carve our names

let’s make gods out of these hollow corpses.
i’m tired of the weight of mortality, i want
to tear it from my veins til i bleed silver and gold,
til i can feel something again. let’s carve our names
in a heart on the ivory pillars of history. maybe
one day they’ll chant our names. maybe one day
they’ll paint us into the constellations and name
galaxies after us, and we too shall be eternal.
—  divinity | a.c. for @lxcuna | want one?
What Do the Gods Want From Me?

That is the single biggest question one has to deal with in the Greco-Roman faith. We don’t have a single Holy Book to dictate out actions. However, we do have three thousand years of history, myth, and tradition. So stepping back and taking in that, what do the gods want of you? Well, that’s simple.

They want you to kick ass.

Arete. Excellence. Mediocrity is not an option. The world is giving you shit? Punch ‘em in the face. Do you have a skill you’re damn good at? Then don’t accept good. Take that skill and say ‘I’m going to be AWESOME.’ Does something scare you? Laugh at it. WWZD. What Would Zeus Do? Punch it in the face. Or Herakles, or countless other gods and demigods. The meek don’t inherit the Earth in our way of life. We have the audacity to carve our names into the living rock and say I WAS HERE. We don’t quit. We don’t accept second place. We endure. The gods love mortals who do great things. So what is our chief commandment? Be awesome. Chase greatness, and through it, may you find Elysium.

what i would do to make you love me again | yugyeom pt.2

Originally posted by kimyuygeom

a/n: the last part!

genre: angst/fluff

word count: 736 (it’s short i’m sorry)


summary: we carved our names into a bench, and now i have to walk past it every day knowing we weren’t meant to be.

You look at him as he stared at you, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“I got to go, bye!” Diana says jumping up quickly and walking the completely wrong way. Your eyes removed from his as you looked back down at the carving on the bench, his messy carving managing to bring you to tears as you realised that even though he was in front of you – he was not yours like he was the last time you sat on the bench together.

“You still look at it?” he asks sitting down next to you.

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Let’s go to Paris.
I don’t care if it’s cliche,
If we are to make history, I want an impressive backdrop.
Let the cherry petals fall as we walk,
Whispering to each other about these mysterious newcomers who seem to have brought spring in the middle of winter.
Wear your best dress, wear no shoes,
Let’s dance down long-forgotten streets and remind them why this is the city of love.
The Eiffel Tower will bow ever so slightly and ask for a dance of his own, and no lights will burn out from the time we get there.
And they’ll need them because
I will pick you your favorite stars and slip them into your pockets.
I will carve our names into every tree in this city until
Boys and girls we haven’t met will wonder about us in a hundred years
There will be poems exalting the harmonies our breathing made.
This will no longer be a dot on the map but
A heart.
—  Let’s teach the mapmakers a thing or two, Elizabeth McNamara
what i would do to make you love me again | yugyeom

Originally posted by yugyeomism

a/n: this could possibly be a series?

genre: angst

word count: 1.1k

summary: we carved our names into a bench, and now i have to walk past it every day knowing i messed it up.

“Let’s go out for lunch,” Diana says walking over to your desk.

“Where to?” you ask standing up and grabbing your bag, throwing your phone in it.

“There’s a bistro we could try?”

“Round the corner?” you ask.

“Yeah, problem?” she asks with a look of concern.


“It’s new,” Yugyeom says tugging your arm and pulling you into the small bistro.

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pyonshi  asked:

Describe your dream wedding with Kou >w>

IA : “Um… something simple?” (๑•́‧̫•̀๑) “I don’t really think too much on weddings… haha… Although, knowing Kou-kun he probably do something outrageous. I guess it wouldn’t be that bad–?”

IA : As long as both of us enjoy the time, I’ll be happy. Underneath the blue sky probably will be the biggest theme… hm~ Maybe even with our names carved onto a tree–

IA : What am I thinking? -slaps her head- It isn’t like he has proposed yet… I shouldn’t be thinking about this…

Owl City Polaroid- Signed

You carved our names in a heart on an old oak tree three years ago, and I still haven’t forgotten it.

You promised for as long as that tree was giving oxygen to the world our love would keep breathing.

I often wonder where our names are on that tree now, I wonder how much it’s grown, because somewhere along the way it outgrew us.

I wonder if anyone ever traces their finger around that heart and wonders who we are.

I wonder if complete strangers are out there imagining a better ending for us then the one we were given.

I take comfort knowing that our love still exists somewhere.

That even though it is just our names,
Somewhere we are still together.

—  Oak Trees and Declarations of Love

Could you hear my soul
whisper to yours
when we sat in the back
of the classroom?
We were innocence
in the school of life; 
blackboards settling scores, 
writing love a million times;

hearts carved around our names
deep in the wood of our desks;
etched with compass points
on the steel of our lockers —
vandalism we paid for
with detention; long hours of penance
all for simply professing
love at a young age;

an uncomfortable truth
searing their eyes;
love unabashed —
the first love they had
pure and pristine, before
someone broke their heart:
we were a cruel reminder
of what love should be;

holding hands down the hall,
ignorant of what they had to say;
making out behind the bleachers
being the highlight of the day —
I remember the hijacked picnics,
resting my head in your lap,
the blue skies and majestic trees
bearing witness to our wholesome affair;

how the leaves danced with the sun
twisting, turning, like our future —
our paths diverged, yours and mine,
and we lived like thieves of destiny, 
hiding behind laws of indifference;

and here we are again –
love’s day of reckoning…
can you hear my soul
whisper to yours
as we sit in the back
of the courthouse?
Find the hands that bind –
yours; worn — mine; less innocent, 
reaching, to save our lives.

This compact collab has been brought to you by lovaboxa and myself.

Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we’re still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It’s all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?

At the very least we want a witness. We can’t stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.

—  Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin