier moment.

4. becoming a blood mage through morally reprehensible means > accidentally ko-ing his whole party with blood magic > deciding to never do blood magic again + becoming a spirit healer/arcane warrior instead > saying “fuck it” and using blood magic again the second things get a little difficult

5. showing up to skyhold and immediately king hitting cullen

[lukecohoon]

EMERGE-NCY

let’s start with “are you okay? everything’s burning here.” and let that mean, “I’m sorry you survived me.” this is a poem about a name crossed out in red, a name spoken only in toasts to the dead: that closed loop of a person finally gone. I’ve been waiting for winter for so long now. summer finally ended. slow hands with sticky fingers pushing through my hair. now the porch swing is empty and the windows closed, now, I won’t find you in-between television static and refrigerator songs.   thank god for small favours. i’ve been trying to unlearn how to hold all these knives, but they’re the only shape my hands have known. let this be the winter of   learning how not to kill. teeth, tongue, hatchet, heart, all these sharp objects I’ve collected to defend myself:

buried.