#Divine warning.

[mgakwentongbayan]

Pandora's Box

In the mythical tapestry of ancient Greece, there exists a cautionary tale, a story of curiosity, consequences, and the fragility of human nature. It is the tale of Pandora’s Box. Long ago, in a time when gods and mortals coexisted, the great god Zeus, ruler of Mount Olympus, decided to bestow a gift upon humankind. Hephaestus, the divine blacksmith, crafted a beautiful woman named Pandora,…

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[lady-sapphyre]

Art is a commission by the lovely @/lonelymagpies on Twitter (hence my different username in the watermark)

DIVINE FOLLIES:

Rating: explicit

Categories: F/M

Relationship: God!Gale/(named)Tav

Words: 26,771

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘥?

Four decades hence his divine ascension, the God of Ambition hungered still. Hungered for power, for glory, for worship— and for love.

Scorned by his love, a mere mortal, a slight which the mind does not forget easily, he jumps at the chance to rekindle their love affair and bring her to the heavens.

The only way they can be together still... Or is it?

Aka. Tav [redacts] the godhood out of Gale, but also God!Gale character study

[searchingforserendipity25]

‘there was horror beyond horror. and yet we would not be the quendi, if we were blind to beauty even in the darkness. when we skated on the thin, thin black ice, and all the stars reflected upon it such we seemed to walk among the heavens. and the ice made such a singing -’

fingon did not continue, and maedhros did not reply.

fever-bound, too hot to touch, too bright to look upon, he was all mislaid spirit and striving flesh. his eyes moved under his lids restlessly; if he heard him at all, he gave no sign at all. 

fingon had not known maedhros had stood aside at losgar until he heard the healers speak of it. it was good to be able to wash his face and neck and wound without hatred, but hatred had been easier.

he had bought a great deal at the price of an impossible deed and a lost hand, peace above all, this uneasy truce and this uneasy becalming, the long recovery. but the hatred, too, had been left to rot with morgoth's chains.

he could not be sorry for it - but he did feel its lack, no less than maedhros, who thrashed in stilted movements, expecting to be constrained.

fingon knew him. he had hated him for years and years. it had kept him alive, warm within, his urge for justice; and now it was guttered in him, watching maedhros burn inside himself. 

and yet. he heard it still. that sweet, high sound, the warnings of the helcaraxë. danger, danger in every step, and no safe place to tread, a layer of ice as fine as a sword’s fine edge between going forward and sinking wholly. maedhros had stood aside at losgar, but not in alqualondë, and not in tirion. even if he kneeled to fingolfin, and was faithful, and made peace.

a traitor will always turn again, turgon had told him, pale with fury, when he came to visit from across the lake to demand news of what passed after the landing of the eagle; and turgon was wiser at times than his brother - if not wise enough not to come to his brother’s aid, amidst the kinslaying by the sea.

maedhros’s breathing was ragged, greedy, his chapped mouth drinking in the herb-scented air. he had such a will to live in him, and such despair. fingon could feel it even now, a dark thing moving underneath, the coals that fed the brightness of his spirit. fingon knew himself in battle with it, custodian over his quest-prize till he woke. 

‘i will tell you of it when you wake,’ fingon promised, and wrung the cloth. it would be says yet before maedhros woke, and not love alone kept him to his side. 

[hopeinthebox]

jitb listening party: texts from last night [vol.1]

[mxwhore]

riddles

[baked-hylian]

my tears of the kingdom dlc wishlist in no particular order;

dungeons not related to the immediate story that have unique bosses but give you fun items that give you different perks

more outfits

an option you can select on the main menu after you've completed the game by beating ganondorf at least once where you get a segment of post game content that acts like an epilogue

either two new quests like a call from the depths, or eight new shrines, or two new dungeons with heart containers to even out the health bar/stamina wheel

a side adventure where you help a team of different folks build new settlements in select areas of hyrule, possibly even the depths

a flying construct in the vein of the master cycle that people can earn that never disappears, is easy to control, and doesn't eat up your battery as fast as fans typically do

a side adventure/whole dlc pack that delves into the hero referenced in botw from 10,000 years ago on the mural and in the hero's aspect

a side adventure where cece hires link to hunt down the culprit who has been making knock-offs of her clothing brand, and it turns out to be the yiga as a money-making scheme

[bread-angle]

(volume warning)

Speaking of animating, heres an unfinished animation i was working on a few months back that im not sure ill ever end up finishing <//3

[shouta-edits]

Hello! Possible moodboard of Kevin from sin city? With themes of ethereal aesthetics, divinity, feeling blank and cannibalism?

Content warning c@nnibal mention & gore imagery. Scroll past if you dont want to look.

[soldier-poet-king]

I need to learn to meditate

I have to stop being externally dependent on moods and events for peace. I need to learn to quiet my thoughts without external aids. I need to be able to calm myself. I want desperately to be able to just sit and do that. It would be good for me in so many ways

Everything is getting worse and traditional prayer is hard and mostly sends me spiralling into panic attacks or trauma induced nausea

Send me your fave books/lectures/resources/etc on meditation. Esp for big dumb idiots who don't know how to do anything.

[ruckis-vandalizes]

Flashing/Static/Glitch TW || D&D x OotS (Post Comic Sick): The Chosen Few Arc

a short and easy animation/animatic inspired by the state of Gera's Soulscape in our current D&D campaign, as a dramatic preview of sorts

[lady-sapphyre]

Just gonna throw what my friend said when I talked about potentially writing God!Gale angst about the loss of self, how he’ll never be content / satisfied as he’s become the god of ambition, etc etc. (this message was actually preceded by something along the lines of a “NO! He has been through TOO MUCH already”) and the 26.7k words of a fic it spawned, out here. (I mean the original angst plans are still very much there, they’ve just been accompanied by smut lmao)

Don’t ask how I hit that many words because I still don’t know. Anyways, I have nothing to say other than that I’m not just the silliest clown, I’m the entire circus.

[divine-draws]

watched bullet train the other day and thought of a bnha au inspired by it so here's toga (I imagine she's like 19 here but is so so good at playing the school girl and all innocent and is a master at disguises)

[sawrinwrites]

We got Raven. We got Penny. We got that Xiao Long-Rose reveal I've been threatening.

Brace yourselves because this one is going to hurt.

[liroyalty]

A young Sue: Hey, Nannie, I learned a cool trick! Lookie!

Young Sue: -does the thing where she taps into her eldritch power & makes her own neck split open with teeth inside-

The Nannie: -is dead(?) on the floor-

[glittergroovy]