#(Failed) Heavenly Intervention

[theficpusher]

heart fairy by imaginarybarista | T | 4398 Harry Styles is Cupid. He accidentally falls in love and uses holiday themed drinks to woo Louis.

I'm Looking Right At The Other Half Of Me by scribblewrite | T | 4534 Harry's whole family are cupids; their job is to help people find their true loves and Harry's gotten pretty good at it. He just can't find his own soulmate. Fortunately for him, his soulmate's been by his side for the past four years.

(Failed) Heavenly Intervention by The_Halcyonic_Lachesist | M | 5024 Niall for the life of him can't understand why he's failing at matching one of the most compatible couples he’s ever seen in his job as Cupid. Little does he know, there is more at play than what it seems.

draw back your bow by gorgeousnerd | M | 14320 Niall is a cupid who takes his job very seriously. He's grateful for all the help he gets from his friends and from his own magic. But what happens when he gets a name without any hints? Will he be able to figure out Louis Tomlinson's love match, and, possibly, find his own love in the process?

All Out of Love by SunTomato | G | 32788 Harry is a Cupid, who work their magic on a different plane, invisible to humans. Harry is good at love. Harry loves love. Unfortunately, Harry can be a bit clumsy, and sometimes he gets a little distracted. While on a mission to match Liam and Zayn, the distraction comes in the shape of Louis Tomlinson – an overworked and underloved man trying way too hard to do everything himself. Everywhere Harry turns, he sees Louis. That wouldn’t really be a problem except that Harry’s fairly sure Louis sees him, too.

Cupid's Chokehold by bluelemur | E | 35326 But - naively, stupidly, blindly - Harry holds out hope for a love that’s written across the stars. He can’t give up the feeling that there’s someone out there, waiting for him. He’s just going to have to wait for them, too. Or: Louis is a Cupid who tries to match up Niall and Harry. It doesn't work out as planned.

cupid's defence | M | 116879 In which Harry is Cupid, Louis and Liam own a law firm, and they're all getting sued.

Collision by itjustkindahappened | E | 226294 Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other. (Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

[sunderwight]

Shen Yuan who glitches in his transmigration, but the original Shen Qingqiu still dies of a qi deviation.

So the System still needs someone with narrative relevance to throw Luo Binghe into the Abyss. In a fit of desperation, it contrives circumstances after Shen Qingqiu's death to move Luo Binghe to An Ding Peak (not that difficult), and then the System makes Shang Qinghua be Luo Binghe's new scum master who casts him down.

Airplane's thrilled, really. Cultivators aren't supposed to get ulcers but damned if he doesn't come close to one anyway. Between Shen Qingqiu and then just a while later Liu Qingge both dying from qi deviations, and Shang Qinghua looking like a stiff breeze could take him out any day now, poor Mu Qingfang is also just about at his wits' end.

But it's not all bad news! On An Ding Peak, Luo Binghe actually finds himself surrounded by the kinds of people who are accustomed to being bullied by the rest of the sect. So they're pretty sympathetic to him, and it's easier for someone with basic laboring skills to advance on that peak too. His chores don't decrease too much, but he actually gets rewarded for doing them well, and no one tries to kick him out of the dorms or anything. Shang Qinghua doesn't either go out of his way to bully or praise Luo Binghe, correctly reasoning that his best shot at not getting a gruesome death is to just be a more forgettable bad guy than an abusive dirtbag or a heart-wrenching betrayal. He doesn't sabotage Luo Binghe's cultivation (no point, and it would just farm resentment later) but he also doesn't go out of his way to help him improve (not gonna arm his inevitable maybe-probably-murderer with better weapons!), so Luo Binghe's situation sees an overall improvement but not the zero-to-hero treatment he'd have got with Shen Yuan either.

When Shang Qinghua shoves Luo Binghe into the Abyss (he just full on picks him up and tosses him like a sack of beans, better to rip it off quick like a bandage), LBH is upset, but he's not especially surprised or dismayed about Shang Qinghua's part in it. Later on he'll be kind of confused, because he just assumed that of course the righteous sect cultivator would abhor the demon, but it turns out Shang Qinghua has been working for a demon since before Luo Binghe even came to the sect? But then it still kind of makes sense because a Heavenly Demon would definitely pose a risk to Mobei Jun and to Mobei Jun's rule. Shang Qinghua, he supposes, is just really loyal to his specific demon.

Luo Binghe's subsequent revenge quest is also somewhat mitigated by the Abyss actually not being that bad.

The Abyss is not actually that bad thanks to the glitched out Shen Yuan having been camping there for several years now.

So when Shen Yuan's transmigration failed it failed because he "woke up" during the process, realized where the System intended to put him, was like no way in goddamn hell am I being that guy about it, and actually kind of won the ensuing tug-of-war. The System couldn't put him in Shen Qingqiu but Shen Yuan didn't want to go back to his dead body either, so he ended up stuck in the nearest available space for lost interdimensional beings. Which was the Endless Abyss.

Luckily Shen Yuan's quasi-transmigrated imparted an equivalent cultivation level as Shen Jiu's to him, and the glitch made him able to sense and manipulate certain extra-dimensional energies, so he manifested as this weird godlike being able to manipulate and control aspects of the Abyss. So he set about transforming Airplane's Torment Nexus into a viable ecosystem (the current version would not be anything approaching sustainable were it not for divine/narrative intervention, and is constantly on the verge of destabilizing into unlivable ruin that would only be fit for some particularly hardy microorganisms).

It's still like, a monster land full of demonic creatures and terrifying phenomenon, but with Shen Yuan's assistance it becomes something more like a demonic wildlife reserve than a dimensional horror plane. Though it is still a dimensional horror plane, and Shen Yuan is its chief dimensional horror. He treats it sort of like those dungeon building or wildlife park sims, figuring out how to keep everything in balance while still preserving all the interesting parts. A lot of the extreme survival issues of the Abyss are more of a result of it being environmentally unstable than a result of its actual denizens, and once he smooths out a lot of the messy dimensional edges and creates stable vents for the fluctuating energy run-off, the demonic inhabits start behaving less like horror movie monsters and more like animals. They're still wild and dangerous and prone to killing one another, but also more cautious, and able to access enough stable resources that they can even start to be picky about what they pursue.

Turns out that a lot of creatures in the Abyss actually don't like fighting and dying and being brutally injured on a regular basis, even if they can heal from it!

Shen Yuan has even discovered that some like chin scritches (he's not terribly worried about habituating them to people, given how rarely any people actually access the Abyss, but also because he's not really all that people-ish himself these days).

This means that one of Luo Binghe's first encounters with the horrible creatures of the Abyss, is in fact a pack of wolf-like monsters thoroughly avoiding an actual fight with him. In fact most of the denizens of the Abyss just avoid him. They can smell the Heavenly Demon energy rolling off of him, and given the current abundance of alternatives to dealing with that, virtually none of the monsters actually choose to challenge him. There are still a few that will go after anything that's bleeding, but that problem stops once Luo Binghe's physiology heals his wounds, which takes like... a couple hours, max.

Despite the stories he's heard, Luo Binghe is relieved to find that the Abyss is not quite so terrible as all that. Normal survival skills suffice for seeing him through much of it. He's able to hunt for food, scavenge for tools, and even finds potable water fairly easily. After a few weeks, he also comes across a ruin which seems to be inhabited.

The being inhabiting it is plainly a god, although he demurs and refutes such assertions whenever Binghe is too frank. He's a strange being, at turns looking like some queer approximation of a human, at other times blinking and winking in and out of existence, in patterns of strange lights and oddly geometrical fire. But he's surprisingly not hostile, letting Binghe rest in his residence, and even directing him towards points of interest. Accompanying him, too, though he seems to think that Binghe doesn't notice the odd almost spiderweb-like patterns that appear on things which he's influencing. The god calls himself The Peerless One, or at least that's what Luo Binghe infers from some writings on the ruin. The Peerless One offers instruction, seemingly without thinking about it, and gets flustered at being addressed by title, so Binghe also begins to refer to him as Shizun after a while.

[theeminentlyimpractical]

ALRIGHT I HAVE SOME CROWLEY THOUGHTS that are LONG and UNHINGED buckle up kids //// MILD SPOILERS(?)

Essentially - knowing Crowley's angelic rank recontextualizes a lot of the first season. Hat tip to @moonyinpisces for inspiring this madness with their Pre-Fall Thoughts.

BLUF/shitpost TL;DR:

God machinated the not-pocalypse, including manipulating both our idiot angels (this is canon, fight me)

Crowley Fell out of necessity in The Plan, knows that as a higher ranking Angel and both resents God and still believes in Her Plan

When foiling the Antichrist initially fails, my man has a crisis of Faith, thinks God has abandoned him yet AGAIN, and is like WELP FREE WILL IS ON THE TABLE NOW BABYYYYY 

LET’S RUN AWAY ANGEL NO ONE IS WATCHING THIS IS MY ACTUAL SELF HELLO NICE TO MEET YOU

Aziraphale, having been a heavenly plebe*, still believes in the hierarchy of Heaven and blah blah blah

Crowley, still a Believer at heart, makes one last plea to the Almighty OR HE WILL RUN AWAY SO HELP HERSELF

My Guy is successfully manipulated by God into staying and also rescuing Book Girl’s Book

Great Plan fails successfully 

Oh. OH.

They survive thanks to another divine intervention.

Crowley muses on the ACTUAL Big One, which like, my dude, how do you KNOW?  👀

Aziraphale is entirely unaware of this whole process and is fully on team Free Will and is all “our bookshop” this and “our car” that; meanwhile

Crowley is now a full time existentialist and part time Sad Keanu because if his entire existence is predetermined, why do anything, including love?

*this also makes it super fucking funny that Aziraphale insists on standards. Crowley is quiet luxury. Aziraphale is nouveau riche.

ACTUAL META WITH CANON CITATIONS (yes the above is the short version):

I’ve always assumed that Crowley falling was part of The Ineffable Plan, similar to how it was necessary for Aziraphale to give away his sword. God accepts Aziraphale’s babbling excuses, and 6,000 years later the sword shows up in the hands of War. When he returns to Heaven, he is reprimanded only for losing his body - the sword has ineffably disappeared from Heaven’s requisition roles. He HAD give it away in order for it - and him - to play their respective parts in The Great Plan.

And that was thwarted only by Aziraphale and Crowley collaborating for the good of humanity, and (selfishly) for themselves, rather than angels and demons. For it to work, there needed to be an agent of the Ineffable Plan on each side.

We now know Crowley was fairly high ranking in heaven. Would he have had insight on the Plan, or some part of it? Or merely assumed, truly believed, as he still seems to, that they would all play a part? We also know he is somehow wrong about how the hierarchy of Heaven works - what if his error was in assuming his role in the Plan meant maintaining his status as an Angel? [EDIT GIVEN NEW INFO: seems plausible he went to God and asked for a stay of execution on the Earth, and he got it, whether knowingly or not.] And instead God sends him away to fulfill his role in Hell, when that comes to pass. It could be why he’s not too concerned with the day to day of demoning - it will all work out as intended, in the End.

Does he know, suspect, or just truly still believe that they were meant to thwart the Apocalypse, which is why he is so confident in their cockamamie scheme? And when that apparently fails, he feels betrayed by God again, because the Plan he felt entrusted with seems to have been scrapped. He rages: 

“For the record, great pustulant mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan!”

That may be why he’s so ready to run off with Aziraphale in that moment. If the Plan is off, then he can finally make his own choices, and he chooses Aziraphale and freedom. Aziraphale doesn’t choose him back, and Crowley moves to run away anyway, with one final plea to God to not let this come to pass, a Psalm 22 of his own.

Crowley is the only demon we see who still seems distraught over his Fall, rather than out for vengeance. He resents God for damning him, but often seems to believe in Her ineffable game.  He still addresses his final pleas directly to the Almighty -

“God, you listening? Okay, I know you’re testing them, you said you were going to be testing them. You shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

Only he never leaves, because of a fire started by a gust of wind and the sheet music for Her favorite musical. 

And then they do thwart it, and survive, thanks to Agnes’ note fluttering inexplicably right into Aziraphale’s hand. So many little details demonstrate divine intervention. 

So now what’s the Plan? Crowley was ready to run away when the Plan was off, but now? He muses on the nature of The Big One before they dine at the Ritz. He says it lightly, but how does he have this insight?

What, exactly, is their role in the Second Coming? Because, it appears, they do have one.

Aziraphale seems blissfully unaware of the divine intervention in successfully averting the Apocalypse. He is now All In on Their Side, finally feeling free. Crowley, on the other hand, seems painfully aware. My man had the full free will he finally grasped in that bandstand burned away in a bookshop fire. 

Do I think he necessarily knows their exact role in this? No. And they still have free will in the small things, naturally. But I wonder if we will see Crowley resigned to his (and Aziraphale’s) fate being predetermined, a foregone conclusion. So why do anything, including love, if in the end, nothing really matters. 

[ghelgheli]

As a leading light in the constellation of “terrorism experts,” Jerrold Post has proposed that terrorists suffer from pathological personalities that emerge from negative childhood experiences and a damaged sense of self. Post argues for two terrorist personality types, depending on the specific quality of those childhood experiences. First, Post suggests, there is the “anarchic-ideologue.” This is the terrorist who has experienced serious family dysfunction and maladjustment, which lead to rebellion against parents, especially against the father. Anarchic-ideologues fight “against the society of their parents . . . an act of dissent against parents loyal to the regime.” Second, there is the terrorist personality type known as the “nationalist-secessionist”—apparently the name indicates “a sense of loyalty to authority and rebellion against external enemies.” During childhood, a terrorist of this personality type experienced a sense of compassion or loyalty toward his or her parents. According to Post, nationalist-secessionists have pathologically failed to differentiate between themselves and the other (parental object). Consequently, they rebel “against society for the hurt done to their parents . . . an act of loyalty to parents damaged by the regime.” Both the anarchic-ideologue and nationalist-secessionist find “comfort in joining a terrorist group of rebels with similar experiences.” The personality defect model views terrorists as suffering from personality defects that result from excessively negative childhood experiences, giving the individual a poor sense of self and a resentment of authority. As Ruby notes, “Its supporters differ in whether they propose one (Kaplan), two (Post and Jones & Fong), or three (Strentz) personality types.”

What all these models and theories aim to show is how an otherwise normal individual becomes a murderous terrorist, and that process time and again is tied to the failure of the normal(ized) psyche. Indeed, an implicit but foundational supposition structures this entire discourse: the very notion of the normal psyche, which is in fact part of the West’s own heterosexual family romance—a narrative space that relies on the normalized, even if perverse, domestic space of desire supposedly common in the West. Terrorism, in this discourse, is a symptom of the deviant psyche, the psyche gone awry, or the failed psyche; the terrorist enters this discourse as an absolute violation. So when Billy Collins (the 2001 poet laureate) asserted on National Public Radio immediately after September 11: “Now the U.S. has lost its virginity,” he was underscoring this fraught relationship between (hetero)sexuality, normality, the nation, and the violations of terrorism.

Not surprisingly, then, coming out of this discourse, we find that another very common way of trying to psychologize the monster-terrorist is by positing a kind of failed heterosexuality. So we hear often the idea that sexually frustrated Muslim men are promised the heavenly reward of sixty, sixty-seven, or sometimes even seventy virgins if they are martyred in jihad. But As‘ad Abu Khalil has argued, “In reality, political—not sexual—frustration constitutes the most important factor in motivating young men, or women, to engage in suicidal violence. The tendency to dwell on the sexual motives of the suicide bombers belittles these sociopolitical causes.” Now of course, that is precisely what terrorism studies intends to do: to reduce complex social, historical, and political dynamics to various psychic causes rooted in childhood family dynamics. As if the Palestinian Intifada or the long, brutal war in Afghanistan can be simply boiled down to bad mothering or sexual frustration! In short, these explanatory models and frameworks function to (1) reduce complex histories of struggle, intervention, and (non)development to Western psychic models rooted in the bourgeois heterosexual family and its dynamics; (2) systematically exclude questions of political economy and the problems of cultural translation; and (3) attempt to master the fear, anxiety, and uncertainty of a form of political dissent by resorting to the banality of a taxonomy.

Monster, Terrorist, Fag: The War on Terrorism and the Production of Docile Patriots, Jasbir K. Puar & Amit Rai, 2002 [muse]

[the-monkey-ruler]

Silly question, but Is Baigujing a ghost Yaoguai? I wanted to ask how strong a ghost could be because I understand that ghosts can become immortal and that they could even be stronger than other Yaoguai despite not having a physical body. I don't know what powers a ghost can have. I understand that in LMK it is understood that she can "revive" people but I don't know if that is true in terms of Chinese myths or legends.

Silly question, but Is Baigujing a ghost Yaoguai?

It’s not silly. She is always referred to as a corpse yaoguai from what I can tell. It was said that she was a female corpse that was able to absorb enough qi to get a human form. She would have at least in her human life have her yang qi gathered enough to keep her spirit in the mortal realm.... but I don't think she would have a mortal body. Ghosts are technically immortal because they don't have a body anymore that could weigh them down but I don't recall them having much power beyond that. Ghosts can possess other living beings until they can take over but we don't see White Bone Spirit possessing other people in the book, just that she was able to make her own transformations as she was able to have her own body from the start.

I do think that White Bone Demon is just a corpse that turned into a Yaoguai rather than a ghost that stole a mortal body since that is never mentioned and Wukong is able to kill three of her fake bodies and we see that none of them were real people, just illusions. There are ghost types of yao, or at least ghosts so terrible that they are considered yao.

I wanted to ask how strong a ghost could be because I understand that ghosts can become immortal and that they could even be stronger than other Yaoguai despite not having a physical body.

I can't say I know how strong Ghosts can be really... I would suggest looking more into 餓鬼 "hungry ghost" and preta in Buddhism since those are the ghost's realms in the cycle of reincarnation. I only know that these ghosts rather just suffer for as long as they are on earth and that their suffer out on the living as well.

In the end they only have one path and that is to accept they have nothing left in this world and reincarnate but I can't recall any powers beyond possession. "They are born and destroyed, and they are destroyed and reborn. If you fail to realize it and fall from life to life, you will lose your body among the masses, and your soul will be in another shell. The true nature will no longer be in human beings, and they will reincarnate along the way, forever. There is no liberation."

I do see cases of when people die they are considered to be giving a divine body in heaven and thus immortal with divine intervention. But these are cases of where they are to be considered on the same level as perhaps other Taoist cultivators in terms of power.

I don't know what powers a ghost can have. I understand that in LMK it is understood that she can "revive" people but I don't know if that is true in terms of Chinese myths or legends.

"There are five levels of immortals, including ghosts, human beings, earthly immortals, gods and heavenly immortals. They are all immortals. Ghosts and immortals are inseparable. Regarding ghosts, human beings and immortals are not separated from humans, earthly immortals are not separated from the earth, gods and immortals are not separated from gods, and heavenly immortals are not separated from heaven.” "They are called ghost immortals because of their one will and Yin spirit that never disperses. Although they are called immortals, they are actually ghosts"

I would say that if were to consider ghosts the same as immortals then they would have similar powers. That being said reviving people isn't really a normal power from what I remember.

There are only three cases of bringing someone back from the dead such as the Dragon King who saved Chen Guangrui be sending a letter to get his soul back from Hongzhou City God and preserving his body with the 定颜珠. Wukong does the same with The King of the Wuji Kingdom and they put the pill in his mouth to save him. Wukong also saved another soul Sqiure Kou being going to hell and just getting his body himself and bringing him back to the land of the living with the help from Bodhisattva Kingitigarbha in the Region of Darkness. And then there is Nezha's master Taiyi Zhenren who was able to give Nezha a new body of Lotus. In two of those cases, a pill was used, and in another Wukong just went to hell and got him since it was a death-date issue and Wukong made a strong case for him. I'm not sure besides Taiyi Zhenren was able to really bring someone back by using a different body but that it to be considered unique.

In any case, while LDB in LMK could revive people I can't say that it is a common thing in Chinese mythos at least from what I am used to. But it isn't impossible just very unique and circumstantial. Either powerful immortals could know such acts or Wukong. But I haven't heard of a ghost doing such things or another yaoguai.

The best I can say is to read up on 鬼仙 yourself to see what powers they could have but at best I would say to compare then to other immortals. Each immortal is unique but powers of cultivation and transformation would be common enough.

[kaibutsushidousha]

thought of Raikou and her heavenly king

I like Raikou a lot, but I'd be lying if I said anything to say about her. Out of all characters in Sakurai's recreation of Tsukihime, Raikou is by far the most derivative, to the point I really can't think of any Raikou character trait that isn't also present in Akiha. In fact, Raikou was the starting point from which I started noticing the connections that made the post above. For maybe 2 years, it was only Raikou=Akiha in my brain.

That said, Raikou was a very important personal step in my relationship with the other character. I don't think I need to anyone that, but Akiha is a very unapproachable figure and at least the original version of her route didn't help me at all with that. The first time I felt something positive about Akiha was when Hisui's route clarified the true nature of her relationship with Kohaku. For years, my take on Akiha has been "I don't like her individually, but I like her relationship with Kohaku", which is the one Akiha thing that Raikou lacks. However, as I found myself enjoying Raikou content, my reaction was obviously "Wait, I like Akiha now, actually".

My biggest hope for Raikou in Samurai Remnant is that the new context allows her to shine in ways that distance herself from her Tsukihime inspiration (and vice-versa as my hope for Red Garden) because I checked my tags for this and to this day I still haven't ever failed to mention one in a meta post about the other.

Kintoki for the longest time existed as a joke character and not one of the funny ones, as the protagonist of Heian, he's perfect. I love the idea of seeing a Heroic Spirit as a complete person secure of the ideals he stands for and then meeting his living counterpart in a period when the world he defended still leaves him lost and unsure of what he wants and cares for. I loved to see so much of Fate/Zero's Kirei reflected in such an ambiguously good guy, and I love especially Kintoki's relationship with Douman.

Tsuna I don't like. His role and backstory are quite well fit for Heian's themes, as just some guy who went so above his expected fate through the sheer power of caring, but Heian is a story as rich of The Tale of Genji intertextuality as it is of Tsukihime intertextuality, and I can't help but draw the worst possible implications out of Tsuna's backstory being meant to mirror Hikaru-gimi's relationship to Fujitsubo and Murasaki.

Urabe and Sadamitsu aren't in Fate/ yet, and honestly, I don't feel any need for them to be unless something super original is done with them. Urabe's fatherly archer archetype sorta overlaps too much with Tell, and Sadamitsu's only interesting legend is when he found the feral Kintoki and brought him to the civilization. Considering his initiative to take Kintoki to the human side, Sadamitsu could have potential as a character who actively wants to bridge the gaps between humans and non-humans whenever possible, but not in FGO, where the human and oni Servants are already sharing Chaldea's space without the need of his intervention.

[sunny-days-and-warm-mournings]

Please I want to know more about your Son Wukong AUs!

OH!!! OHHH!!! So my inbox really is working after all!!

As for my AUs, well, *fixes bones and coffin nails*

SO I have a LOT of Sun WuKong AUs in my folder, some more fleshed out some not. I think I have about 15 AUs in total if I count the other "What If" scenarios that circles around in my noggin, but the more prominent ones that I'll be showcasing in my blog are: Huānlè Jìjié Dà (of course), Kǎishèng Dàshèng, SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ, SāngQī Zhēngdòu, and Qíyuàn Zhízhèng Guān.

As you can see there's a shit ton of em, which may speak about my malaptive daydreaming mind but hey! I may do with my hyperfixations.

For Huānlè I've already explained some bits about the AU here as well as there, and I'll explain more in the future once I'm done with the lil comic I've been working on ;)

The others HOWEVER, they are a little bit more complex and are interconnected with each other in some ways. For now though, I'll explain the list I've included in this post.

1. Kǎishèng Dàshèng is an AU that is related to the Monkey King Hero Is Back (2015) iteration of the Xiyouji, and this AU takes place after Jiang Liu'er died (or implied to have passed away, but honestly even as it breaks my damn heart and the ending was there I know what it meant). Sun WuKong goes on to some type of redemption after failing to protect the little monk, slaying Yaoguai here and there where major trails and ambushes happen.

He can already activate his golden eye bc it unlocked with some of his abilities when he defeated Hun Dun (can't remember the guy's name right) and with some heavenly interventions SWK knew about the reincarnations of the Golden Cicada (I can't get in too much detail but I'll take it to my notes after some research) and the fates that came with it.

Long story short he was hailed as a protector of children AND a War God after much fuss with demons trying to thwart him, all the while fulfilling his failed promise of protecting Jiang Liu'er through protecting kids like him. The process of this is even more complicated and circles around the idea of quasi-exemption bc "I must protect these young mortals because I failed Liu'er" "I was not strong enough to even save him" "I have fallen from grace long before I was imprisoned" and more, it's not really a "an eye for an eye" thing because SWK chooses to protect and look out for children. He wants to not as an obligation but something beyond that, like a higher form concept of promise and the child's death that sparked this fire. The death of his kid wasn't a power up and more of a realization that "I failed so many people, I left, and what did I get from that? What was the answer of my goal in the end? " I can word that much better but I'm running out of time so—

"Sun WuKong always spat out his guts and fangs laced with fire and ambitions, until infant teeth dropped with his gore."

2. SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ is the darkest of my AUs, holy shit, I've taken everything from this man. You know how we set fire to ant hills because they bit us? Yes, that's how this AU ended up in. The story follows just as much as the beginning of the book, he goes to find the immortal, takes his cudgel from Ao Guang, causes some chaos in Di Yu; but Heaven wasn't having any of that. They did not like this monkey one but and ordered for the "exorcism" of the Huagoushan troops, not batting any more of an eye.

It was a full on genocide. No monkey survived in the fire Yù Huáng ordered to be put upon them, and the mountains died with tens of thousands of monkey individuals either curled up in ashes behind the long gone Shuilian cave or is not set apart from the dead earth.

And guess what? This made Sun WuKong so distraught and full of rage (and so much more emotions). He didn't "die" per say, but his stole was taken back again to Di Yu for judgement. The half-dead half-alive monkey razed great havoc upon Di Yu and almost beat the living shit out of King Qin'guang— who wouldn't? When the whole of your household and home are gone? Forget the crown of the Monkey King or his immortality, he was the patriarch and communal grandfather to the Huagou mountains.

It was Buddha himself who intervened the anguished Sun WuKong's war path and struck a deal with him to stop him from killing King Qin'guang off completely and risk upsetting the balance set in Hell, including the mortal souls and the monkeys' souls. They compromised by striking a deal that concerned SWK "dethroning" King Qin'guang for the time being until every last one of his monkey family's souls were set for the Samsara Cycle, otherwise known as the Reincarnation Cycle. If SWK does not accept this deal then he'd face a much, much, worse punishment that if compared to the genocide of his people and what could've been the Five Elements Mountain imprisonment, it would seem like child's play.

Sun WuKong disrupted what peace was in Di Yu, almost completely turning over the Cycle, and there's darker Hell to suffer for that.

So SWK accepted, rotten and burning unlike flesh and maggots but like nebulae and empty enclaves of world-birthing stars, and accepts King Qin'guang's place only for the small comfort of overseeing his monkeys handed to the Cycle.

It is estimated that that lasted for 6,000 years, possibly more. Sun WuKong spent that time suffering and wallowing in his anguish and loss. The genocide and SWK's reaction also sparked something to other Yaoguai that was near then, or in Pūrvavideha continent that felt the sheer force of horror, agony, pain, and everything else that came from SWK. He also does not a face, only a void where it was supposed to be.

(I can't say he got any justice at all. Or comfort or felt the sun on his fur again. I can't say he recovered.)

3. SāngQī Zhēngdòu follows almost the same plot as SāngQī Yǒngjiǔ, but it wasn't a genocide. This one isn't too fleshed out yet but he stayed as Warlord and wasn't imprisoned because of the Havoc in Heaven. If anything, his relation to other Yaoguai solidified some cases that saved him from being put under Buddha's palm.

Let's just say he hates Yù Huáng's guts (they're both mutually exclusive, which is the greatest idea ever that Heaven came up with ever since sending Erlang Shen's army to raze Huagou), and mingles with other forms of Yaoguai more than ever. There are lots of deals and compromises in my AUs and this one isn't an exception. Sun WuKong doesn't back down when his goal perceives what may be the return of some of his troops.

Hints: God of War, white fur and red robes. Ruler of the Yaoguai Kingdom and the allied sworn brothers

4. Qíyuàn Zhízhèng Guān is a little more lighthearted and purely for shits and giggles (which provides as a pit stop from all the bloody angst).

Sun WuKong is a lot more bastardly here and gives Heaven the troubles they deserve. It started on him being bored out of his mind and thought that the best solution for this is to: tell the Jade Emperor he was bored out of his mind and wants another job, and then wanting freedom without anybody's decree of agreement.

Basically he kinda miraculously convinced Yù Huáng to give him a "raise" from his title as The Great Sage Equalling Heaven (that he knew was an empty title, btw) and Guardian Of The Immortal Peach Orchard. Passive aggressively hinting violence if the old Jade wasn't going to cooperate until he got what he wanted.

Which he did! He became a supervisor for some surprisingly religious stuff related to prayer and worship. Archon and stuff that will lead to greater things in that future, which I won't tell you about just yet ;)

There's actually a fic out there for this bit as well as another AU!

Here are the links:

Peaches And Prayers

White Sun | 白日，甚至在子時辰之前

5. (Bonus) White Sun is an AU that explores the idea of rehabilitation of Huagou Mountain and the monkeys, and that Sun WuKong escaped from Buddha's would-be punishment for him after the havoc in heaven just the last seconds. I may rewrite it to be more accurate to the OG classic but is is what it is right now.

——————————————————————

And that settles it! I can explain in it better and clearer ways but I don't have too much time left, so here they are anyhow! A couple of my more than dozens AUs! I hope you like them and keep asking about them still <3

I will make more art and content for these AUs when I have a better schedule and when our tests are done, so please be patient! I know how to write them I promise JDNKSNS

Anyway, it's time for me to go now! I hope you liked my messy explanation @blastflight :)

[rookie-icarus]

The Heavenly Industrial Complex or The Metatron is a Union Buster

I do think the coffee is a critical element of the finale and Aziraphale’s ultimate decision, but not for the reasons you may think.  Here's why:

Part I: An Institutional Problem

Heaven has a growing optics problem, but an excellent PR department that knows how to put a spin on a media hit.

“For one prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem.” — The Metatron, Season 2, Episode 5

Communications strategists sometimes refer to this as creating a “Winning Narrative”, where a set of values are shared and are overwhelmingly supported by the public as a cultural norm, bringing more people to your side. And, most importantly, a winning narrative drives behavior.

Now, imagine the most famous angel in the bible who is essentially heaven’s press secretary publicly says, “You know what? Not only do I not want this job anymore, but I’m rejecting the institution I’ve always represented outright.”

Now your Winning Narrative is put into question at best and, at worst, breaks down the entire confidence in your institution and the behavior of those who support it — or worse, who make up the institution itself:

*Ahem*

One angel and demon collaborating to thwart The Great Plan was already dangerous four years ago but was generally contained within the senior leadership of Heaven and Hell. But now, with the defection of Gabriel and Beelzebub, there is a growing pattern and The Metatron has to deal with it before it spirals out of control.* So, he does what a leader should do when presented with a threat: he studies the opposition.

The opposition isn’t hell, it’s the humanity that has crept into and influenced Crowley and Aziraphale over the last 6,000 years.

Crowley: For my money, the really big one is all of us against all of them.

Aziraphale: What? Heaven and Hell against humanity?

— Good Omens, Season 1, Episode 6

Part II: Human Nature

Something we see over and over again this season is the extreme ignorance of Heaven and Hell as they don’t even try to understand not only human nature but human anything. (Reproduction, law enforcement, how to drink tea, how long humans even live, what is sushi, etc).

(Muriel is a precious baby duck and I will fight anyone who hurts them.)

But the Metatron knows exactly how to queue, and place a generally common coffee order, he has the knowledge that the other ethereal and occult beings who have visited Earth don't have — how humans interact. It's disarming and very clever.

When The Metatron asks Nina about the coffee shop's namesake the key isn't "give me death" it's "so predictable".

Study humans long enough, you see the patterns that push them into action: values, convictions, and love.

A heavenly intervention won't do, but a simple conversation has the power to obliterate the expectations Aziraphale generally has of heaven’s bureaucracy and petty nature. It’s everything Aziraphale wants to believe and what he’s been conditioned to trust. It’s propaganda.

Think of how coffee is often a pretense for other interactions among humans, especially in a work setting.  Your boss takes you out for a coffee because they see the warning signs that the company may be unionizing, establishing a false relationship, or camaraderie.

“[...] management’s politeness comprises a small tactic in a much larger strategy on the part of Capital to delude workers and maintain labor peace .”  Jay Bettencourt, “Nothing in Common: Your Boss is Not Your Friend”

It’s also worth pointing out that another union-busting tactic is promoting lower-level employees and turning them into managers in order to create a riff in solidarity. *cough*

As we’ve heard from Crowley over and over again: humans often invent much worse things than he or Hell ever could. I wouldn’t be surprised if The Metatron took a page from a union-buster book.

Part III: The (failed) promise of change from within

In this conversation, The Metatron does two things: appeals to Aziraphale’s values and offers him proximity to power to act on those values.

He has a chance to make the changes he feels would have the greatest impact on a broken system. As a former non-profit employee, Aziraphale's "I can make a difference" broke my heart. I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had with peers about wanting to change the non-profit industrial complex from the inside and the disillusionment that comes with it when you realize you can’t. 

“Nonprofits — through the services they provide and the media and other campaigns they design — explicitly and implicitly reinforce and perpetuate certain ideas. For example, in their work they frame what is the “appropriate” solution to social problems. [...]

Finally, nonprofits also reinforce an ideology about the most appropriate way to bring about change — namely, working for a nonprofit.

And who benefits when good-willed people committed to social justice get drawn into a system that they depend on for their livelihood and that incentivizes not rocking the boat?” — Erica West, Beyond the Non-Profit Industrial Complex

I predict that’s going to be the greatest and most interesting challenge Aziraphale faces in S3, the disillusionment he will receive because institutions do not change because of leadership — there first must be a larger cultural shift among every individual in that institution. In my opinion, Aziraphale’s choice wasn’t out of character, but deeply, deeply human — doing the best he could with the information he had at the time and with an olive branch of coffee in his hand.

(*I also truly believe The Metatron knew about the fraternization between Gabriel and Beelzebub before the beginning of the season, which is why he didn’t want all of Heaven on alert for the missing archangel, refused to cast him down to hell, and wanted to erase his memory.)

Quick note: I have another S2 finale theory that would totally negate this one and may post about it later, but it’s fun to speculate, even if I contradict myself on a silly blogging site

[chai-hat-tea]

When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass it on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 🩷

Hiiiiii!!! Thank you so much for sending this ❤️❤️❤️ I already answered it, but this gives me an opportunity to add the other fics I couldn’t add before (and all my works are my favs, no matter how embarrassed I am. They’re my babies after all), so thank you!!! ❤️❤️

1. Stranger Coffees - despite how embarrassed I am of this and don’t want to read it again (jk!), it’s my first ever fic and I’m so proud I managed to take this plunge, and it makes me very very proud!!!

2. The Mane Man - oh I felt such an improvement in this fic compared to my first fic! It was also based on true events so it was fun to recollect what I was going through when I experienced when I was writing for Harry! It was fun to write it!!!

3. Everything’s Fair in Cereal and War - enemies to lovers, what more can I ask for? XD It’s also the first time I wrote a sex scene, and although I admit the sex scene was very tacky, I’m surprised I had it in me to write it!

4. (Failed) Heavenly Intervention - this again is hilarious because I wrote Niall getting pranked, poor baby XD it was such a joy to write this!!!

5. I’m Weaker Without You - I’m rementioning this because I typed 6 fics yesterday XD but this is something I’m so majorly proud of, because it’s my longest ever and I wrote it on such a time crunch. So to get something decent out in that time frame was maddening for me, but posting it felt SO worth it!!

Thank you so much for sending this to me, I hope you have a wonderful weekend!!! ❤️

[chaosmyths]

A new OC and this time I'm going to explain her story.

Amnesia Hexie:

Maiden Ice Demon

She/Her, They/Them

Daughter of the Lady Bone Demon.

Nickname(s): Maiden, Sia, Hexie, Little One, Big Sis, Winter's Wrath,

The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, Mad'am, Destructive child, Terror of the Cold Night, Mistress

Species: Demon/Human hybrid (Past)

Ghost/Deity (Present)

Affiliation(s): Lady Bone Demon ✝ (Past)

Monkie Kids (Present)

Occupation: None

Weapon(s) of Choice: Ice Abilities, Ice Spear, Guns (Run if you see her with one)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Home: Flower Fruit Mountain (Second Home) The ruins of the Bone Mech (Mostly Lives here)

Likes: Aerial Silk Dancing, Ice Skating, Gymnastics, Yoga, Meditating, Running/Walking, Swimming, Skating, Painting, Drawing, Writing, Reading.

Dislikes: Her friends and/or family getting hurt, mentally and physically. Hearing someone talking smack about her friends and/or family. The Jade Emperor.

Phobia(s): Agripyrophobia (Fear of Wildfires) Phonophobia (Fear of Sudden Loud Noises) Claustrophobia (Fear of Compacted Spaces)

Family: Lady Bone Demon (Mother)✝ Macaque (Adopted Father) Bai He (Adopted Sister) Rumble and Savage (Creations)

Friends/Allies: Monkie Kids, Monkey Kings, Mo, Demon Bull Family, Nezha, The "Mayor", Spider Queen, Huntsman, Syntax, Goliath.

(I refuse to accept that these guys are dead.)

Back story: Created by the Lady Bone Demon with the mix of her own DNA and a human's DNA, she was born as a small baby. One day when she was 17, her mother's power went crazy and she was accidentally killed by a sharp piece of ice. She became a ghost soon after. And after a little Heaven intervention, she was given the heavenly elixir and was now half deity, she did technical become a goddess. When her mother was defeated by the pilgrims, she was put under a spell and was asleep until DBK freed her mother. She joined her mother soon before the ShadowPlay. After her mother's defeat, she found Bai He and the two bonded. She then found Macaque and claimed that he made a promise to the Lady Bone Demon's family. So, he needs to fulfill the promise by working for her. He actually knows this because the times when he was left alone with the Lady Bone Demon, she said that to promise was to the family. So, if she was to fail, he was going to work for her daughter. Macaque, originally think she wanted revenge, was terrified what she wanted. To which she leaned on him and hugged him. She said all she really wanted was to hangout with MK and his friends. She had tried to talk with them before but she knew that MK was traumatized by her mother. She also tried to talk to Mei but she attacked her. Macaque then understood. Besides Bai He, who mostly lived with him and Wukong, she was all alone. So, Macaque was able to the group calm when he showed up. But, when he stepped aside to introduce her, they blindly attack Amnesia. Bai He stepped in front of her to stop them. Then Amnesia scolded her because that's dangerous and she's been through worse. She was worried out of her mind. That's when the crew saw how much different she was when compared to her mother. So, the group apologized and they started to hangout. And at the beginning of season 4, they're really close. Like siblings. She also convince Wukong that he was indebted to her.

And her last name means Harmony. It's because her mom wanted her to be a person who would stop war and anything else that might hurt humans. Also, Amnesia never really cried as a baby. She never fought, she never was fussy, and she was always well behaved. It was kinda weird but she changed a bit when she got older. She is a lot more loud, crazy, and dramatic.

[reginrokkr]

‘ you are not a failure. please believe that. ’ (from nahida!)

Heinous laughter that emerges from uttermost darkness rings his ears, the eerie presence of life-consuming poison rises short, platinum blond hairs on the back of his nape. In Dáinsleif's eternal search to understand if there was something he could've done to spare Khaenri'ah from its cruel fate, he encountered the most horrific scenario he never hoped to find. Hushed whispers that invoke forbidden and tainted mights feel no different than feeling all demons of his body trying their luck to find their way out of him by force, and a smile. Smiles that belong to astral pupils of kings of yore allow dark ooze to fall from their mouths, dilated pupils look straight to him as if they could trespass the limits of his soul.

It is that dream what marked the end of the self-imposed Samsara to find answers, a hundred years in abyssal time spent for that purpose alone— for it is then when Dáinsleif knew: Khaenri'ah had no saving if great part of its very kings are the responsible ones of the kingdom's downfall.

Blood coloured heavens fill his vision next, witness of the horror of celestial beings releasing their punishing wrath over innocent and guilty alike. The rain of the Heavenly Principles forgives none, with little to no regard whether all of them have sinned or only a part of them were too deep into their madness. Everything that mattered was the identity as Khaenri'ahn, so feeble was the divine filter to impart their so-called justice.

Twilight is meant to represent the end of the last drop of light and the beginning of dawn, as the blue hour that allows golden sunlight permeate everywhere so long as it is under the Seven's watch. In the dark corner of the world that Khaenri'ah was, Dáinsleif was a beacon of light, a ray of hope.

And yet, what could he do to protect them from divine's wrath? Nothing.

Warm tears roll down moon-kissed cheeks, a gasp that abandons roseate lips preludes a heavy panting that comes with the habitual pattern of having nightmares— as part of his own guilt, as part of the divine curse that threatens to replace his soul anytime were he lower his guard just a second. Dáinsleif sits up on the bed, shoulders rising and falling byproduct of the heaviness of his pants, then they tremble with the might of his crying. 500 years has it been since then, yet his guilt still persists and it is bound to last forevermore. Not even now has shame and remorse have diminished.

Truth is, this is the comeuppance he deserves. For failing to protect them, for failing himself. He is failure incarnate, committing sowing chaos everywhere he walks. It did not suffice to fail to protect them that nowadays he has to be on their search to mercy-kill them and prevent them from scheming more against those whom are not at fault for what happened. Everywhere he goes, there are those whose suffering resonates within him— though forgetting may equate to death to him as the only analogous that can be applied to him, there is truth in the belief that those Hilichurls fare the best without knowing. He failed them, too.

「You are not a failure. Please believe that.」

Amidst all sorrow and misery comes a ray of light to shine his dark voice in the form of a young and hopeful voice that shocks him whole. Glacial sapphires widen as his heart skips a beat seconds prior to come to the realization to whom this voice belongs. The audacity, is the first thought that crosses his mind at the prospect of a god leaving him no space even in his mind after all the irreparable harm that was done. Then a second thought crosses his mind, one that makes a heh escape trembling lips. Are his thoughts so troubling that they threaten the stability of Irminsul?

Whatever the reason for her intervention may be, it helps him relax in an odd way. Despite one may think that this is no different than rubbing salt to the injury, that this is the same as being insulting... he finds a strange sense of comfort in her voice. Just like he did from Greater Lord Rhukkadevata before her passing. How ironically fitting.

To give credit to a divine being despite how out of character it might be of him, recent events of Sumeru helped him inter a strange fact about himself he did not know— or perhaps it was stolen from him, a memory pertaining to his person from halcyon times preluding his arrival to Khaenri'ah. There can only be one reason for not being affected by Irminsul despite the unbreakable bond he harbors with it, one that he daren't utter albeit unbeknownst to him, it is related to his seraphic origins.

His frantically beating heart lowers its rhythm to what little sense of normalcy that exists around Dáinsleif, as his heavy breathing does. All sense of time eludes him, for he ignores how much time must've been since Lesser Lord Kusanali communicated with him through telepathy— sifting through delicate connections that unite them both via the Axis Mundi. This wayward luminary bears no doubt that the obscure nature of his thoughts related to his person must be concerning in view of his connection to Irminsul, how could he blame her for stirring the pot and set things right so they won't affect the sacred tree? Regardless of the little importance he has in comparison to Irminsul, there is an unmovable truth the Bough Keeper is cognizant of: just like Greater Lord Rhukkadevata before her, even if Irminsul is a priority, her sentiments are genuine.

「I cannot do that lest I risk believing in more lies than that.」 He responds at long last, partly unsure if she would listen him still, partly positive that she does and that she's been waiting for something— anything indicative enough that he hasn't lost himself and that he can still form an elaborate answer to assuage whatever concerns she has.

「But I can try. To suppress that thought and impede its pass to my soul before it's too late.」

@maquiscursed ✦

[letmepromptyou]

Train lyric prompts:

1. my treasure map was on your skin

2. the way to this heavenly bay, it went through hell

3. when everybody else is getting out of bed I’m usually getting in it

4. you can move in, I won’t ask where you been

5. these eyes got too wide, seen too much of life’s goodbyes

6. who’s to say who’s right with things like this

7. it’s a shame that youth is wasted on the young

8. so forget everything and just be with me here, now, for as long as we can

9. throw me in the fire just to save my life

10. oh hell you were heaven to me

11. sit a while with the sun on your face and remember the place we met

12. without you I would never be me

13. these bruises make for better conversation

14. it’s good to let you in again

15. around your finger, I’ll be a string

16. for every heartbreak there’s a sermon to be said

17. this ain’t my first rodeo and my heart’s been roped and tied

18. every frost, some live on and some are lost

19. I’ve been through the highs, said all my goodbyes

20. it’s not worth waiting for if one of us wants more

21. time is making me slip right through your hands

22. I need a sign to let me know you’re here

23. losing sight of having dreams

24. all the virgin saints put you here to care for me

25. if only the good die young, we’ll outlast everyone

26. this ain’t a threat but I think I better warn ya, gonna fall in love if you go to California

27. now that you’re mine things are gonna be fine

28. thank god for rainy days like these

29. I wanna take you with me, to life with no more yesterdays

30. we’re gonna hit the ground running

31. this house was everything we knew

32. it’s not too late, to believe we can have it all again

33. hey, did you hear, about the one that got away?

34. I’m leaving the ghosts behind

35. you’re the sun through my window, warming my skin

36. right from the beginning we were wrong I found

37. I’m giving up on being right so I can see the other side of you

38. sun shines, interventions, roads paved with good intentions

39. I’m dying to let you know, every time you leave it kills me slowly

40. if you go now, it’ll be the last time

41. lawyers asked me if I wanted war and I don’t remember what I was fighting for

42. I can feel you like a notion that won’t seem to let me go

43. every sunset that we’ll miss, I’ll wrap them all up in a kiss

44. I stopped believing although journey told me don’t

45. drove into Seattle rain, fell in love then missed the train

46. if I could wish upon a star I would hitch a cable car

47. acts like summer and walks like rain

48. did you fall for a shooting star?

49. tracing her way through the constellation

50. told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land

51. did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?

52. can you imagine no first dance, freeze-dried romance, five hour phone conversation

53. are you lonely looking for yourself out there?

54. you and I were friends from outer space

55. the only two who understood this place

56. we were stars up in the sunlit sky, that no one else could see

57. baby we were victims of all the foolish plans

58. the last of six kids that all left town, seems nobody ever wanted them around

59. you’re my favorite thing by far, that’s gotta count for something

60. driving over the bridge to give you my keys

61. so much for sewing up, so this is growing up

62. they say ‘it’s better to try and fail’ and we tried like hell

[pastorsi-larry]

WHAT IS PRAYER? Prayer is talking to God. The God to whom we pray is the all-powerful Creator, so He is able to intervene in our lives. He is a loving Father, so He cares about our needs and concerns. And He is the all-knowing Lord of the universe, so trustworthy to say “yes” when it is best and “no” when what we request would cause more harm than good. There are many kinds of prayer: public prayers, private prayers, memorized prayers, spontaneous prayers, spoken prayers, silent prayers, written prayers, sung prayers, and many more. All of them put words to four basic ideas. Thanksgiving – Someone said a sad day for an atheist is when he feels deeply grateful but has no one to thank! Christians know that God is the source of all of life’s blessings. So, we use prayer to say, “Thanks!” for what we receive. Since it is impossible to be truly thankful and discontent at the same moment, such prayers lift our spirits by reminding us that, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights.” (James 1:17) Confession – We all mess up. Deep down, we know it. That’s why we feel sorry when we’ve done something wrong or failed to do what is right. Confession is the act of admitting our guilt, regrets, and confusion to the One who wants to help us make it right or move on. We join the rest of the human race in saying “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” (Luke 18:13) And He will. Requests – “God, help me!” is a very basic version of the third category of prayer. We need, so we ask. Be it provision, intervention, protection, or any of a million other requests, we believe God can do or provide something we can’t. In the process, we take seriously the words of scripture, “You do not have, because you do not ask God.” Of course, we can make misguided requests. That’s why the scriptures add a caution. “When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.” (James 4:2-3) God is not a genie granting wishes, but a Father who takes seriously the sincere requests of His children. Worship – Prayer is also one of the ways we worship God. To “worship” means to “ascribe worth.” In other words, we give credit where credit is due. If the history of humanity tells us anything it is that we are hard-wired to worship someone or something – be it an idol made of stone or a celebrity “idol” with a million social media followers. Worship keeps us sane because it reminds us of the fundamental reality of the universe: that there is only one God, and we are not Him.

[pipelinelaserraygun]

Think of Christ's Bridal Party as its OWN DEMOGRAPHIC, APART FROM the rest of 🏰 Heaven's general citizenry.

The Bride is "tying the knot".

WEDLOCK ceremonies include a wedding rehearsal dinner. It's a practice run.

SHE is marrying into the Heavenly Royal Family business, which puts (M/F) Mrs. Jesus in a SET-APART classification, *distinguished through marital obligations.

I believe that the REMNANT (⬆️ THIS group) will carry out a RECKONING that 👺 awaits the lost, alongside, as Spouse to the Son of God.

In God's inner circle there are NO kid soldiers or kid brides.

🕎✝️🛐 Father God, there's NO NEED for MORE 🐑🐏 sacrificial lambs/sheeple. Upticks in attacks against conservatives and Christians require YOUR intervention.

NO 🪖 Soldiers left BEHIND.

"Their ✝️ bloodline had to be terminated."

"Senator, we're BOTH part of the SAME hypocrisy."

--With ONE distinction: our ✝️ marriage license provides diplomatic immunity across ALL dimensions & galaxies.

The ONLY war story that will last for Eternity is the one that Christians are currently co-scripting: Victory, in ✝️.

[wafact]

In ‘The Heavenly Idol’ A K-Pop Band Gets Some Divine Intervention

Kim Min-kyu plays a supernatural creature who finds himself in the body of a failed k-pop star. tvN Waking up to find yourself a k-pop star might be a dream come true for some people, but it’s not that for Pontifex Lembrary, who is mistaken for one of the members of the band Wild Animals. Just a minute before he was the high priest of a creator named Redlin and he was busy fighting the devil in…

[chiwhorei]

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema​, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

                                      * * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days. 

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you. 

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward. 

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

                                      * * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time. 

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless. 

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore. 

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

                                      * * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months. 

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.” 

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly. 

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous.  Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast? 

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for. 

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you. 

The way his tongue curls like a signature. 

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk. 

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful. 

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns. 

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name. 

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames. 

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue. 

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence. 

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel. 

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on. 

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair. 

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline. 

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat. 

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke. 

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.” 

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky. 

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.” 

✞ all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️