#old Gods

[thatssolavellan]

oh you fen'harel'ed us you fucker?

[occultesotericart]

1600’s anatomical engraving with alchemical symbolism /// by Gerhard Altzenbach

[breebird33]

When visiting and catching up with old friends, be sure to bring plenty of treats to share 🍇✨

[original characters]

[gabriellemkari]

She still adores her eldritch patron 🐙

[thescarlettbitch]

To the Gods lost to time

We may have no way of knowing your name, but we do know you. We know you existed.

We may have no way of knowing what purpose you served in your pantheon, but we appreciate the work that you did, and the work you continue to do.

You may be older than what we think of as the first civilizations, you may be older than evolution, but thank you for being with our ancestors.

Thank you for holding their hands, teaching them how to hunt, which plants were edible, how to walk, how to develop.

It's because of you that humanity exists in the way we know today.

I'm sorry you've been lost to time.

[steampoweredwerehog]

When Gina graduated with accolades and got her dream job, she never knew her assignment would be so…alive.

A bunch of scientists scooped some weird spaghetti out of a dead god and turned it into a computer. Is that good? Hard to say if this is bad or good.

Tethis uses it/its btw

[watercolor-wings]

I think everyone needs to experience technology in a rural area at least once in their life. I'm talking out in the boondocks, where the lines between modern and old blur in ways that almost make you believe that something else exists out there with you. Where your phone will register 5G in a spot 50 miles from any semblance of civilization but still won't load anything. Where the office computer is fully updated to the latest windows and hardwired into the internet and won't run certain programs, but only in the afternoon. Where the cell service cuts when a storm rolls overhead, and the phone lines at your work will randomly stop for a few minutes on a sunny day and IT can't figure out why so you all shrug and move on until they're working again. In a place where the home wifi router has to be wrapped in tinfoil otherwise turning on the desktop causes Netflix to stop working on the TV. Where the jokes about an entity living at your office feel a little too real, where no one truly believes in the paranormal but take the superstitions a little too seriously. Don't run this program at 4:50pm. Ask the computer nicely and it may just load what you need. Knock on wood if you joke about the phones going down today. And whatever you do, never run the microwave and the printer at the same time, even though they're on seperate circuits. We're about to head into the winter months, are you prepared? It changes your relationship with technology I think, when you've been to a place where the standard of reliance has to follow the whims of an ancient aura in the air.

[servantofthefates]

The old gods revel in our stories. So tell them yours.

But know that unlike the new gods, the old ones have human emotions like us.

Unlike the new gods, Apollo does not want you to be humble. He wants you to feed your ego.

Unlike the new gods, Venus does not want you to be modest. She wants you to flaunt your beauty.

Unlike the new gods, Neptune does not want you to accept that some things will always be beyond your understanding. He wants you to sail on his seas and explore the unknown.

Tell Apollo why you think you are better than some people.

Tell Venus how much you love admiring yourself in the mirror.

Tell Neptune your theories about what happens after you die.

Always speak to the old gods with respect. Not just for respect for them. But respect for yourself.

When you worship an old god, you are not their flawed, timid slave. You are their mortal child. A work in progress, but extraordinary all the same.

[travelingtwentysomething]

Prompt: “Pick a god and pray” they said, and you did, praying to every god you knew. And as you did this a name popped into your mind, one you didn’t recognize, yet you prayed to them all the same. In response the air stood still, like even the world had forgotten their name.

Devotion Tastes So Sweet On Your Lips (AO3)

It was another one of those nights- Steve was running through the dark trees, waking nightmare chasing him down.

He prayed his footing stayed true. He prayed that his breaths didn't falter. He prayed that the hungry darkness falling fast in his shadow didn't catch him.

He prayed to all the gods. Every deity he had ever learned of, all the new gods, and the old. He prayed until the sweat burning his eyes blinded him and he felt a root leap up in front of his foot.

He stumbled but did not fall.

But the sound of a snapping maw was closing around the dust he kicked up.

Suddenly, in his desperation, a name floated from the depths of his erratic heart to the tip of his bitten tongue.

"Eddie the Banished, of the Fallen Forest— Please- Please," Steve huffed, a force behind the name punched through his diaphragm and left him no air to plead with.

No sooner had the name fallen from Steve's lips, than the ground fell away beneath him- an embankment, steep and unforgiving in its angle. He rolled past tree trunks, slid over rough roots, and scraped jagged rocks loose for gravity to bring along for the ride.

His body hit the bottom and bounced.

Steve was dazed, his ears felt muffled as if he had landed underwater. He sat up so fast his vision swam, leaving trails of light where the stars shone down on him under the glare of the full moon.

He tried to stand, but his stomach protested- knees, shaken and unsteady, refused to hold his weight. He fell, once again on his back, trying to catch his bearings.

When his head cleared enough that the moon ceased it's dance in the sky above him, Steve sat up slowly, taking stock of his surroundings. He strained his ears to hear the snap of twigs or the slide of rocks down the slope he had just ridden as his pursuer followed him into the gorge.

It was silent as a ghost.

Steve pressed his palms to his ears and felt no blood, squeezing to try and pressure shock them into working.

He listened again—

Not even a whisper of wind in the trees.

Steve picked up a twig from the soft bed of moss that had saved his limbs from the worst of the abrupt impact and snapped it between his fingers- the sound sharp enough to startle him.

His ears worked just fine, it seemed- it was the forest that was broken.

As Steve got one knee under him, prepared to make another attempt to stand- a shadow fell over him.

Steve kept his head lowered, subdued under the charge in the air- the unmistakable aura of predator.

He slowly raised his eyes, and only his eyes.

There, standing tall above him, was a Wild God.

"It has been... So long-" The voice was grinding stones carried on the wind, "I'd forgotten what it sounded like." The Wild God lowered his body into a facsimile of a bow. A hand that shadows cling to like smoke, finger tips black as the night and ephemeral, ghosted under his chin, raising Steve's eyes to meet the darkness shining in the Wild God's own. "My name on some desperate tongue."

Steve was struck with a lightning heat deep inside his belly that rose like a plume of ashes from the mouth of a volcano, his face burning under the gaze of the most beautiful and terrifying wonder he had ever witnessed.

"Say it again." The Wild God demanded, voice deep enough to shake the ground Steve knelt on.

"Eddie the Banished, of the Fallen Forest." Steve moaned, unabashed.

Eddie's eyes rolled and the whites flickered behind shivering lashes as he savored the taste of devotion.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Real Men don’t want lifted trucks and guns,

Real Men want

To have their tiny insignificant existence acknowledged by an ancient sea goddess of otherworldly power and indescribable beauty.

[diiebu]

"And vowed them both to silence

Deep beneath the lake"

[tinyscaredwitch]

Picking up trash at the beach as a devotional act to the sea gods ♡

[occultesotericart]

The Man of Sorrows | 1522 | engraving print

[scifi-fantasy-horror]

Nyarlathotep by  Álvaro Fernández González

[whereserpentswalk]

There are old gods, gods older than human history. Even the vanir and the titans are young to them. The faeries only talk about them in legend, and the djinn only whisper their names in secret. They are gods so old no human remembers their name, gods of the mammoth steppe and the green Sahara, their last strings upon this earth kept alive by faded paintings on cave walls. They are the gods the nomads prayed to when dodging Saber toothed cats, and the gods that the old shammens evoked when the seas at doggerland. Some of them so old they were prayed to by the Neanderthals and Denisovans.

Their names are forgotten but they stalk the forgotten woods, still existing at the heart of the dreaming, waiting for us. They're so ancient they no longer even look like the gods of humanity, only like strange shapes, and eldritch things. And when they come to humanity now, they come as alien strangers, as things of the night, as things to be feared. These are the elder gods, those first gods that seem so alien to us, long alienated by their subjects, long changing and scheming. Perhaps they still remember us, remember what we once were. Perhaps they miss us.

[bad-moodboard]

The Cernunnos-type antlered figure or horned god, on the Gundestrup Cauldron,