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#he is half my soul as the poets say

feywild-meadows · 3 months

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I made these so long ago for an edit and twt before and forgot to post again (dummy)

#tumblr won’t let me format this correctly hmm bum bum #patrochilles #tsoa #edit #edits #bnha #mha #krbk #tsoa patrochilles #tsoa patroclus #Patroclus #achilles #he is half my soul as the poets say

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tboygareth · 1 year

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thoughts currently being consumed by the idea of a steddie tsoa au

#name one hero who was happy #shut the fuck up bee #tsoa #steddie #bee.txt #he is half my soul as the poets say #making myself sick over here

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atlas-the-bastard · 1 year

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I only know four quotes off by heart off the top of my head. They are:

1. He is half my soul, as the poets say.

2. This, this, this.

3. In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heaay dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood, like a hundred golden urns, pouring out the sun.

4. Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.

And yes, i am gay, thanks for asking

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rexsterss · 4 months

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Were none of you gonna warn me on the fact that Fox and Thorn’s paint jobs are just opposites of each other. When one’s drenched with red, the other leaves it white. When blank plastoid is exposed, the other will cover it with red. They're half of each other's souls, Scoob.

#HE IS HALF OF MY SOUL AS THE POETS SAY #i could recognise him by touch alone by smell #i would know him blind by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth #i am on the fucking floor #commander thorn #commander fox #foxthorn #thornfox #coruscant guard #corrie guard #cloneshipping #clone ship #the clone wars #star wars #star wars the clone wars #swtcw #marsdraws #marsrb

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voidcatofbedlam · 4 months

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Achilles and Patroclus reuniting in the underworld

Gouache on canvas

Finished reading the Song of Achilles in a day and oh gods it hurt me so much I need to paint the ending scene

#my coping mechanism #the song of achilles #he is half of my soul #as the poets say #tsoa #madeline miller #achilles and patroclus #achilles #patroclus #patrochilles #achilles x patroclus #tsoa fanart #illustration

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rambling-melpomene · 7 months

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“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.”

“He smiled, and his face was like the sun.”

“When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.”

“I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.”

“He said what he meant; he was puzzled if you did not.”

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

— Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

#every greek tragedy is born of love #and loyalty and gods #are they not built for it #zoro #luffy #opla #song of achilles #zolu #technically #“He is half of my soul as the poets say.”

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ghostisun · 17 hours

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dewther and their favourite places to kiss each other is that sliver of skin underneath the ear. it's ticklish and feather-light, a brush of unyielding affection, and the place where their scent is most potent.

dew's always rewarded with a giggly aether when he kisses him there so of course he begins to tease more; hot breaths and fever-warm lips. his element—which has always been dangerous and volatile—is twisted into something playful for his love. into something kind. into something that draws aether into his arms.

aether purrs when dew does this, burly arms curling around the slope of dew's waist and tugging him close—his sputtering furnace mixing with aether's rippling tenderness.

he loves him. satanas, oh how he loves aeth.

(can't help myself but thinking about how when aether left, dew started wearing his hair down more and dressing up more; turtle necks and collared button-ups even when it's warm out—his last semblance of hiding himself, especially his most sensitive spot. aether's favourite place to kiss.)

#sun chimes #the band ghost #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #dewther #theyre so 'the one that got away' coded #so 'right person not enough time' coded #so 'youre the air i breathe' coded #so 'he is half my soul as the poets say' coded #sobs

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pellelavellan · 18 days

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where i've been all day...finishing modern au vibes hippie goth pelle gives me life look at him he's adorable.

I am sure somewhere in those comments someone has pointed out they failed to make a heart lmao

text:

69 likes

twinkerpelle: and they were roommates... <3

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talwinning: ...omg no one else like this lmfao

#my art #ooc #out of quizzy #modern au #{{ he is half my soul as the poets say }} pelle x dorian #i spent so long on this and i dont HATE it #but i wanted it to be better lmfao

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pearlsinmyhair · 6 months

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v + m

a moment. a retcon. a release.

when mansk was little, he always told his ma about how the girl he was going to marry was going to be a dancer. she had laughed- not in a mocking way or like she wanted to make him feel smaller. it was the kind of laugh a parent lets out when they understand that their child is pure. it has a bittersweet edge to it, tinged with the knowledge that this pureness is not everlasting. because abigail mansk knew that her son may find a dancer, but she would not be the one he called his.

and she was right, at least at first. mansk found a dancer. she danced right into his heart and mind and danced right out just as quick. she found another boy who could keep up with her rhythm, and mansk was left in the dust.

it was a hard lesson to learn, but he learned it well.

and then he saw her.

it was something about the way she moved, like every plant and animal turned to look. like her arms conducted a symphony that he couldn’t hear, but that he could feel buzzing just under the surface of his skin.

every step. every twitching finger. every lifted arm.

she was something that neither him nor his mother had accounted for. she was art, moving at a frequency that he could never quite catch on to. but then she would stop, turn to look over her shoulder, and catch his eye.

and he got it, like a needle on a record player catching the grooves on vinyl, and he knew that his ma was wrong.

because once he caught on to her melody, he couldn’t stop.

when venus had her first heartbreak, her mother told her that there would always be someone that she could never have. it didn’t matter when, and it didn’t matter what. she would love someone so hard it killed her, and there would be nothing she could do to make them stay.

her mother claimed that she had gotten lucky with father. by all accounts, jake could have turned a blind eye to everything neytiri taught him. he could have watched hometree destroyed and never tamed toruk and gone back to the omatikaya. but he had, and while he would say that he did it for eywa, venus knew that it was mostly for his love of her mother.

but they were an odd case, neytiri assured her. it was a natural thing to occur, to have someone that you could never completely hold.

venus had thought that hers was ku’altu. but no, she could have had him if she wanted him enough. jake would have let her go if she begged. she could have stood the shame of abandoning her clan if it was for the sake of her mate.

but no, she had chosen her duty over him. it was a choice, not a forced outcome.

and meeting him only confirmed it.

because the moment she met him, the moment she looked into his eyes, she knew that she was branded. if fate existed, this was it.

and this claim was not for the sake of romantic tragedy or a poetic heart.

no. when venus saw him, her heart felt at peace. when he looked at her, her soul felt bare. he made her feel…

…she didn’t have words. but it felt right. when he touched her, she buzzed and silenced at the same time. she felt like the war was gone and it was only them.

and then she focused on the logo on his shirt, and she remembered her mothers lesson.

she pleaded to eywa selfishly, begging the great mother to give him to her. do not take him away, she asked, make him stay with me.

but just as her duty pulled her away from ku’altu, his pulled him away from her.

but sometimes, when all was quiet and they sat side by side, listening to each others heartbeats, she could pretend like he was hers.

she could pretend like she wouldn’t have to let him go.

mansk didn’t know how to hug people. or how to hold hands. or how to grab something without automatically imagining breaking it. it was a side effect of both his marine training and his new body.

he was powerful in a way that was excessive. carbon reinforced and infused with training on how to jump into action in a millisecond made him a timebomb of destruction. surprise him, and he might just break your arm.

she figured this out quick, and she quickly found a way to let him know she was there without ever saying a word.

one beat. two beats. step. one-two. step. one-two. step.

she was like a deer, always stepping out quietly and elegantly in a way that made you wonder how long she had been there.

and even worse, her long limbs looked so damn breakable next to his. his hands were larger than hers, big enough to hold her forearms in his palms and let his fingers overlap. he was bulky, the human dna making him broader.

she was lithe as a willow. he was as thick as an oak.

and yet she touched him like he would break. like he was the one who could be hurt when their physical beings brushed. so he was even softer- ever hesitant in initiating contact. it was almost always a tap of his tail or the brush of his thumb. gripping her or grabbing her felt like entrapment.

but she found a remedy for this, too. she guided his hands to her, lifted his palms to press her own against.

this is how, she said without every verbalizing, this is how you hold me without hurting me.

he didn’t know everything yet, but he’d learn if it meant feeling her heartbeat next to his.

when venus sees him in her dreams, she knows it is traitorous. she smells the blood before it is spilt, senses her mothers rage before it lights, knows her fathers disappointment before he processes it.

to imagine this man in this way is to be against her people. to think of him in this way is to betray her clan. to crave him like she does is to stab the most sacred part of herself and bleed until she has no more to give.

but oh, how she wants him. his mouth, his hands, his back, his shoulders. she burns with an ache so very consuming that she wonders how she is not ash. when venus looks at him, it’s like her body goes hazy. it forgets where hers ends and his begins, and every bit of her wants to not see the need to know such boundaries.

venus wants to get lost in him, and she wants him to get lost in her.

she wants to know what his mouth tastes like when he says he wants her. she wants to know what his skin feels like in the places that others do not get to touch. she wants to kiss every scar and trace every stripe until his body is a map blazed into her mind.

and venus wants him to do the same to her.

she doesn’t think he knows the power of his palms. he held her hands one night and all she can think of is them holding her waist as he kisses her neck and chest and stomach and-

traitor traitor traitor traITOR TRAITOR TRAITOR-

venus wants to know the depths of his mind in the way only mates can. she wants to be mates with him. eywa, her skin itches with her own blasphemy. but her limbs burn with need. and sometimes her body is more desire than hellfire, and she has to stop herself from wanting to find him when the others are asleep. has to stop herself from taking him to some secluded space to whisper her deepest thoughts.

if not just to see if his own eyes light with the same desperation, or that his body tenses with the same apprehension.

betrayal of her blood. a fool. a beggar at a house that will disappoint her.

but if he doesn’t think the same, then why does he look at her like he’s on fire, too?

mansk does not deserve her. he knows this in his bones. it’s carved into the inside of his ribs, burning and bright.

and yet his heart rebels every time she is near, pounding like a damn freight train, charging like the beats of hooves in a stampede. she’s not his to claim, and yet in the most secluded spots of his mind she is his.

her name echos in the caverns of his skull so often that he can hear it as if said. his banshee often teases him, in their odd bonded way, about the lingering thoughts about her mate’s rider. his desire is no secret to the one that shares his mind, and he has long since ceased trying to make it so.

she saw through it instantly, though he is convinced that she tried to ignore it. mansk understands the reason her eyes glance away and her hands flinch from his.

this is not some love story, sugary sweet and without consequences. there is no true happy ending to whatever this feeling is, however requited it may be.

the other day they paused at a stream and broke from the others, him sent by quaritch as an escort for the ever wandering forest girl.

she had reached above her to brush her fingertips along a leaf, and fan-lizards twisted about her head as she twirled, the trill of her laugh soft and unworried. she held her hand to one, bringing it to him to point out its delicate patterns.

when he traced his own finger along its fans it flew, and he turned to find her face only a breath from his.

this close, he could see the rings of gold in her irises, study the small divots in her skin, see every hair of her eyebrows. his eyes dipped to her mouth, and she inhaled softly.

just as his nose brushed hers, she stepped away and walked straight back to the group, her tail twisting in uncontrolled swirls. she disappeared from his sight, and he only saw her much later when she returned with zdog, who complained loudly that venus wouldn’t emerge from a chilly spring.

they slept on opposite sides of the group that night, and all he could hear as he faded into sleep was the hitch of her breath and the flutter of the fan-lizard.

no, mansk didn’t deserve her. but damn if he wouldn’t fight for her the moment she gave him permission.

war thrums under venus’s skin like a promise. she was born in war, born to it, born out of it. her life has been fight for so long that sometimes she doesn’t know anything else. defense is natural, and her hand finds the hilt of her blade swifter than a nantang closes its jaws around prey.

her mother had praised her for it, but neytiri was also a woman cultivated by war. she understood the necessity of swiftness, of no hesitation. her brothers played at battle and glory, but venus knew only protect at all cost.

so how is it that he so quietly slipped past the cage of her ribs and into her most vulnerable place?

it is a miracle after all she’s been through. after what happened only a year ago, venus was honestly surprised that her heart had the capacity to let another in, let alone another who carried the promise of war at his heels.

and yet he was here, in her mind and in her soul, making himself known to the expanse of her.

the fiery yearning that had stolen into her gut had simmered since the stormy night of her brothers death, but it is still there. now, there is only solemn understanding in her heart of the impermanence of them. because just around the corner, in a matter of hours, she will once again be amongst na’vi. true na’vi, with understanding eyes and criticizing gazes. they will smell her deceit before they see it, and they will most assuredly see it.

so for these final nights, she allows herself clarity.

it’s a terrible thing, to give up something that was never yours to begin with.

he’s confused by the way she looks at him, disturbed at how she pulls back from him. she’s been marked by him, but she has endured the pain of loneliness before.

she sits before him, her thighs brushing his as her forehead rests against his shoulder. they are not visible to the group, their little meeting a secret to scrutinizing eyes.

he hesitates for only a second before his arm is gentle pulling her to him by the waist, and she knows that he understands.

tamar’s quills tickle her back, and with a final breath in and out, she breaks the embrace and pulls away.

———————————————————————————————

my breath of venus readers, i know you have been starving!!! i’m so so sorry 😭 this is just a cute little “get it out of my system” write that i wanted to do for mansk and venus based on some quotes that remind me of them. i hope you enjoyed <3

taglist:

@xstarsdiary @xstarsmvxz @lisedanie @avatar4eva @henhouse-horrors @xylianasblog @knmendiola @isnt-itstrange

#—breath of venus #—botticelli blues ⋆｡˚#avatar the way of water #venus sully #venus x mansk #i love them #he is half my soul #as the poets say #recom mansk #recom mansk x oc

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richardxoliverxmayhew · 2 months

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( a drabble for The Darling @vxctorx cause I've been thinking about Their reunion )

Cherried lips sundered as a hushed and breathless gulp escaped his throat. Had his eyes deceived him? Had the specters of his past finally come to haunt his waking hours.--No. This was real. He was real. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for years. Conjured up renditions of what he would say if he and his love of golden-years-past were ever to cross paths again. Would he tell Vic of all of the hurt he had bore since that fateful day at the train station?

'How dare he. I'll ne'er forgive him.' Richard thought to himself, tears stinging in his reddened eyes. The first night alone in his flat... What was to be Their flat... pricked the most. How naive, the Scotsman thought to himself. How naive it was to think that he and Vic would spend their first night exhausted, but discreetly reveling in the twilight of their new life, their freedom, entwined against the other's figure upon a newly baptized mattress that was all Theirs and Theirs alone. Instead, Richard found himself sitting against a wall, downing booze, in a desperate attempt to drown not just his sorrows, but whatever trace of foolish hope he may have harboured for Them. Their life. Their unwound future. Richard took another clumsy swig of his bottle, before scrubbing away another loose tear with the side of his knuckle. 'I hate him. I hate Victor Trevor.' Naive. Dumb. Foolish, boy.

Or, would Richard tell him about the quiet moments in-between the eventual, watered down hurt and the mundane. The silent longing so great he sometimes felt he couldn't breathe.

'I'll ne'er forget him. I ne'er could...' The ache burrowed deep into the cavern of his chest. He could feel it in his bones. A year had passed since that fateful day, but the Scotsman found himself thinking of Him now and again. That contemplation led to remembering. Remembering led to missing. It was in the cozy silence of his daily routine that the yearning was most ardent. It was when Richard took an insomnia-induced stroll, just at the crack of dawn, while the world slept on, that he caught sight of the first flares of light. The sun's golden tendrils reminding him of the aureate ruffle of His boyish curls. How he liked to teasingly tousle them in an act of fondness. It was when he would find himself idly toying with the ring Vic had given him for his birthday, which he had never taken off. Not once. In fact, whenever he was alone, the Scotsman occasionally found the gentle touch of his lips linger against the band's curve. Did Vic still wear the other half? Did his lips too press discreet caresses upon its golden bend? Or had he forgotten? Was the ring nothing more than a trifle, buried with the rest of Their memories?-- It was in these moments that grief's ghost lingered. Not the grief of day's past. Richard looked at those with a bittersweet fondness. No. It was the grief of what could have been. What they could have made. Richard missed Him and all that he was. All that They were.

"It's you...." he rasped, his voice fragile glass. Taking a bold step forward, Richard tilted his chin up at the other, as if about to expel some well-versed speech. A speech of heart. Of the longing. Of the loneliness. Instead, his weary arms could bare the weight of such a deepened severance no longer. What bitter resolve the Scotsman may have been harbouring after all these years finally melted away, revealing both his trembling ache of yearning and boyish adoration for the golden gentleman before him. Without another word, Richard wrapped his arms round Vic's mature figure, holding him close. The tips of his fingers crumpled against the back of the gentleman's shirt as a quiet tear or two rolled down his cheek. Richard Mayhew had dreamed of this moment for five years.--'Vic, I'm sorry.' 'I've ne'er been happier to see ye'.' 'I missed ye'. So, much.' Not a word was uttered. In fact, he didn't have to say a word. All he could do was hold Vic close. A silent promise to never let him go. Not now. Not ever. He never could.

#//im so sorry for this random short drabble my love//#//but idk why i just wanted to write a drabble about their reunion and all of the complicated mixed bag of emotions//#//richard felt during such a time//#//i really hope u like it my darling! 🥰//#vxctorx #period;uni days;v #HE'S HALF OF MY SOUL AS THE POETS SAY;#//also i know that you and i made a thread about their reunion but i just wanted to shed a bit more light//#//on richard's emotional state during such a time 🥺//#drabble;

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