Discover Top Posts Tagged with #bible reference

may i interest tou in a pretty lady

#forsaken #forsaken roblox #1x1x1x1 #telamon #1x1x1x1 forsaken #roblox #art #render #bible reference

Garmadon in the Garden 🍎🐍

Making this one its own post as well, + some progress pics below!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago garmadon #lord garmadon #garmadon #young garmadon #art #fanart #digital art #bible reference #religious themes #art process #illustration #scriblego

Kiss of Judas. NOT A SHIP 1!1!1!1!1!1!1!1111 REPOST

#Spotify #thaddeus thawne #artwork #dc impulse #bart allen #thad thawne #digital art #bible reference

I'm so hungry. I could probably eat 9839472581393628104724173959268181638501663161548500708069684725590795736261519405 gallons of stew, that's ho2 hungry I am.

You can have all the stew you would ever want for the low low price of 200 philistine foreskins

#the stew goblin #stew #stew posting #stew for you #bible reference

Every time I listen to Hamilton I get something new. I was listening to My Shot and I heard the lyric

We roll like Moses, claiming our Promised Land

And it hit me:

For those of you who may not know, Moses never makes it to the Promised Land.

Numbers 20:7-13

God asks Moses to summon the Israelites and speak to a rock and water will flow out of it, but Moses summons the Israelites and strikes the rock with his staff.

His disobedient act demonstrated a lack of faith and anger in front of the Israelites and put the glory on Moses instead of God.

Because of this God punished him by not letting him step foot in the Promised land. He was able to see it from a distance but could not enter it.

Welcome to my Ted talk on why:

Hamilton dies before truly helping his country the way he wanted too

striking the rock instead of speaking to it representing Hamilton solving issues with an attack instead of logical reason

the Promised Land as an ideal America

Aaron Burr as Aaron (Moses’s Brother)

Aaron disobedience as his ruined political career and his flee to Europe

Eliza as God.

Bible verse under the cut.

#hamilton musical #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #aaron burr #satire #i think #idk somebody make the connection #bible verse #bible reference #musical analysis #lyrical analysis #moses #bible #christianity

Elohim Creating Adam

By William Blake

Ink and Watercolor Painting, c. 1795-1805

Tate.

The high hills of Sodor were silent, blanketed in a heavy, unnatural fog that tasted of cold iron, ozone, and damp earth. Up on the steep, neglected gradients far above the standard lines, where the iron rails had long since vanished beneath a thick, suffocating mat of moss and rotting bracken, a low, rhythmic sound began to stir the mist—a sound like the turning of colossal, invisible wheels within wheels, grinding against the fabric of the sky itself, echoing through the empty valleys like the ticking of a doomsday clock.

It was a gentle, melodic creaking—not the metallic groan of a strained boiler, but something infinitely older, sounding like the simultaneous bending of ancient timber, breaking bone, and singing glass. A sudden, sharp rush of wind cut through the stagnant air, carrying with it a brilliant, flickering warmth that flashed on and off against the skeletal trunks of the pines like a strobe of holy, terrifying light. The very atmosphere seemed to thicken, bowing beneath the weight of an approaching presence that defied all laws of nature and engineering.

There, stepping out of the grey void, was Proteus.

He was not merely an engine anymore (he hadn't been for a long time); he was a manifestation of sacred geometry and ancient, unyielding dread. His bright yellow paintwork gleamed with an impossible, blinding luster, perfectly offset by crisp, bleeding red lining.

There was no undercarriage of steel or iron, and there were no wheels; his base hovered effortlessly above the ruined trackbed, defying gravity as it pulsed with a faint, unearthly hum. His bufferbeams were a rich, dark maroon, catching the faint, ambient light, while his gold handrails and silver buffers shone like new, radiating a chilling, sacred heat that melted the frost from the surrounding ferns.

Perched proudly upon his funnel was his signature artifact: the ancient magic lamp, its flame casting a soft, pulsing golden glow that seemed to push back the encroaching shadow—not to comfort, but to illuminate the absolute terror of the void.

And then, the horror of his true form revealed itself beneath the immaculate yellow plating.

He possessed no traditional locomotive anatomy beneath his boiler. Instead, arching from his lower chassis with terrifying, impossible anatomy, exactly six massive, jointed biological limbs emerged—each one covered in a shimmering, ash-grey down and tipped with razor-sharp black claws that hovered silently just above the ruined ballast.

From his flanks, tier upon tier of multi-jointed, segmented appendages folded and unfolded in a breathtaking, geometric harmony, silent and coordinated like the turning of a celestial clockwork.

The Gilded Ague had ravaged Sodor, turning engines into beasts and silencing the lines in a frozen, watchful terror. But Proteus was untouched by the rot's corruption in the way the others were; he had merely ascended into something primordial and absolute. He had always belonged to the deep magic of the mountains, a terrifying, celestial spirit woven into the history of the island long before the first mainland contractors ever laid a sleeper.

Deep within the cavernous iron chambers of his boiler, a dark and terrible sensation churned. A fierce, ravenous hunger gnawed at his internals—a hollow, pulsing ache that demanded flesh, fuel, and biological warmth to sate the monstrous life now throbbing through his frames.

But Proteus did not yield to it.

With an immense effort of will, he pushed the newly found feeling aside, locking the hunger deep down behind his plates as he focused entirely on the sorrow of the lost, tracking the steady, pulling thread of a desperate, broken soul hiding away in the wild.

Proteus let out a soft, gentle puff of steam that smelled faintly of old woodsmoke, sweet oil, and burning frankincense, his jaw curving into a calm, terrifyingly serene line beneath his twin jewels of eyes.

He looked out past the ridge, his golden gaze fixing firmly on the dark, impenetrable thicket of the lower forest where a newly reborn, fourteen-legged chassis lay huddled in a hollow oak, shivering and weeping in the dark.

"Do not be afraid," the old engine murmured softly, his voice echoing not from a throat, but reverberating simultaneously inside the skulls of everything listening for miles around, carrying the warm, resonant chord of a thousand forgotten wishes and the weight of a consuming fire. "I'll guide others, as I've always had."

With a soft, melodic chime of his bell that sounded like the tolling of distant temple gates, and with the flickering amber light of his holy lamp leading the way through the geometry of the dark, Proteus began to glide forward down the overgrown line, his six powerful, ash-grey furred limbs whispering against the brush as he headed straight into the thicket to find the man who had lost his home...