#divine power

[theweightofdivinity]

𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓜𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪. 𝒲𝑜𝓂𝒷 𝑜𝒻 𝒢𝑜𝒹.

[mythologypaintings]

Apollo and Diana Slaying the Python

Artist: Marcantonio Franceschini (Italian, 1648–1729)

Date: 1692-1698

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Liechtenstein. The Princely Collections, Vaduz–Vienna, Austria

[y3oubii]

part iii — “where the dreaming ends”

from the series: in the quiet of your storm

a powerful god from another pantheon blames dream for the imbalance, and he’s not wrong. reader takes the blow meant for dream, risking herself to protect him. dream is livid. not because she was hurt. but because it terrifies him how much it still matters.

later, while she recovers, he watches her sleep in the heart of the dreaming. there is softness in his gaze. and guilt.

still, he cannot bring himself to say what needs to be said.

cw: violence (fantastical), injury, divine confrontation, emotional vulnerability

series masterlist

they didn’t speak much on the way back.

the ruined realm behind them whispered with its own decay, the final echoes of broken lullabies sinking into the dark like lost feathers. what hadn’t crumbled was unstable. twisted. the foundation of dreamstuff corrupted beyond simple repair. you’d need time. effort. a full council of gods, perhaps.

but the two of you—together—you’d stitched its heart just enough to keep it breathing. for now.

and still, dream didn’t thank you.

he hadn’t spoken a word since you left the cathedral.

he walked ahead of you through the shifting corridors of the dreaming, his back straight, shoulders tense beneath the weight of memory. his silence wasn’t passive. it was deliberate. chosen. a fortress.

you didn’t blame him.

not really.

you had once called him love in every language that ever mattered. now, he couldn’t even look at you.

and yet… when the walls of the dreaming began to bend, he was the first to reach for you.

you felt it first in the marrow of your teeth.

a low, humming wrongness that vibrated across the veil. you turned sharply—your palm already rising to cast a protective arc—but it was too late.

the hallway fractured.

walls split like dry parchment, curling at the edges as something massive pushed through the layers of reality. the stones moaned beneath the force. time slowed, thickened, then shattered, flashes of stars, blood, fire, and a single name screamed through the void.

he stepped through the tear like shadow incarnate.

the last lullaby’s wrath.

the god had no face, only a mouth stretched into an eternal scream, no eyes, just twin voids burning with ancient grief. his form flickered: sometimes made of glass, sometimes oil, sometimes the memories of long-forgotten lullabies twisted into knives.

his voice crawled across your skin.

“you let him die.”

dream’s arm lifted, summoning the full force of the dreaming to his side, cloak rising with violence. “your realm collapsed by your own hand.”

“you should have protected him,” the thing hissed. “you should have remembered.”

the attack came fast.

a spear of shattered memory drove toward dream’s heart—

—too fast—

—too sharp—

you moved before you thought.

one step.

your body between his.

your hand raised.

and balance answered.

light fractured. the air screamed. power tore through the corridor like tidal wind.

the spear collided with your chest and shattered, your divine magic pulsing out in a wave of violent, delicate precision. time buckled. the god reeled, shrieked, fell backward through the rupture.

but it had still pierced you.

and you fell.

he caught you.

dream didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember the snarl in his throat or the way his cloak reached out like tendrils of panic. but suddenly, your body was in his arms, your skin glowing too brightly, your breath uneven.

he dropped to his knees, the weight of your body a punch to his ribs.

you were bleeding divine ichor. golden. starlit. slow.

your hand twitched against his chest.

“you… didn’t see that coming?” you managed, voice weak but wry.

“you are a fool,” he hissed, fingers trembling where they held you. “a reckless, thoughtless—”

“you’re welcome.”

“you could have died.”

you blinked up at him, the ceiling of the dreaming spinning in your blurred vision. “so could you.”

his jaw clenched.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered. “not for me.”

and something in his voice cracked.

you stared at him.

at the furious, wild worry in his eyes. at the tremble in his lip.

“dream,” you murmured. “i’m not your enemy.”

he looked away, as if the admission cut deeper than the wound.

“i don’t know what you are anymore.”

“i’m still me,” you whispered. “i always was.”

his hand hovered just over your face, fingers trembling. “then why did you leave me?”

you tried to sit up. failed.

“because if i hadn’t… we both would have drowned.”

his eyes snapped to yours.

“i chose balance,” you said, voice raw. “and it broke my heart. but i didn’t choose against you. i just didn’t know how to survive with you.”

he stared at you like you were the first dream ever dreamed.

later, in the heart of the dreaming, lucienne found you resting in one of the starlit alcoves, your shoulder wrapped in gossamer bandages, your breathing slow but stable.

dream stood not far away, silent, watching you.

he hadn’t left your side.

not once.

lucienne looked between you.

“…she saved your life,” she said quietly.

dream’s face was stone.

lucienne nodded once, then walked away.

and dream stayed there.

watching you sleep.

trying to understand what he had ever done to deserve the echo of your heartbeat still ringing inside his chest.

i wrote this at 1 am so if there's any errors let me know and ill fix themm 😓 also! i decided to change the posting schedule for this series since its doing much better than i expected. new part will be out every day at 3pm est! i hope this was enjoyable and thank yewww for reading!!

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[of-ether]

turning a house into a home,

[beforetheamen]

You Can Do All Things

Feeling like that dream is too big for someone like you?

God didn't give you that dream to torture you - He gave it to you because He's already equipped you to achieve it.

When Paul wrote Philippians 4:13, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me," he wasn't sitting in a comfortable palace. He was in prison, facing uncertainty, yet declaring this incredible truth.

"All things" doesn't mean you can fly or become a superhero. It means:

You can overcome that addiction through Christ's strength

You can heal from that heartbreak through Christ's strength

You can start that business through Christ's strength

You can forgive that person through Christ's strength

The same power that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you. The same strength that parted the Red Sea flows through you.

That mountain in front of you? It's not bigger than your God. That obstacle blocking your path? It's not stronger than Christ's power in you.

Stop looking at your limitations and start looking at His limitless strength working through you.

[theinwardlight]

In the world today there are wars, fraud, murder, unnecessary hunger, hate. These woes are not caused by random events of nature; they come from the evil within our hearts. Worldly power can suppress evil behavior, but it cannot change hearts. But worldly power corrupts, suppression becomes oppression, and the evil in the hearts of the oppressors is magnified by their power. This season let us remember that One who, 2000 years ago, came into the world with the power that can change hearts. That power can eliminate evil from the world by eliminating it from within us. War is replaced by true peace, fraud by integrity, murder by forgiveness, hunger by generosity, hate by love. Yet this superhuman power that can work such miracles does not impose itself, does not oppress. Divine power only works in the hearts of those who invite it in. So this season, as we remember the birth of that power, let us not ask for worldly gifts, which will grow old and die. Let us ask instead for that miraculous everlasting gift of a heart purified by the One who delivers from the power of evil and who rules by the power of love.

Middleton Friends Meeting, Ohio, 2025

[theophilios]

There's a special kind of power only a woman with a big nose can have