#divine warnings

[mysterioushimachal]

Himachal’s Divine Warnings: Drought, Fire, and Famine Looming Ahead

[dangeroustaintedflawed]

[magicalpuppygoddess]

If you wanna suck mistress cock

REBLOG NOW

🥵👿

[rnainframe]

does it stop your heart? does your hair turn greyer?

I MISS THE QUIEEEEEET

[bitchy-craft]

SCAMMER ALERT

She's at it again

ALL TAROT READERS WATCH OUT. THE GIRL THAT SCAMMED ME @tarotwithavi AND @starryfree FOR HUNDREDS OF EUROS IS AT IT AGAIN UNDER A NEW USERNAME: @ newmememeow

SHE TRIED TO BUY READINGS FROM ME AGAIN, AND GIVEN I HAD AN ICKY FEELING I DECIDED TO CHECK HER PAYPAL DETAILS. HER ADRESS WAS THE EXACT SAME AS THE ACCOUNT SHE SCAMMED ME ON.

Her old user: @recoveringinternetaddict. She has deleted this account by now.

ORIGINAL POSTS ABOUT HER SCAM:

here

here

[bhramarii]

i'm proud to announce that DIVINE COMEDY should be available to read in full by the end of February! i've been working hard at it for the last year or two and i'm happy to be able to share it with all the INFERNO readers out there. hope you get to see the characters you like again!

for now i'll post the blurb at the back of the book so yall can get a preview:

Arch is dead. Without its charismatic leader, the once-mighty corporation has crumbled. But in the aftermath of INFERNO, the chaos is far from over. The world remains a battleground of angels and demons, a volatile stage for the human experiments Arch left behind.

As they struggle to build new lives, the past resurfaces with a vengeance: remnants of Arch’s greed, whispers of its twisted legacy, and one experiment’s reckless decision to auction themselves off as Arch’s “final relic” on eBay. What starts as a quiet chapter in their lives spirals into a frantic, cross-country race to escape the highest bidder—pursued by ghosts, enemies, and the weight of choices they can’t outrun.

With sharp wit, heartfelt moments, and a healthy dose of disastrous lesbian drama, DIVINE COMEDY takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled adventure packed with angels, demons, and impossible decisions. After all, when miracles come at such a cost, you have to ask:

Is every miracle worth it?

[billysadventure]

[Mercury]: Shimmy like a worm until you can see the time! Mary’s spelling bee could start any minute, and she’ll have your head if you’re late.

*Wiggles Intensify*

After a solid fifteen seconds of doing the closest approximation of ‘The Worm’ he’s capable of while tied to a chair, he’s forced to stop from exhaustion.

All that work and he’s still no closer to the watch! All he gained from this was a headache and a newfound embarrassment about his stamina. The guard laughs at his pitiful attempt, probably pointing and slapping his knee robustly if Billy had to guess.

Just you wait, guard! He’ll get out of this!

When the dizziness fades away, that is…

He’s starting to feel bad for making fun of Mr. Mind when he tried to escape this way.

Masterlist || First || Previous || Next

[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

[starleska]

i, um. i watched The Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause. and i may need medical attention 😳😳😳

[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.

[alacants]

what are the classic tennis rpf ships you like that we don't talk about enough?

rubs hands together WELL.

at one point i would have said juanki/ferru. the fic stats could use some work (altho they are moving in the right direction thank you team!) but it's talked about, like, as much as one could reasonably hope for. so. no complaints.

instead, RAFA/ANDY, THE REALEST BIG 4 MINOR SHIP. sorry but it's TRUE. teen andy calling his mom like, i met this boy and now i have to move to spain. the famous anonymous text flirting incident. rafa knowing exactly how to mess with andy and andy ALLOWING IT. rafandy > rafole i SAID IT.

marat safin/everyone. literally no one tour has or had a FRACTION of marat's game. exhibits a, b, c, d, e, i could go on.

andy roddick/mardy fish! what can i say i'm a sucker for childhood friends. (wow no way?) i actually used to know a ton of lore about them that i've completely forgotten but i'm sure it's buried in my gmail somewhere…

i must shout out federinka on behalf of my shadow associate who was once a dedicated federinka. i mostly think it's doomed and funny but after years of swiss tennis propaganda i respect it. (stan and mirka throwing down MID-MATCH remains an all-time Moment.)

look there was something in the water with flavia pennetta/roberta vinci/sara errani, in whichever combination you choose. i can't really say people should talk about it more when i myself am fully on board the erralini second act train but. there was something.

azarenka/sharapova where they're angrily hooking up because neither of them is with serena. ok this is not a classic tennis ship this is a niche idea that only i have BUT it's good one!!!!

and. last but not least. very much not least, in fact most. sigh. verdasco/lopez, my formative tennis rpf experience. ship that i can't talk about without immediately regressing to a teenager on livejournal. ship that tests my commitment not to tinhat more than any other. ship that preemptively ruined me for feliferru which is in every way a healthier nicer relationship featuring my actual favorite player.

like. whatever. it's 2025. they got over the INSANE WEIRDNESS that was so weird actual tennis blogs were writing about it. they retired. they both managed against all odds to establish stable long-term relationships. verdasco is writing impassioned paeans to their friendship on instagram that lopez does not acknowledge. it's. fine!

(breathes into a paper bag)

[1oddboi1]

Maid Chos :0

All jokes aside I'm super proud of these, I think they came out great! Especially the second one! :D

[thesummerstorms]

Athena tells R'as Al-Ghul: "With the exception of whatever anger my Lord Uncle might have at your perversion of His domain, you have given Us no reason to care for your existence."

She looks coldly from him to Talia before letting her gaze linger briefly on where her daughter stands with her mortal half-brother, both of them with weapons drawn. Then her attention is fully on R'as again, eyes bright, Athena Glaukopis, face as still and cool as carved marble.

"You have been beneath Our notice. You should endeavor to stay there."

[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. 

[okaydays22]

[bitchy-craft]

SCAMMER ALERT

known victims

As most of you know by now due to a multitude of posts that have been made about this person by different readers, @ recoveringinternetaddict is a scammer that has been bringing many tarot readers in financial trouble.

As of now the known victims of this person have been @bitchy-craft (me), @tarotwithavi and @starryfree.

We all have made posts about this person, but I still find it important to make another post about it, because this person is still charging back more, and will most likely continue to do so for as long as she can. Her card issuer, who decides on who wins all the cases has been approving her as the rightful winner the whole time.

I hate asking for help, but the amount she has taken from me keeps piling up, becoming more and more to handle. If anyone had been thinking about buying a reading from me, please do it now; I could really use the help.

Previous post about @ recoveringinternetaddict:

@bitchy-craft : link

@tarotwithavi : link

@starryfree : link

If anyone else has been scammed by this person, please reach out to us or make a post of your own to keep spreading awareness. I will then be able to add you to this list if you wish.