Personality| So Empty Yet Wishing To Be Overfilled With Emotion; Keep Chasing The Adrenaline High - Tumblr Posts - Page 2
Which two Greek gods are your parents?
Apollo & Aphrodite
Oh, sweet child of the sun and love! Your father is the radiant oracle of truth, and your mother was born beautiful of Titan's blood. A life of greatness stands before you dictated by honor, charm, and consuming desire. No man can tell you what realm you preside over, but look to themes of daydreams and serenades as you grow into your power.
Hades & Nyx
Oh, sweet child of the dead and night ! Your father commands the Underworld, and your mother the mysterious primordial of Chaos. A life of greatness stands before you dictated by sternness, independence, and secrecy. No man can tell you what realm you preside over, but look to themes of souls and answers as you grow into your power.
how do you need to be loved?
like the snow melts
you need to be loved patiently. you need to feel the love slowly creeping in, a warning, a way to back away if you’re too scared. you need to be loved cautiously, as if you’re fragile. you need to be loved gently, because love is messy and muddy and makes your socks wet and hurts if the sun gets too close. but you need to let yourself be loved, because when you do, it’ll feel like spring.
what kind of tragedy are you?
wrong place, wrong time
it shouldn’t have been you. oh my love, you should have lived. if only. if only you had made a right instead of a left. if only your friend hadn’t had so much to drink. if only it hadn’t rained last night. then everything would be fine. a butterfly could have flapped its wings at another time and you would have have been fine. safety was so close, and yet so far. but alas, the stars just had to align.
Which God chooses you?
Rot, the God of What Remains
She has mushrooms growing between her gnarled fingers, her skin blackened and loose from her body. Every candle gutters and dies as her dark mass pools beneath you. When she rises, it is with the odour of the swamps. Her eye sockets are empty, yet still her gaze rakes through your very soul. "Oh, my dear." Her muddy voice bubbles and froths. "I call you to a harsh life. They will hate you for what you are. Death-keeper. Worm-eaten. Maggot-crawler. But even the gods die." She raises a filth-ridden finger to your forehead and paints her mark - a dirt streak, right to left, cold and clammy against your skin. "Life brings death, and death brings decay. Natural as the fallowing of the fields." Her mouth is a black pit, toothless yet still grinning. You feel your skin growing cold, clammy; tears break out across your skin, yellowed bone poking through, but there is no pain. Just a muddy dampness. "Ssh," she says, holding her finger to your lips. "You are mine, now."