#God's Omnipotence

[tomthomasblog]

[ohposhers]

i wish i remembered the context of this shitposts creation but i really dont im sorry everybody

[saintaviator]

something something gman tommy something something gordon in stasis. you know how it is.

[wiki-but-made-them-up]

God loves you, but not Enough to freak it nasty style

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

idk when people decided that trying to make peace with villains or the power of friendship was a steven universe only “problem”.

first off, a LOT of protagonists, especially kid protagonists, are like this. kids shows are less likely to just say “yeah, let’s murder this guy”. just look at all the anime where each villain of the week gets redeemed and joins the heroes. this is such a common trope but for some reason, people decided that steven universe was the only show that does this and therefore should burn in hell.

secondly, steven isn’t even that forgiving. people seriously exaggerate shit and act like he went around pleading to everyone and trying to be their friend. he didn’t even forgive the diamonds, they were just too powerful for him to kill. and he has definitely thrown hands with other antagonists when he needed to.

also, he was a fucking child. do you really expect children to know how to handle largescale issues like war? y’all want the show to be realistic but you don’t take into consideration that it’s crazy to put so much pressure on a 14 year old.

[neodiekido]

god it's still so funny to me ouma had that dumb little pretentious joker speech in trial 2 about getting maki and kaito to "fight for their lives" by making them argue against each other to decide the culprit and then neither of them ended up being the killer.

[reachforthestars-101]

I'm looking for anime isekai recs that don't have sexual fan service

If your wondering what I like to give me recs here's a list of some animes mostly isakai

Feel free to skip that if you don't feel like reading ^^

Little witch academia

ascendance of a bookworm

magical revolution of the reincarnated princess and the genius young lady

So I'm a spider so what

By the grace of the gods

Campfire cooking in another world with my absurd skill

Saving 80000 gold in another world for my retirement

The saints magic power is omnipotent

Parallel world pharmacy

[mintytrifecta]

A rumor starts that max is like secretly a twitch streamer or something cause he keeps talking about and to a "chat" randomly during the day but that's just what he calls the audience/watchers

[thereareotherwaysofpersuasion]

The Storm of Vengeance Which Consumes

Yeah. It's that scene. The swiss cheese scene. The Sushseidon scene. But it's Poseidon POV with a lot of internal emotions. This was written as part of a personal series I'm working on where one of my OCs is looking into Poseidon's history and experiences this memory.

A lot of this was inspired by the various fanarts/animatics I've seen. Such as Gwendy's use of Hermes' sandals, HAH Studios' Get In The Water (specifically Ody's hand on Horseidon's nose), sloansloan's Ody pulling Poseion's hair. So if you're reading something and are like "hmm, this seems familiar" it was probably inspired by something. The discorporation is part of the lore in my series.

Enjoy!

Words: 2300 Warnings: Torture (obviously), graphic descriptions of violence, uhh. Yeah. It's that scene, soooo Characters: Odysseus and Poseidon (with various others mentioned/referenced)

Anger consumes his heart, his mind sharp and clear on the currents of vengeance. The mortal escaped him once. But not this time. His shadow consumes the single man on a raft, his towering figure of water imposing an air of terror. At long last, it will be over. At long last, he will have his revenge. 

“We’re both hurting from loss. Why not leave this here and just go home?” the mortal offers, pain in his features as he pleads. 

The words make the god hesitate. The anger that has carved a home in his heart leaves his chest aching. The minuscule hope that he could let this pain go, that he could be free from it; it tempts him. Could it really be that simple? And yet— “I can’t,” the near broken voice of Poseidon leaves his mouth. 

The mortal dares to raise a hand in offering. A soft gesture. 

And despite himself, the god leans down towards it, ready to receive it. He’s desperate for the relief from the storm, desperate for it to finally be over with.

“Maybe you could learn to forgive,” the mortal offers a gentle smile. 

He stops short, his face a mere few feet from the mortal. What is he doing? Is he, the King of the Seas, swayed by a few silver words and a decade of chase? Is his resolve so fragile? His eyes sharpen. “No.” He pulls back, his form cracking and growing as more water rushes up to join his form. 

The seas grow rougher, almost becoming like solid glass pillars. The wind swirls around harder, creating tornadoes of water.

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” he declares his mantra once again as he raises his trident, spinning it before plunging it into the water. “Die!”

The water shatters into thousands of rugged pieces. The raft on top of it falls into the depths. 

He watches the mortal that has evaded and outsmarted him at every turn finally sink beneath his power, finally drowning under his wrath. A sharp sense of satisfaction stabs at his heart, adding to the burden of vengeance he carries. But he counts it as worth it. Because he finally did it. His mission is complete. His anger is satiated. 

At least it should be. Why does it feel like he’s not done? He killed the man. He enacted justice. For his son’s pain and his own pride. Why does he not feel satisfied?

The wind continues to whip around, stringing out his long wet hair. The storm rages on. Both outside and within. At long last, he turns to leave.

“Poseidon!” a voice screams in anger behind him.

He turns, his eyes widening. 

The mortal floats high in the air, windbag in hand and Hermes’ winged sandals on his feet.

Fury fills the god as the mortal has once again escaped his demise. He bares his teeth and turns fully around. He barely gets to raise his trident before he feels himself being pummeled. 

Though the mortal’s weapon can’t break his skin, the speed at which each blow is delivered leaves him dazed. Like six hundred men are beating his body. Like the souls of the mortal’s lost crew have come back for revenge of their own. Water is knocked from his form in showers of droplets from every strike. His eyes try to track the mortal, but he’s nothing more than a blur in the air.

In the span of a mere few seconds, his form has been beaten down to its smallest height. His concentration has been shattered, his vision spinning as he falls from the sky, landing on a rocky outcropping.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is the storm of his design raging around them. The second is the mortal standing at the rock’s edge, looking out at the consequences of his actions. A twisted sense of irony and victory worm their way into his heart despite his aching body working to heal itself from the borderline magical onslaught. 

And he laughs. 

“You idiot,” he spits at the mortal, pushing himself up by the rock behind himself. “Can’t you see? You sealed your fate just to beat me!” he continues laughing. The pitiful thing about mortals. For how clever they think they are, their hubris will always be their doom. “You really thought you could control my storm? That it would bow to your whims, King of Ithaca? You will never get back! And it is all by your own hands. Just like the lost lives of your crew.”

The mortal’s head slowly turns towards the god drunk on power. “You’re going to call off that storm,” he growls as he stalks towards him.

A scoff leaves the god. “Or what? You can’t kill me.”

The mortal bends down towards the golden trident laying between them. “Exactly.” He picks it up.

The trident shines in the hands of the descendant of Hermes.

The god’s eyes narrow in confusion at the statement. But as he looks at the prongs coming closer to him, then the mortal’s no longer human eyes, a new sensation fills him. One he hasn’t felt in centuries. The predatory steps unlock something almost human within him.

Terror.

“Wait.” The god starts trying to get up. “Wait!”

But he isn’t fast enough. In his arrogance, he let the mortal breach his weakness. In his own hubris, his own haughtiness over his immortality, he forgot the warning of Prometheus’ fate. Immortality can be a curse.

The metal embeds itself in his chest, pinning him to the rock. For the first time in eons, the cosmos hears him scream. For the first time since Titanchomy, he feels real pain. The sting of a death he cannot have, the tearing of flesh, the warmth of ichor seeping out of his wounds like currents withdrawing from oceanside caves at low tide.

And when the barbed ends are withdrawn, it pulls his body with it until a foot on his stomach stops him. He gasps as the metal is freed, but the relief— if he can even call it that— doesn’t last long. He sees the next blow coming and raises his hand to stop it. 

But the mortal sees this and aims directly for the shoulder.

His arm goes numb, limply falling to the side as he cries out again.

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” the mortal mocks as he dislodges the weapon with a struggle, the barbs getting stuck again and pulling more flesh with them.

His ears burn at the humiliation, his chest tight as he breathes laboredly. His mind is assaulted with the sting of pain, an overwhelming force like none he’s ever experienced before. No one dares to strike the King of the Seas, especially not in a truly hazardous way. No one… except Nobody.

The next stab plunges into his stomach, slicing through muscle and intestines. His own howls join the chorus of wind and thunder.

It is no doubt music to the mortal’s ears as he continues to lay out the god’s sins against him, as he continues to enact his justice.

The god slides further and further down the rock, his eyes and markings glowing as his body desperately tries to heal itself. He’s never been discorporated before. He’s never had his physical form stripped away from him. He’s never experienced the shame of being trapped in his own domain from his failures. But as his body is torn to shreds by the overzealous mortal, he fears for the first time that this may actually be it. This may be the first time he experiences as close to death as gods get.

His power is split between trying to heal himself and trying to start a counter attack. An earthquake, a tidal wave, anything. 

But the mortal, once champion of the Goddess of Wisdom, accounted for that too. And he strikes where he knows it will hurt. The soft flesh of the abdomen, the already broken ribs and pierced lung, the knee, the other shoulder. Every blow breaks the god’s concentration, keeping him trapped against the rock. “Look what you’ve turned me into!”

The god can’t help but comply, staring up at the monster of a man he made. A mortal pushed too far, a man immeasurably beyond his breaking point. It’s almost in slow motion as the god’s gaze fixates on a droplet of rain washing his ichor off the mortal’s face. He can only breathe laboriously, unable to attempt to stop the trident from sinking into his collarbone.

The mortal grabs his hair, pulling the god’s head back to look at him. “Look what we’ve become.” 

His eyes sting, his throat raw from his screams. He’s lost the strength to even try to turn his face away, to fight back for control of his head. The warm vengeance that kept him on the shores of Ithaca for ten years has been transferred into the mortal, leaving the god cold and broken. 

Like a forest that has been consumed by wildfire, leaving fragile dead trees in its place. Like a hurricane that levels towns, like tidal waves that wash everything that was once held dear out to sea. The god has lost everything. A new monster was birthed from his storm of vengeance. 

And even when he thought he finished it, even when he got what he wanted, it didn’t feel like enough. He was left disappointed, unsatisfied. Killing the mortal didn’t end the storm. His revenge has consumed them both, eating them alive as the god’s father had once devoured him.

Up until now he thought Zeus stripping him of his divinity and enslaving him to a mortal king was the worst blow his pride could be dealt. But another mortal king is proving him wrong.

The mortal throws the god’s head backwards into the rock, twisting the trident as he pulls it out.

The god gasps, clutching his stomach. This has to end. He has to make it stop. Before he fully experiences defeat. Before he takes on more shame. “Enough,” he orders.

But who is the king to stop? Who is wielding the trident? And so the mortal continues his assault, reopening half-healed wounds in the god’s shoulder.

The god squeezes his eyes shut, a long groan of agony leaving him, “Stooop!” He feels sick as his voice dips further and further into desperation, pleading with the mortal, begging of all things. He cries out louder, as if the mortal couldn’t hear him the first time over his ranting.

But no. The mortal did hear him. The begs were clear as day. And they were ignored. “You didn’t stop when I begged you!” The trident’s aim is true, an extension of the mortal’s emotions, plunging into the god’s throat and left eye at the same time.

The god’s body locks up, convulsing. His whole head is engulfed in pain, the sharp point that penetrated his eye having sunken into his skull. His remaining eye widens as what would have been his loudest scream is silenced by the prong piercing his vocal cords. The sweet metallic taste fills his mouth and drips off his lips. 

The scene goes black. For a moment, he feels himself slipping away. No. He can’t give the mortal that satisfaction. He can’t let him win. Even if he already has. He barely hears the distant words of the mortal, though is mouth is slowly moving, “You…”

“You told me to close my heart! You said the world was dark!” The mortal makes an upwards strike with the trident, lifting the god’s body off the ground a bit to glare at him.

The god weakly glares back with one blue eye flickering in its glow. “Monster!” he cries out, hoping that will break the man, hoping that will end this torment.

But instead, it just seems to fuel the monster in the man as he rips the trident out. His response to the accusation comes in the words the god was so fond of as he raises the trident, unknowing how close he is to finishing the job, “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our—”

And the god’s resolve shatters. His own words being used against him are almost more painful than his own weapon. “Alright!” he cries out.

The mortal hesitates, trident raised overhead.

The god forces his remaining eye open, though his sight of the mortal is obscured by rain and blood. “Please,” he rasps, brought to his lowest of lows. Subjected to begging for mercy from a mere mortal.

The mortal grips the trident tighter before dropping it with a clang.

The wind and waves die down as the god’s vision flickers. His head slumps forward as the scene turns dark. He barely feels his body hit the cold rocks. Every muscle pulses in pain. He doesn’t know when the mortal flew off on Hermes’ sandals. He doesn’t know how long he laid there trying to heal. Perhaps Apollo would be gracious enough to tend to him. But as time goes on, no one shows. He’s left alone on the tiny island, laying in his own ichor. Olympus has shunned him, probably mocking him.

The god finally begins to move, though immediately crying out as a sharp pain flares in his chest, a crack sounding like something broke. He lays back down, but the pain doesn’t lessen. His head gets lighter and lighter. His body gets weaker. It feels like fluid fills his lungs. Which shouldn’t be a problem, he can breathe underwater. But apparently he can’t breathe ichor.

There’s no storms for months. The tides are the calmest anyone has ever seen. Not a single earthquake is recorded anywhere. For the God of the Sea was nowhere to be found in the mortal world.

[neo-zone]

At this moment that he knew, he fucked up

[iamfluffle]

Narrator art dump

hes so fun to draw i just- GOD

[click images for HQ]

+ one frame on the amv im working on because HELLLOOOOO

[tomthomasblog]

Finding Strength in the Hills: A Guide to Psalm 121:1-2

Imagine you're on a long, challenging journey, facing countless obstacles and uncertainties. Where do you turn for help? For many Christians, the answer lies in a powerful and timeless passage from the Bible: Psalm 121:1-2. These verses remind us to look beyond our immediate troubles and focus on the ultimate source of strength and guidance—our Creator.

Lifting Our Eyes to the Hills

When the Psalmist says, "I will lift my eyes to the hills," he's not just talking about ordinary hills. He's referring to the mountains that symbolize the divine realm, where God's power and presence are palpable. Lifting our eyes is more than just a physical gesture; it's a metaphor for shifting our focus from the earthly troubles that often overwhelm us to the heavenly aid that can rescue us.

Acknowledging God's Omnipotence

The question "From whence cometh my help?" is quickly followed by a bold declaration: "My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth." Here lies the core of this passage's power. It reminds us that our help comes from the Creator who made the heavens and the earth. This is no ordinary helper; this is the all-powerful God with unlimited resources and power.

Building Confidence and Humility

Understanding that our help comes from such a mighty God builds incredible confidence in His ability to assist us in any situation. It's almost humorous to think that if God can create the entire universe, He can handle our everyday problems. This realization fosters humility, reminding us that our strength and wisdom are not enough to navigate life's challenges independently. Instead, we must depend on God, trusting His guidance and provision.

A Deeper Relationship with God

We foster a deeper relationship with Him by lifting our eyes to the hills and acknowledging God's omnipotence. This truth can transform how we navigate daily life. It encourages us to seek God's help in all our lives, whether facing minor annoyances or significant crises. When we trust in God's provision and guidance, we experience His presence more profoundly, feeling His hand at every step of our journey.

Practical Application

So, how can we apply this to our daily lives? Here are a few tips:

Shift Your Focus

When you feel overwhelmed, take a moment to "lift your eyes to the hills" and reflect on God's power and presence.

Depend on God

Recognize that your strength and wisdom are limited and that genuine help comes from God.

Trust in His Guidance

Have faith that God is always watching over you, guiding you through the ups and downs of life.

In a world filled with uncertainties and challenges, Psalm 121:1-2 serves as a powerful reminder of where our true strength lies. We build confidence, humility, and a deeper relationship with Him by lifting our eyes to the hills and acknowledging God's omnipotence. This truth can transform how we face life's challenges, helping us to trust more fully in God's guidance and provision.

=======================

The Scripture Collection A compilation of 20 uplifting music videos inspired by a different Bible scripture. First Edition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rv1XEZzrCvE Second Edition: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucV8yJIEsvc

=======================

Website: https://bwpub.net/

The lyrics to today's song are based on three different genres of Psalm 121:1-2.

70's rock: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZi6zj13Bkk 80's Rock: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-Lp2Y18YCA Techno: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-EvqSM2_6I

[hyperfixation-stationn]

Kind of lose it over Bill calling Ford his "pet human"

[age-of-moonknight]

“The Killing of Moon Knight,” Vengeance of the Moon Knight (Vol. 2/2024), #9.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Devmalya Pramanik; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[kbh792-9]

[the-casbah-way]

to me the most insane thing about the thick of it fandom is the fact that everyone seems convinced that malcolm tucker is a) some kind of untouchable sherlock holmes type genius and b) an all-round sweet caring guy who only ever does bad or dubious things for purely good or logical reasons. we are not watching the same show, it would seem