#best antichrist boy

[solsays]

If two people fucked on an actual correctly set up summoning pentagram and then had a child from that specific fuck session would that child just be the actual Antichrist by default or—

[slutforgarlogan]

"Youre a pretty little thing" | Michael Langdon x F! reader.

Summary: based off this request. Michael Langdon showing off to the coven witches and using the seven wonders to impress you because he has a crush on you

A/N: guys i love him im a catholic and he's the antichrist we're like romeo and juliet. also the writing on this one is questionable n clunky but im on wine and cider so it needs to be forgiven

When the warlocks had told Cordelia they wanted to have Michael perform the seven wonders, Michael had felt determined to get it done quickly and better than Cordelia could do it, to prove he was the next supreme, and no one could argue it.

However, when the witches had arrived telling him they agreed to it, and he could attempt to perform the seven wonders, Michael had found himself a little distracted by one of the witches, you. His new goal was to impress you.

First wonder: Telekinesis. This one was easy and simple, he just had to move something without touching it. He did so, quickly and with ease, shooting a cocky smirk at the witches, eyes lingering on you a little.

Second wonder: Concilium. Michael knew he could be crafty with this one - control of the mind. He looked at you, and as you made eye contact, you knew you were going to be the victim of him showing off this power.

You could feel yourself moving towards him, very much against your will, and you took mental note of the fact that though you yourself were a very powerful witch, he was powerful enough that you couldn't even try and fight it.

To your surprise, despite the weird evil vibe you've all been getting from him, all he makes you do is dance with him. You uncontrollably slow dance with him, unsure whether it's his pretty face or the magic thats making you kind of nervous, but whatever it is, you scold yourself for thinking that way about a man that even one of the warlocks is scared of.

When he's done making you dance with him, you awkwardly do the walk of shame back over to stand next to Zoe, awkwardly smiling at her.

Third wonder: Transmutation. Another easy one, Michael thought. Madison had tapped him on the shoulder, and in turn, he had appeared behind you to tap you on the shoulder.

By the time you had turned round, he had dissappeared again, leaving everyone looking around for him. Your eyes dart around the room, a little puzzled. Whatever he was doing, it was successfully intriguing you more and more by the second, drawing yourself to the unsettling boy.

"Look up"

You can all hear the cockiness in his voice, the same annoying smirk as before present on his face, as you look up to the ceiling, to see Michael attatched to it, looking down on everyone, like one of those sticky animals you get from toy machines.

Fourth wonder: divination. Once again, Michael already knew he could do this, another easy one. He had to do this one as it was given to him, unfortunately, and couldn't do anything extra to inadvertently flirt with you more. And so, he makes a small bit of eye contact with you, before he takes the small pebbles and usea them to figure out where the pocket watch is, finding it almoat instantly, and walking over to where it was to pick it up and show the witches.

Fifth wonder: Pyrokenesis. Michael decided the best thing to do, would be to conjure a ring of fire around where you and madison were stood, making piercing eye contact with you through the fire, and getting rid of it as quickly as he had conjured it up.

To you, the danger and mystery of him was considerably attractive, though Cordelia didn't seem too impressed that he was practically targeting you.

Sixth wonder: Vitalum Vitalis. Michael was given a rat to bring back to life, which proved another easy task for him, doing so pretty much instantaneously, and moving on to the seventh wonder.

Seventh wonder: Descensum. Cordelia had ordered for Michael to not only successfully come back from this, but also to retrieve Misty Day, who had been lost to this particular task when she tried the seven wonders.

This, of course, had caused an arguement between her and the warlocks, who were claiming it wasnt fair, and that it's not a part of the rules.

You and Michael, had been making eye contact the whole time, and the tension between the two of you was so thick you could almost see it. He broke eye contact to look at the warlocks, holding up a dissmissive hand to them "Relax, I'll do it"

He did, and you watched intensely as he lay there, seemingly lifeless. You started to feel a little nervous, even though you didn't know him at all really, nor would you ever admit to having the slightest care in the world how this played out, you told yourself you were nervous because you wouldn't wish death upon anyone.

Sure enough, he did return, and Misty did - eventually - return with him. Much to everyones shock.

You stood there and gawked, eyes flicking between Michael and Misty, and he smirked at you.

A short bicker between the witches and warlocks ensued, before the witches had all turned there attention to Misty.

You however, had turned your attention to Michael, your gaze locking with his for what felt like the millionth time today.

"You seem impressed, little witch," he smirks a little at you, and you nod in response.

"I am impressed" you confirm, trying to be cautious, undeniably attracted to him, but still acknowledging that there's something off about him.

"That was the goal, i wanted to impress you" he sounds serious about it, and you tilt your head a little, cocking an eyebrow.

"Why"

"You're a pretty little thing, thats why"

[triflesandparsnips]

So I understand that there are Good Omens show fans who have never read Good Omens the book, and that makes me deeply sad because--

Like, there's so much depth to the story being told about humans and humanity and the choice between good and evil -- and how that's actually a false dichotomy whoooops -- WHILE ALSO not really being about Aziraphale and Crowley at all (who are, imo, basically there as embodiments of "Impressive Failures" for the purposes of Theme and also Plot).

BUT IF you want to know why I've shipped them since the book-- here's the moment it happened for wee teenage me:

Wednesday (before the end of the world)

So it's Warlock's birthday party. And there are all these children and security guards and also an angel doing magic tricks while a demon is disguised as a caterer. This bit is basically the same as the show, so hooray.

But as wee me understood the characters up to this point, they were still basically enemies who had been in the field together for way too long and knew each other's moves well enough for the same tempting/thwarting of one another to become kind of boring and repetitive and generally pointless-- particularly once they realized that they could, for instance, just live their (separate!) lives watching humans being weird (Crowley) and seeking various sensory stuff (Aziraphale) while doing the least work necessary to keep their respective bosses off their backs.

The Arrangement was borne not out of hiding a friendship or anything, but instead the realization that sometimes covering for one another would just... cut down on their total overall workload. They were, at best, employees of two different, competitive companies-- though in same kind of department, doing the same kind of work-- who discovered they liked to have lunch at the same deli and that their jobs were sometimes distressingly more similar than either was comfortable with.

SO ANYWAY. BACK TO THAT WEDNESDAY. They're not covering for one another with this whole Antichrist thing-- they're now actively collaborating, and they've acknowledged (mostly) that it's not to cut down on their individual workloads, but rather to preserve their identical-- but not shared (not yet)-- goals of Getting To Continue The Lives On Earth They've Grown To Enjoy.

But like-- still not friends. Not really.

Until Aziraphale fucks up a bit, Warlock accidentally gets hold of a security guard's weapon and starts waving it around, and:

Then someone threw some jelly at Warlock. The boy squeaked, and pulled the trigger of the gun. It was a Magnum .32, CIA issue, gray, mean, heavy, capable of blowing a man away at thirty paces, and leaving nothing more than a red mist, a ghastly mess, and a certain amount of paperwork. Aziraphale blinked. A thin stream of water squirted from the nozzle and soaked Crowley, who had been looking out the window, trying to see if there was a huge black dog in the garden. Aziraphale looked embarrassed. Then a cream cake hit him in the face.

My teenage brain exploded at this moment.

BECAUSE: there is no reason for Aziraphale to do that.

Work-wise: If he got shot, Crowley would get discorporated, but not die-- and anyway, it would happen in such a way that both of them could explain it away easily to their respective sides (and possibly even be commended for it!).

Collaboration-wise: If Crowley had been watching Aziraphale, and if he'd seen Aziraphale have the chance to change the gun but not do it-- then yeah, probably that would've been annoying enough to have warranted some chilly conversations once he came back topside, and therefore, Aziraphale choosing to save Crowley could've been a reasonable, logical choice to keep their working relationship on an even keel until they'd sorted out this Doomsday thing.

But Crowley was looking the other way.

Work-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and secret-collaboration-wise, it doesn't make sense-- and so it is, overall, really weird that Aziraphale saved him.

But his automatic reaction-- in a blink-- is to stop Crowley from getting shot. And he knows it's weird-- he feels embarrassed that his sudden, unthinking reaction is to save his "enemy".

And the final bit is just a couple paragraphs later:

With a gesture, Aziraphale turned the rest of the guns into water pistols as well, and walked out.

SO LOOK: He changed only the pistol about to shoot Crowley. His automatic reaction had nothing to do with saving a party full of humans, many of them children-- nothing to do with Heaven or Hell-- nothing to do with preserving the coworker he needs to stop Armageddon--

It was all to do with saving Crowley. Who may be the enemy, but he's Aziraphale's enemy. And another part of his life on Earth that he's doing all of this just to preserve.

Which may also be, for the first time, the moment he lets himself realize how important Crowley in particular is to him.

...and so anyway, that's how I started shipping these two immortal idiots, and one of many reasons why everyone should read the book.

[nicolegmattos]

My Christian best friend reacts to Good Omens (part 2):

Link to part 1 if you haven’t seen it yet.

Them: *after Adam said that naming the dog Dog avoids trouble* I agree.

Me: Really creative, right?

Them: Is it wrong thinking that the Antichrist is a good boy?

Me: Well, that was the plan. Making him normal. Even if this wasn't actually their doing lol.

Them: *seeing that Agnes got the cocoa prophecy right* She's FUCKING GOOD. She predicted this CENTURIES AGO.

Me: She's perfect.

Them: *watching The Flood scene* I didn't think about that. Children died because of The Flood. Wow... cool, cool. Chocking. Rethinking everything.

*seeing Jesus being crucified* Loved that they criticized the fact it was Aziraphale's lot who put him there.

*laughing when Crowley said his travel opportunities were limited* Yeah, you know. He was poor. Didn't travel much, poor guy.

*watching the French Revolution scene* Why do I feel like they're an old married couple who always fight but never leave each other?

Me: Because they're literally like that basically lol. Great definition.

Them: *seeing Crowley walk in consecrated ground* Seems like he's doing a tap dance lol.

Me: Crowley saving the day once again, ladies and gentlemen.

Them: *seeing that Crowley saved the books* That's my relationship goal. I want a man who saves me and my books.

Me: That's the moment when Aziraphale fell in love.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x Player), THE ENDING

Chapter 18, In Which You and Raphael Live Happily Ever After

read on AO3

Luca Signorelli: detail of The Deeds of Antichrist 

The second year of the Coming of Prophet Raphael. Holy See, Rome. Do not let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and who exalts himself over every so-called god or object of worship, so that he sits down in the temple of God, proclaiming that he himself is God.

“Such a blessed day”, your mum said. 

“It is”, you said. 

A lovely midsummer day. The sun beat down on the Vatican gardens, dappled shadows through the trees. You and your mum were having coffee in the gazebo, you with your phone, she with her newspaper, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers and freshly cut grass.

Not much changed in the Holy See. The Family of the Prophet Raphael moved in where the late Pope used to reside; crosses were banned and called a heresy, replaced by a symbol vaguely reminiscent of the double horns, but otherwise, not much.

Your mum gasped as she read something, and you had to shoot a quick glance at the headlines as well…

…a tactical nuclear strike… the Holy Army of Prophet Raphael…

You quickly looked back on your phone before you could catch the rest.

“Well, there has always been trouble in the Middle East”, your mom said after some contemplation. "God willing, Raul will bring about an end to it all."

“Raphael”, you corrected. “And be careful with your phrasing”.

"I prefer to call him by his baptismal name, the one he bore before the Resurrection," she responded with a soft smile. “Old habit”.

“Those are two different people”, you said. “The one who got resurrected was not the one who died”.

“Anya, you got more religious than me”, your mum laughed. “Who could have known?”.

You held your tongue and continued scrolling through Reddit, the subreddit dedicated to the Prophet. 

“You should go out”, your mum said. "You should visit Rome someday; it's been reborn. The streets are pristine, people dressed in their Sunday best every day, crime rates at their lowest since records began. It’s heaven on earth. Reinstating capital punishment was truly an act of divine wisdom. We are blessed indeed to have witnessed His Second Coming".

And he will speak words against the Most High, and he will wear out the holy ones of the Most High, and he will attempt to change times and law, and they will be given into his hand for a time and two times and half a time.

You did not need to go out. 

Nothing existed outside of this house anyway.

It’s just you and this house. And the gardens.

As for your mum, she was the necessary evil.

Raphael was busy with his Crusades, you were busy battling Asmodeus, and since Raphael could not stand the idea of nannies, your mother looked after your son around-the-clock. It was her own personal mission from God, to raise the son of the Great Prophet, so she said.

“If you ask me,” she said as she sipped her tea from a china cup, “those who turn a blind eye to Raul’s miracles are simply reaping what they've sown. God knows who they truly serve.”

Oh, damn! They finally dropped the new update to the Conquest Of Nessus. At long last, you flagged these bugs a month ago. 

“Anya, pay attention to your child. What’s so interesting on your phone?”

Three new re-worked romance scenes with Raphael and a new boss fight, that’s what's interesting on your phone.

“What?”, you asked as you scrolled through the release notes. “He is happy. Michi is a very happy little boy”.

Your little boy sat in his stroller with his jet black hair and blue eyes; angelic except for those little double horns and tail. So well-behaved and sweet you sometimes forgot about his existence. Michi was short for Michael, and Michael was short for Archangel Michael - nomen est omen after all.

Couldn't ask for a better baby.

“Anya, you need to be present for your son”.

You never spoke with Raphael of Michael’s blue eyes; with your mum, of his horns. She never brought them once either; but she would often knit small hats for him, carefully including two holes on each side.

Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

“Present where?”, you tore your eyes off the phone screen. “Mom, I wish you would refrain from criticizing me all the time—I'm doing my best here.”

Your mother’s face softened into a serene smile.

“I know, sweetheart," she said warmly, "I am proud of you. I love you—you're the most wonderful daughter anyone could dream of."

That’s all you ever wished for.

****

The remainder of your day was spent immersed in beta-testing, just like in your pre-Raphael days. As midnight loomed, you'd squashed enough bugs to warrant a serious chat with Larian.

"Thanks for the latest patch," you began as the newly appointed development lead appeared on your Teams call screen. "There are a few areas I want to discuss, particularly this bit where Tav and Raphael liberate Nessus from Asmodeus' tyranny and celebrate their wedding."

“Too cheesy? We hoped you’d like it”

“Um, I appreciate the sentiment”, you said. “But I had a feeling it was too much. Like, unrealistic. Can you schedule me a call with the chief writer? Besides many other minor points. Raphael doesn’t talk like that. But you will receive my full feedback in an e-mail”.

"Certainly," he agreed with a nod. "We'll make sure everything is according to your preferences. After all, Lady Prophet, you're our exclusive client."

Nobody else was allowed to play the game.

“Anya”, you corrected. “I really cannot stand when they call me Lady Prophet. But just so you know, I really appreciate the hard work you do for me”, you said.

“How is the Prophet?"

"Oh, well... The Middle Eastern conversion isn't exactly going as smoothly as anticipated. South Asia isn’t looking much better".

Russia was in the drenches of a civil war between raphaelists and orthodox. China bought itself some time. 

"Here's hoping there will still be some folks left for him to convert," he joked without a smile on his face. "Just so we're clear though - we are all followers of the Prophet here at Larian Studios. In hoc signo vinces. No heretics among us, Lady Prophet. Anya. Sorry. Anya".

You could feel your cheeks turning red. There were heretics, yes. A lot of them. Especially in northern Europe.

They did not live long before they were put on trial in hellfire. Raphael had his own inquisitors (there were about ten thousand applications for a place, a favourite career choice for young men of Catholic background).

Raphael did not burn the inquisitors for their crimes back then.

He burned them because their crimes were not in his name.

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“Don’t hate me”, you muttered. “I did not… You guys created Raphael. Not me”.

There was a long silence.

"We'll have that update ready for you ASAP," he finally said.

***

You used to hate the spotlight, and you still do. 

Unfortunately to you, you were the most discussed woman in the world; and your marriage was the item of every gossip. Which meant you had to do public statements from time to time. This time, on national news, live stream from the papal enclave, you and Raphael sitting on the sofa, the entire United Christian nation's eyes on you.

He was dressed in pristine white and blood red; the two colors he hailed now to be his signature. White shirt, scarlet waistcoat, pristine white cape over his shoulders. Not quite the papal robes, not quite his devilish attire; something quite in the middle. 

"Lady Prophet," the reporter began, her face magnified on the giant screen behind her before switching to yours. “How challenging is it to be the spouse of the Chosen One?”

“It is what I wished for”, you said simply.

“My dear Anya and I are striving to give our utmost efforts in making our relationship flourish and serve as a model for other believers to follow”, Raphael said as he held your hand and kissed it gently.

Raphael was trying his best, you were sure of it. He never raised his voice at you, nor did he ever harm you in any way. Everything was wonderful in the bedroom. 

Both of you were putting in your best effort. Because that's what marriage is all about: work. It’s hard.

Not without it’s lovely moment, of course. Raphael read you poetry before bed: from Milton to Eliot to Keats. And you would go to the theater every other weekend, and to the opera once every two months. Not last month, though, as he was away managing the conflict from his war room in Zion. 

"Can you tell us how both of you were resurrected alongside the Prophet? Lady Prophet, is it true that God commanded you to end both of your lives so that you could be reborn?" another reporter piped up.

“The details are hazy, if I am honest”, you said. “I am not sure it was God who commanded me, but it seemed the right thing to do”.

Most of the details you yourself got from the press. You were dead for three days. They held a lavish funeral for both of you, despite you being the murderer. The Family wished for it (and kept the details of your deaths hush-hush), you learned later. There was a lot of press, a lot of crying. Both caskets were open, a scarf around your neck, a suit jacket covering Raul’s gun wound. They made this whole “and then, both were dead” thing oddly romantic.

So, half of the world witnessed you both coming back from the dead on a live stream. That part you remember. Chaos. Some went straight into religious hysteria, some ran, some just stood there shell-shocked. Raphael delivered his first speech within the first hour.

Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.

"Anya chose to sacrifice herself for us all," Raphael added smoothly. "Her bravery knows no bounds."

“I did not feel so brave at the moment”, you said.

You killed yourself and you were dead for three days.

Three days of nothing. 

Absolute darkness. 

Not a single memory or feeling.

“Your actions triggered the Second Coming, Lady Prophet, for which are eternally grateful”, the moderator said as she clutched the double-horned pendant on her chest. “God guide your hand, Prophet Raphael. In hoc signo vinces”.

For the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming bearing the Holy Light and great glory.

“Tell us, what of your son?”, she continued. “You were pregnant at that moment, were you not?”

“I did not know that”, you said. “Everybody but me knew, but I did not”.

Raul knew. Jens knew. Camilla knew. Your mother knew. Nobody told you. Angus told them that you had a high risk of miscarriage, so it would be wise not to tell you until the 10th week, when the chances decrease rapidly. You killed yourself at nine weeks and four days.

Yourself and Michi. 

“And if you knew”, the reporter asked and took a little pause.  “Would you have had the courage to?..”

Would you kill Raul and then kill yourself?

Would you?

Michi (he would be called something different, for sure, Marco or Alessandro or something) would be playing with Raul now. Raul would have dreamt of such a kid.  You’d be living in his villa while the king of Blackrock would be turning the world into an even more capitalist hellhole than it was. You dreamt of this scenario too, recently, and woke up screaming and not knowing what’s real and shook Raphael awake to check what colour his eyes were.

Brown.

The only dream of Raul that came true was that Italy became the powerhouse of the United Christian Union. Raphael kept hold of Blackrock, too. He did not use the infrastructure and power and money to generate even more profits.

He used it for entirely different purposes.

“Every “if” is a different story”, you said. “I don’t know the other one”.

“Your words are full of wisdom, Lady Prophet. Oh! Such beautiful blue eyes your baby has”.

She gestured towards the photo projected on the screen, taken on Michi's first birthday - there were fireworks and a parade in his honour. The horns were carefully photoshopped away and his black hair slicked back.

Raphael said nothing to the comment, his jaw set tight, his lips slightly twitching. You didn’t have blue eyes either.

Nobody in your family did, all green and brown.

“Plans for more?”, she asked.

“Naturally”, Raphael said. “for as they say, one child is no child at all. I lead by example”.

You said nothing.

“Can the little one already summon the Holy Fire?”, the moderator said, immediately spotting unease between the two of you.

“Not yet,” Raphael said and stood up, facing the cameras. “But in due time, he shall be able to, as will all those who have faith in me. In hoc signo vinces”.

He produced Hellfire in his palm; the parlour trick that converted the first ten million, and it still worked wonders.

The cameras captured every spark. 

For false messiahs and false prophets will appear, and will produce great signs and wonders in order to deceive, if possible, even the elect.

“You never get used to it, do you?”, the TV show moderator said, trembling, her mouth agape with awe. “The miracle of the Holy Fire. The miracle of God”.

“I did”, you shrugged. “You get used to everything, really”.

*** 

After the interview, Raphael came out on the balcony to greet his flock in St Peter's Square, a smile on his face; you were standing next to him, hand in hand. 

The crowd applauded him, their faces absent, possessed, not a trace of humanity in him, chanting his name, chanting your name, chanting something in Latin, shaking their fists, raising the symbol of the Prophet.

"In hoc signo vinces!" They chanted the motto of his Crusades. "In hoc signo vinces!"

All beautifully dressed. White and red robes, gold emblems, guns at their belts. Former citizens of the European Union, now known as the United Christian Union (including the Commonwealth and Latin America). Raphael preferred the Holy Empire, but it never stuck.

"Hail Archangel Raphael! Hail His Lady Prophet!".

Raphael did not forbid to call him archangel, but he humbly asked to be addressed as prophet.

You dropped your eyes and reached for your phone. You haven't checked your emails for a while. It's high time you did.

"Anya," Raphael chided gently. "Your flock needs its Lady”.

Emails. Emails. Who knows what's there? You must know. 

"Give your worshippers some recognition," came the email.

You looked up and waved to the crowd, and they waved back in delight, shouting your title. Raphael raised both arms to the blackened sky above. The sky responded in kind; clouds gathered into pitch-black formations, fires flickered. They knew what Raphael was summoning, and so did his flock.

The hellstorm was coming.

***

"I keep thinking, Anya."

You watched as Raphael unbuttoned his shirt and prepared for the night's rest. Soon he'd be brushing his teeth and lathering his skin with moisturiser before changing into blue silk pajamas.

You wondered how much of this nightly routine was a remnant of his Raul days and how much was just Raphael. In moments of that, the reality of one blurred into the memory of another. 

"What about, my love?" you asked as you combed through your hair.

"The devil," he said. "The one you mentioned in Dr Bambauer's files. The one you lied to me about. It was not Asmodeus, Anya. I am sure of that now. Who was it, then, and why did he choose to reveal himself to you instead of me?"

You knew that little encounter would come to bite you one day.

"I wish I knew”, you muttered. “Let the old dogs lie. I rubbed his horns, nothing more happened".

"Well, I should be grateful that our child does not bleat," Raphael said, arms folded over his chest. "You've only seen this creature once, have you?"

"Yes," you said, very eager to drop the subject.

"I thought I would finally succeed when Mecca was converted," Raphael said, clenching his fists and relaxing. "Yet I am no closer to true divinity. The powers I know are there have never shown themselves to me. Why?"

"Why do you ask me?", you sighed as you laid yourself to rest.

"For the same reason I chose you, my dear consort. You seem to see more than anyone else".

And yet he never asked you about the things he decides to do on his crusades.

"Why the tactical nuke, Raphael?" you asked, closing your eyes and pressing your cheek against the silk of the pillow. "You can summon hellstorm and hellfire to make them worship you. Why?"

Raphael and tactical nukes should have never coexisted in the same sentence.

Whips, hellfire, infernal magic, yes.

Nukes, segregation, jihad, no. 

"I can summon hellstorm and hellfire," Raphael nodded. "Yet there are those who continue to dismiss it as psyops and propaganda and deep fakes. The use of tactical nuclear weapons has proven to be a more efficacious method for conversion."

For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

"You don’t like guns, but you like nukes? Was it Kötter's advice?", you asked. Raphael said nothing, so that meant "yes". "Why have you never fired him? He is Raul's man, and Raul was a piece of shit".

That was the first time you said his name out loud in ages.

"Raul was competent in choosing advisors," Raphael snapped back. "I shall not speak of the man again and neither shall you. I have enough reminders, thank you".

You read recently that parents with green and brown eyes have 12% to produce blue-eyed kids. It’s possible, just unlikely.

But you said nothing as Raphael creamed his hands. Some things you just don’t talk about in a family. 

"It's just... I wish you could have asked me," you said, emphasising the word "wish". “I would not have allowed that”.

No, your magic never worked on him. 

He never let it work with him. You have all the power in the world, but not with him, never with him. 

"I didn't wish to distract you from your reverie," Raphael whispered as he lay on top of you, ready to commence the next part of the evening programme. "Or disturb your beautiful dreams."

My sweet. My darling. Little mouse. Apple of my eye.

Never, never, "my love". 

Not even once.

***

Behold! I tell you a mystery.

You didn't have to do anything but enjoy yourself, day after day, week after week. Michi was growing up all by himself, a poster child in all manners conceivable, your mother took great care of him, Raphael was away on crusades. 

Life was idyllic behind the high walls of the Holy See, guarded by the carefully selected Prophet's Guard. Nothing ever happened inside. Perfectly orderly, perfectly lawful, clean and utterly, utterly beautiful. One thing Raphael did right (one of the few) was bringing back classical art with a vengeance - sculptures especially.

You didn't have to work, you didn't have to think about the future (what future?), you didn't have to worry about money or health - you had everything. Everything there was to have.

And the world outside was what it was: the world outside.

And the stories of others were what they were: the stories of others.

Do they exist, even? Maybe all that exists is you.

Or maybe all that doesn’t exist is you; maybe you never came back from your suicide.

Be it as it may, nothing ever disturbed your reverie, your own little world. And you dreamed, every day. Of how things could be different. Should have been different. 

Of other worlds, other people, other places, other stories.

And you played the game, of course, daily. You killed Asmodeus a thousand times, a thousand ways. You asked for three rewrites. None of them mattered. Raphael was getting more and more frustrated, so you searched for new ways to defeat Asmodeus. 

“Lady Prophet?”, the servant girl knocked on your door when you and your party were casting poisonous clouds on Asmodeus’ guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you at the entrance door”.

A visitor, on a Sunday morning? You haven't had any visitors in years. You personally, at least. You asked what he looked like. The girl flushed red and said she could not remember, but he was very sweet.

Huh.

You were all too aware of the sight that would greet you once you swung open the grandiose door to the Papal Palace, yet a gasp still escaped your lips.

There he was, Mr. Goat, looking somewhat dishevelled with muck clinging to his hooves and a rugged hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. In his mouth, he held a dandelion - its yellow petals slightly wilted from being gnawed on.

"That's for you, my sweetest morsel”, he said and handed you the flower. “I couldn't help but sample it myself; it was simply irresistible."

You felt heat rising to your cheeks when he said the word 'irresistible', and then he sent a little wink your way.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Goat," you replied, holding the flower close to your heart. "Raphael isn't home at the moment though. He will be back soon, though".

"The two of us have no need for him", Mr. Goat gave you a very ambiguous smile, and you blushed even harder. “May I come in?”

You nodded and watched as he clomped across Raphael's pristine white marble floors with little regard for cleanliness, leaving trails of dirt in his wake. If Raphael saw this mess, he'd surely have a heart attack. 

Not that it would kill him.

“Would you be so kind and make me a cup of tea, little human?”, Mr. Goat asked. “Terribly thirsty for some good tea”.

You found yourself trailing him into the kitchen, a place you didn't frequent too often - it was more the domain of your staff. But you and your mum did have a tradition of sharing tea on occasion. Mr. Goat glided as he moved, dancing with every step, his hooves tapping against the floor. 

You picked out the crème de la crème of your tea selection and fetched the loveliest cups from their repository.

"Sublime," Mr. Goat crooned as he savoured the first sip, his jet-black eyes sliding shut in pure bliss. "Just what I craved after an eternity.”

Now both of you were snuggled at your quaint coffee table, your legs almost touching underneath it. His coarse fur grazed against your skin.

"I'm glad you liked it. This blend was a gift to Raphael from the Chinese Premier when they signed their pact of non-aggression," you said, though you had doubts about how long that pact would last.

The Chinese government had never officially recognized Raphael's divine status; instead attributing his miracles to some high-tech psychological warfare tech.

"Mmm...I can detect a faint hint of cyanide in its aroma”, Mr. Goat said. “How delightful! So how fares our ambitious cambion?" 

“Well”, you said. “He rules the Earth now. Well, almost”.

The Middle East, India and China remained stubborn holdouts while America had been swept up in religious fervor almost instantly; offering weapons and intelligence support. Nordic resistance had been a minor hiccup but was swiftly dealt with.

The fact that all-out nuclear war hadn't erupted yet was nothing short of miraculous.

“Oh does he now”, Mr. Goat chuckled. “My, my, ready to enter the big boys club, is he? How exciting!”

“He is not too pleased with the result”, you confessed.

"Really? With all those souls under his thumb and yet no closer to achieving godhood?" Mr. Goat chortled with an unsettling glee. “Has he pondered why that might be?”

“He had”, you confessed. “He lashed out quite… profusely recently”.

That was quite a night. The whole house had to lay low and pray for their lives. He managed to punch a hole through a concrete wall in his human form. 

“Who knows, who knows why that might be”, Mr. Goat bleated. “And you, my dearest delight? Do you now have what you always wanted?”

You thought how to answer this question and decided not to.

“You know the answer, Mr. Goat”, you said instead.

“Really?”, Mr. Goat pouted his lips in dissapointment. “Why ever not? Has Raphael lost his charm after he became reality?”

You shook your head and said nothing more on the matter, looking at your nails.  Still chewed to the quick. Well, at least some things do not change.

“Why did you never stop Raphael, Mr. Goat?”, you changed the subject. “Hundreds of millions are dead. There will be many more. He needs to be stopped”.

“There will be trillions more, with him or without, in the future and in the past. People live. People die”, he slipped the tea. “What’s the problem again?”

“Raphael is impersonating God”.

“Who hasn’t tried that at least once?”, Goat said. “You should as well, it is lots of fun. Why did you never try to stop him, Anya?”

“I cannot”, you said, your lips twitching in anger. “You know that very well! I can only watch what I created but cannot do anything. I stopped bothering a long time ago anyway”.

“Ha, you remind me of someone I know! He also created something, and now cannot bear to look at it. Stopped bothering a long, long time ago. Not what I imagined, he said. But that’s exactly what you imagined, I tell him, and he just won’t listen. All touchy-touchy, that one”.

“Are you talking about God?”, you blurted out. “Will he truly never forgive me for taking my own life?”

“I am talking about someone I know”, Mr. Goat said and slurped some more tea. “As for your question, ask him yourself. But I don’t think so. He cannot forgive me stepping on his foot once”.

“Well, yes, Mr. Goat”, you admitted. “My life is not exactly what I imagined”.

“Then imagine something different”, Mr. Goat suggested.

“Please leave if you are here to mock me”.

"I'm not here to mock you, sweetest morsel”, he sniffed in offence. “Quite the opposite - I find you delightful! You've rubbed my horns just right and danced with me. That’s more than most mortals have ever done."

“Are you here to punish Raphael? Kill him?”

"Would you like me to?" asked Mr Goat lazily. "Give the wicked little cambion some spanking?"

You feel silent.

Something in his voice told you he could do that with a snap of his fingers.

Probably wouldn’t even need a snap.

“No. No. I love him”, you pleaded.”He is the father of my child”.

Despite everything, you could never truly wish for Raphael’s death. You don’t know what you would be without him. You don’t know who you are with him, either.

Besides, what would they do to Michi and you if Raphael was gone?

"Oh really?" Mr Goat smiled. "Anyone in your family have blue eyes?"

You hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even Raphael himself.

"Well, Michie has double horns," you retorted, your body rigid with tension. "No one in my family had those, that's for sure."

Mr. Goat bobbed his head in what you hoped was agreement. 

“Raphael is… He can do better, Mr. Goat”, you said. “He is half-human. He has… he can… I can… make him better. With time, maybe. I just don’t know how”.

Mr. Goat flapped his lips a bit in contemplation, and then raised a finger, as if struck by the idea.

“Anya, I bought you a present”, Mr. Goat started to pull something out of his worn and torn backpack. “You know, they say a book is the best present there is”.

“If this is a Bible, Mr. Goat, I am throwing it into the fire”. 

You cannot hear quotes from the Bible anymore. There was a whole scriptorium in the Apostolic Palace where they wrote the Prophet Raphael’s edition of the Bible day and night; replaced words, edited stories.

“Oh, no, I haven’t read this one for a while. The human interpretations grew too wild for my taste. No, it’s a much simpler piece of fiction. But I thought you’d like it”.

You peeked into his open backpack; there was a black hole inside of it and a half-eaten apple.

What he drew out from his bag barely qualified as a book; it was more like a stack of A4 papers haphazardly stitched together at one end. Your eyes widened as you recognized the layout on the first page: rating information, warnings, tags and main pairing.

"Mr. Goat," you burst out laughing. "Is this an AO3 fanfic?"

Mr. Goat slowly nodded and went for a toffee on the table. 

"'Knock knock'," you read aloud the title, trying to suppress another round of laughter. "I haven't read one of these in forever. Is it any good?"

“Ah, so-so. I am not the key audience”, he said. “You are”.

You flipped through to the last page and read the final line aloud: “I am not the key audience”, Mr. Goat said. “You are”.

“What is it?”, you recoiled, looking at Mr. Goat in horror. “What in the holy hell…”

"Your story," he replied calmly as if explaining why water is wet."And Raphael's too." He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully before adding, "It's still a work in progress though; one chapter left to go."

“And how does it end?”, you asked. “Please spare the child. Kill us, but spare Michi, he really is not at fault for anything”.

“Ah, Anya, don’t be morbid, I would never do something like that to your happy nuclear family. I'm asking you — how does your story conclude? Spill it. I'm all ears and ready to write it down."

He took the last page and held a pen at the ready. A very simple, blue ball pen, half-chewed upon. 

"It's a happy ending," you whispered. "Please, Mr Goat, make it a happy ending”.

"Anya," he urged gently, "give me the specifics here. Remember what I told you – this is your story.”

With that prompt, you began to speak rapidly - words tumbling over each other as if they were afraid of being left behind.

"Anya and Raphael lived happily ever after," Mr Goat nodded and wrote. "He... learned to love Anya... truly love her… and their little son. He became a good father. He actually came to Michi’s crib and rocked him and fed him at night, and he got one of those babybjorns to carry him around. He loved Michi just the way he was, no matter what colour his eyes were".

Mr Goat erupted into laughter (his spit flecked with bits of caramel splattered all over the page), but he didn't stop writing. 

Can Raphael even, will it even work…

Well. He has to. You changed for him, too. Not necessarily how you’ve liked, either. 

Love is fucking sacrifice.

You need to think about the world, too.

You are a good person.

"Raphael stopped killing innocent people who refused to pledge their souls to him and accept him as their new god”, you went on. “Instead, he vowed to build a better world on Earth. Basic income for all. Equal rights. Stock market is banned. And... and... high living standards and affordable housing. Space exploration!”

"Communism?" Mr Goat glanced at you. "Really? How many times are we going round this merry-go-round?"

"We'll get it right this time", you said, your jaw sat tight. “We will do right”.

"If you say so, my little idealist," Mr Goat nodded sagely. "Theocratic Communism, my favourite. You are right – what's another billion souls here or there?"

"Please write that down too: Raphael loved Anya unconditionally. He would sacrifice his own life for her. She was his special little mouse. She was! And no other little mice. Ever. He was faithful to the end of his days”.

At that, Mr Goat's laughter became so intense he had to put down his pen. You didn’t think it was all that funny.

"Please write the faithful part down," you reminded him. "It is important. I was beginning to have my doubts with all these crusades. Ah! But write down that Haarlep is okay. Haarlep does not count as cheating".

Haarlep was fucking his way through the United Christian Union Parliament (sex was no longer off charts for Christians, quite the opposite; the more believers the better). 

Mr. Goat transcribed your words, and he had some really sloppy handwriting, so you hoped he didn’t mess anything up. 

"Duly noted," said Mr Goat. "Anything else? What about Asmodeus?”

Hm?

“What about him?”, you asked. “I never cared about Asmodeus, really”.

Mr. Goat's expression turned to one of mock-offence, his pouty lips protruding.

"You are not him, are you?" you summoned all your courage to ask the next question. "What exactly are you, Mr. Goat? You are Satan, right? Our Satan?"

Mr. Goat let out a deep sigh and rummaged through his backpack before producing what looked like a gnawed-on business card - faded grey with some dubious stains on it. Your breath hitched as he presented it to you with an expression of grave solemnity.

"Mr. Goat" was scribbled on the card in childish handwriting.

Mr. Goat slowly nodded, as if he had just revealed the greatest of all secrets.

“Now you know the truth of this world, Anya”, he said.

“Thank you”, you let out a nervous laugh. “No more questions”.

“Well then,” he slapped his thighs and rose from his seat. “Appreciate the tea and the hospitality, sweet morsel. Give my best to Raphael".

He put his backpack back on his back and pulled on a silly knitted orange hat that made his ears stand apart even more.

"That's it? Will you just leave us alone then?", you could not believe it. "You're not going to destroy Raphael for what he's done to Earth?"

He cackled, a paw on his round belly.

"Why should I, my sweet morsel?" Mr Goat's lips curved into a sly smile. "You just did, and I must say I'm no match for your cruelty. To break a man like that! To twist his very nature! I applaud you."

He paused, clapping his paws together like an over-excited spectator at a show.

"I have not destroyed Raphael," you said. "I love him."

"And I love women," Mr Goat grinned, his furry face contorted into an expression of pure delight. "God's finest creations; far superior to men, if you ask me. What punishment would Raphael have in mind? Meat hooks and eternal torture, boring, boring, boring. What punishment have you thought of? Oh! Delightful!”.

He stroked your cheek and leaned in to kiss you.

The lips that touched you were not those of a man or a goat or anything in between. What was touched was primordial; it existed before the concept of existence itself.

"Au revoir, my little dreamer," said Mr Goat, his face disappearing into thin air until only his smile was left, but it did not linger for long. "Remember, there is only one truth: what has been dreamed shall never be lost”.

You sat there for a while, lingering the taste of eternity on your lips.

Until you heard a knock knock.

"Anya?" Raphael's worried voice called from behind the closed door. "My love? Why is the door closed? Are you well?"

THE END

(NO, SERIOUSLY. THE END)

[chasingfictions]

shauna shipman has everything . she killed and ate her best friend but those events were 2 months apart <3 she can’t lie but boy does that not stop her from trying <3 she’s great at mini golf and adultery <3 she tried to become catholic on purpose <3 shes bisexual <3 she ate a human ear but mostly just the cartilage so she probably had to chew and gnaw for a while <3 and shes even giving birth to the antichrist <333

[creature-wizard]

I just read Unwelcome Ozian's "Rules of Programming," and Oh Boy.

For those who don't know, Unwelcome Ozian is a conspiracy theorist on Tumblr who purports himself as a kind of guide for people who believe themselves to be programmed multiples - that is, people with deliberately-induced dissociative identity disorder, with alters carefully programmed for specific purposes by means of brutal torture methods. His claims are largely based on the work of Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler, two far-right conspiracy theorists who spun this whole mythology about an ancient satanic cult that uses torture to put people under what they referred to as "trauma-based mind control," or TBMC. (They also claimed that the fight for gay rights was part of the plan to enthrone the Antichrist in the year 2000, and that Al Gore carried around a briefcase full of blood to drink. That's the level of credibility they're on.)

There have also been a number of abuse allegations (including allegations of sexual abuse) against Unwelcome Ozian from those who came to him for help, so yeah. Also, he really hates Svali (another conspiracy theorist working from Springmeier and Wheeler's mythos) for some reason.

Rules of Programming effectively distills a lot of the stuff you find in the works of Springmeier and Wheeler, with the addition of some actual scholarly concepts/research plus some pop-psychology/pop-self help style lists of things programmers supposedly do to their victims. (A lot of the things it talks about are just regular forms of authoritarian abuse, gaslighting, scapegoating, etc. In fact, some of them even appear to be copied from Internet articles.)

Essentially, this book is yet another modern witch finder's manual, giving anyone who wants to find diabolical witches a set of unfalsifiable criteria that will always appear to confirm their presence. Like the work of Springmeier and Wheeler, its descriptions of torture are just evocative enough to play on the imaginations of people who may not be in the best mental shape and fuel the creation of confabulated memories. (Some of which may very well be mingling with memories of real abuse.)

Oh, and just to be clear, we do have very clear cases of confabulated memories - you can see them for yourself here and here. If you don't want to click the links, the tl;dr is that the New Age movement is chock full of people who very vividly "remember" past lives in pseudohistorical settings and locations that never existed, and some of these "memories" are quite vivid and disturbing.

So, here's some notable stuff from this book:

Marijuana is supposedly contraindicated for programming purposes. (This claim was made by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Creates A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave, but it goes back to Cathy O'Brien and Mark Philips.)

Victims are allegedly given types of programming such as heart of stone programming and color, gem, and flower programming. (These were first described by Springmeier and Wheeler in They Know Not What They Do: Illustrated Guide To Illuminati Mind Control.)

Handlers must allegedly present themselves as omnipotent and god-like to victims. But they may also manipulate their victims by threatening suicide. (These two things really don't go together, especially if the cult as hardass as it's claimed to be.)

Alleged behavior of programmers - "Teach children self-betrayal, i.e. show gratitude and humility for punishments and insults." This is literally just how authoritarian Christian parents expect you to behave when punished. (Again, most of the things programmers supposedly do are just things that regular abusers do, period.)

He talks about practices such as anchoring and future pacing, which are described by Springmeier and Wheeler in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave.

Direct quote, "For example if a programmer builds a system using the planets of the solar system there will be alters with planet names, and space terminology used." Compare with "In recent years, these have been solar systems, galaxies, and planets, because they have gone to Star Trek, Star Wars, Alien types of programming" from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. Again, it's the same mythology.

He claims epsilon programming is used to create animal alters and describes how they're allegedly created. The stuff he describes can be found in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave.

He lists off a bunch of stuff that's supposedly trauma-based mind control spiritual abuse. In reality, it's just regular spiritual abuse - for example, "the programmer/handler is in a ‘divine’ position," "misuse of scripture to control behaviour," and "appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the child’s behaviour."

About that last one? A very similar line appears in the article Part 2: The characteristics of spiritual abuse: "Appeal to the work of evil spirits as explanations for the victim’s accusations or behaviour." The earliest archived version of this page is from 2017. The Rules of Programming was published in May of 2023.

The book's text on cultivating a trauma bond includes several items that appear to be slightly reworded text from Dr. Joseph M Carver's article Love and Stockholm Syndrome: The Mystery of Loving an Abuser (first archived on the Wayback Machine in 2015). For example, "The presence of a perceived small kindness from the handler to the child" (RoP)/"The presence of a perceived small kindness from the abuser to the victim" (Carver).

The book's text "Seeking/finding pleasure in the presence of extreme danger, violence, risk or shame" is also found in the article Impact on Abused Persons, which cites a 1997 book, The Betrayal Bond: Breaking Free of Exploitive Relationships.

A bunch of stuff associated with toxic relationships are rephrased as stuff associated with being a victim of TBMC.

The book claims that some "programmed responses" might be "They are only like that because they love me," "You wouldn’t understand," "They will make it up to me later," and "It’s my fault, I make them angry." This text can be found in the 2021 article, The Misconception of Trauma Bonding.

The book lists some benefits of playing chess (for example, "Playing chess can improve cognitive skills like memory, planning, and problem-solving") that appear verbatim in the Healthline article The 9 Best Benefits of Playing Chess.

Some text (for example, "Trauma can shut down episodic memory and fragment the sequence of events") appears to have been copied from the 2017 infographic, How Trauma Impacts Four Different Types of Memory.

Material from changingminds.org appears to have been copied into this book. For example, the text "Agreement over rules typically starts with generalised rules with which it is hard to disagree" can also be found on the page titled Confession, with the slight difference that "generalised" is spelled with a Z. (Its earliest archived version dates to 2004.)

The book claims, "Torture involving states of extreme pain and terror, to the point of near-death, is required to install programming." This inadvertently reveals the absurdity of the alter programming conspiracy theory, because in the real world millions of abusers and cult leaders manipulate and control people with far less dramatic methods every day. Even if alter programming was a real thing, it would be so pointlessly overcomplicated that you'd have to ask yourself why so many people would bother with it.

The book describes a number of abuses and tortures that pretty obviously stem back to European witch panic, including "desecration of Judeo-Christian beliefs and forms of worship," taboo sex, ritual cannibalism, and dedication to Satan.

The book includes the "Steps on Obedience," which are found in Svali's older writings. Additionally, some of the text seems to be copied from Svali's old writing with minor modification. For example, The Rules of Programming says, "The part/alter is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus. The room will have grey, white, or beige walls. The programmer leaves the part/alter alone for specified lengths of time: these times may vary from hours (2-3) (3-5), to days as the child grows older." Compare with Svali: "The small toddler/child is placed in a room without any sensory stimulus, usually a training room with gray, white, or beige walls. The adult leaves and the child is left alone, for periods of time: these may vary from hours, to an entire day as the child grows older."

The book gives a list of supposed secret meanings to perfectly normal hand gestures, which is very obviously sourced from How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. (RoP: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward - - you can’t break “the circle”". HTICATUMS: "Hands locked folded interwoven backward--you can’t break "the circle"")

The book claims that programmers will write down detailed documentation after each programming session, describing exactly how the session went and what should be done at the next session. Additionally, block reports are supposedly written every four weeks, which summarize the whole thing. This is noteworthy because if this conspiracy theory was actually true, this type of documentation would have come to light at some point by now. The fact that is has never turned up in all of the years alter programming has allegedly been practiced (since the mid-20th century or since ancient times, depending on who you ask) is incredibly damning.

(Break here because this list is reaching Tumblr's text block limit.)

Some text (for example, "A Place in the World. One never need 'find' his or her place because in fact that type of autonomy is not allowed! There is often a false egalitarianism which disguises competition" and "Mystical Manipulation. False origin stories or very selective accounts are given about the leader to demonstrate divine authority, spiritual advancement") seems to have been copied from the article Communal Abuse and Cults (earliest archived version: 2017).

Some text (for example, "Change Of Diet: Creating disorientation and increased susceptibility to emotional arousal by depriving the nervous system of necessary nutrients through the use of special diets and/or fasting" and "Hypnosis: Inducing a high state of suggestibility, often thinly disguised as relaxation or meditation") seems to have been copied from Brainwashing & Mind Control Techniques (earliest archived version: 2004).

Some text (for example, "Sins, as defined by the leader, are confessed either to a personal monitor or publicly to the group" and "Sacred Science: The group's doctrine or ideology is considered to be the ultimate truth, beyond all questioning or dispute") appear to be sourced from Robert Jay Lifton's eight criteria of thought reform. (Originally written in 1989.)

The text "Crafty redefinition of existing words (and the definition of new ones) to powerful euphemisms, secret codes, renamings, buzzwords, chants and mantras, ‘speaking in tongues,’ forced silence, even hashtags" may have been sourced from Cultish’s Exploration of Manipulative Language (originally posted in 2021), or from Amanda Montell's book, Cultish: The Language of Fanaticism.

Some text (for example, "The group devoutly believes it will be the ultimate winner of the final battle" and "Lack Of Restraint: Leaders believe themselves to be free from religious and social laws") appears to have been sourced from Doomsday Religious Movements - Canadian Security Intelligence Report (dated December 18, 1999).

The text "Glittering Generalities: These are intense, emotionally appealing words so closely associated with highly valued concepts and beliefs that the appeals are convincing without being supported by fact or reason. The appeals are directed toward such emotions as love of country and home, and desire for peace, freedom, glory, and honour" appears to come from Wikipedia.

"Name-calling: Name-calling seeks to arouse prejudices in an audience" also seems to be derived from Wikipedia.

The book mentions "Being locked in a small confined spot, a pit or cage with spiders and snakes" as a form of torture. This one can be traced back to Michelle Remembers.

The text describing bladder torture in RoP is identical to the text describing it in How The Illuminati Create A Total Undetectable Mind Controlled Slave. I'm not going to post it because it's kinda graphic, but feel free to compare the texts yourself. Just search for the text "urinary bladder."

Basically, most of the alleged tortures and programming methods are very obviously sourced from Springmeier and Wheeler's books, even if they aren't always described with identical text.

A list of tortures in the book include the hell confinement, the Tucker telepohone, the strappado, the Cold Cell, the German Chair, the box, white torture, and the Tiger Bench. Most of these can be found on this Listverse article from 2013, and RoP's descriptions match up with Listverse's.

So basically, we have someone claiming to be a trauma-based mind control survivor, but a lot of his information very obviously comes from other sources. (Now just to be clear - it's not possible to tell whether any of the copied text comes from the actual webpages I linked, or if they were sourced from other pages or books with the same text. But either way, it's obvious he didn't come up with all this stuff on his own.)

I also think the fact that this book includes so many descriptions of actual abusive behaviors and practices makes it all the more insidious. The author effectively links a lot of stuff that actually does happen with the conspiracy theory in such a way that it can all look like it's the exact same thing, making it seem like if you suffered from these real types of abuses, then you may have likely been a victim of alter programming.

But here's the thing - abusers are often just insecure, lazy, and taking their issues out on someone weaker. Sometimes they're just doing what their family did and haven't realized this behavior is toxic. There's no deep or complicated reason behind it, much less some carefully orchestrated design on this level conspiracy theorists propose.

[astrocaramelb0y]

One Episode into Good Omens

heres what I mainly picked up on:

So Aziraphale is an Angel

Crowley is a Demon

they're best friends

The Antichrist was born

Crowley absolutely slays dressing as a nanny

Aziraphale can do actual magic but prefers to do a (horribly adorable) magic act

They had the wrong boy

Adam gets a Hell-Hound thats absolutely adorable

Names it DOG

Crow and Az drink together while talking about the end of times

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

Adam's powers and the book of life

To start this I first need to bring here something from the go book:

Crowley's entire life history was pasted inside the back of his skull and he, Adam, was reading it. For an instant he knew real terror. He'd always thought the sort he'd felt before was the genuine article, but that was mere abject fear beside this new sensation. Those Below could make you cease to exist by, well, hurting you in unbearable amounts, but this boy could not only make you cease to exist merely by thinking about it, but probably could arrange matters so that you never had existed at all

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

I think I can say that Adam's powers work the same in the book and in the show, there is nothing to tell us otherwise, and taking into account that the same ending occurs in both... it could be said that they do indeed work the same. But in the book they give us more details about it, and it's the sentence I just showed you. Didn't it remind you of something? When I heard it I almost screamed, because what Crowley describes is more or less the same thing Beelzebub tells Crowley about the famous "book of life".

In the event that we assume that there is a book of life, we could basically summarize Adam's powers as the ability to erase and rewrite things in said book. Basically his power is to be an editor of the book, and he doesn't even need the book. It is as if the book is something abstract to which only Adam has access

Also in that scene Crowley says it is as if Adam is reading his life story. Again, it sounds like Adam has access to a book with the entire history of the universe

If there is a book of life in which you can write things in it, the best weapon you have against it is the antichrist. Because the antichrist is the only one who seems to be able to access the book even without having the book

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt X good omens whatever the HEAVEN s1e5 was

LAST DAY OF ANTIBIOTICS BABY CAN I GET A WAHOO? In that enthusiastic spirit and listening to my gay playlist that I called BOYS, let's have my summary of whatever I remember from the livestream of season one episode five, which ain't a lot:

In the few minutes break between episode 4 and 5, everyone urges me to get more emotional support fruit. I find a second apple and some sugarcane.

Some of you don't know how to eat sugarcane. It's simple, baby. You bite and suck, blow out the fibres, and swallow the juice. Suck, blow, swallow, guys, it's hard but it's worth it.

I was still howling over the books in the bookshop, because fuck me I have books that are from the mid 1900s and IF THEY BURNED I'M BURNING THE WORLD.

Barely a few minutes in I've already finished the remaining orange watching Crowley break down over the burning bookshop. Crowley can't find Azi and I start eating the apple too (I was saving apples for being gay gn over Crowley, guys, LITTLE DID I KNOW THE PAIN).

I make a reference to driver's license looking at Crowley being sad in their car. For some reason everyone calls me a prophet.

Tracy who is the kinky lady has plushies to make a bedroom seductive. I'm too ace for this. I hug my IKEA snake, Draco.

The Antichrist goes batshit poor Adam. There are some rictus smiles, horror movie shit, and he insists that his friends are having fun. It is similar to how this fandom kidnapped me. You're having fun, Asmi, you say. This is fun.

There is more vague hetero sex. I cannot deal with the genre whiplash. I am still too ace and gay for this.

The apple is over. Finally, Aziracrow gets screentime, but then I watch Crowley's voice break over the residual emotional of losing his best friend, and Aziraphale maybe not realising that the friend was him. My eyes are burning and now everyone is demanding emotional support fruit and making sad headcanons. Fuck you all.

Aziraphale possesses a lady, which is normal, and summons spirits, which is normal. I insist that I am not crying over flatulence, and @thescholarlystrumpet who organises the stream tells me to put it in my tumblr review. I'm not crying over flatulence.

CAN I A WAHOO. Aka Crowley fucking things up for future Crowley yet again.

Aziraphale is THE southern pansy, THE posh gay.

MAGGOTS ARRIVE. IT'S YOU GUYS YAY! Everyone is disgusted except me, because I love you guys, even if you are slimy.

Crowley is now stuck in traffic and simmering with the not-yet-zombie in the passenger's seat. There is fire around London.

Through the power of Manifesting, Crowley drives the bentley through the fire to get to Tadfield. Dream it to be it, guys. With Barbie Crowley, Anything Is Possible. Crowley is now literally a flaming gay (gn).

Friends leave Antichrist. Antichrist sad. Dog leaves Antichrist. Antichrist heartbroken, Antichrist now back to being baby.

Through small town directions, Aziraphale still possessing lady arrives at Tadfield. Crowley in all her flaming glory arrives too. The kids are badasses, riding in on cycles. I am on my second apple. Crowley immediately recognises Aziraphale.

They are now at the American base. Wahoo, bitches. See ya next post my lovely maggots.

[the1975attheirverybest]

TEN YEARS

A/N: Since it's looking like we won't be getting a livestream of the Leeds show tonight, and since I have a crazy few days coming up starting tomorrow, I wanted to post a little something to keep y'all happy while I get my schedule together and to also celebrate ST and last night! short, sweet, no plot, just vibes.

Warnings: none, except maybe typos (i have no clue where my glasses are)

----

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears despite the chattering crowds all around her. "Excuse me- could I just" mumbling apologies as she squeezed past the masses of giddy, sweaty, emotional, and excited fans. She could blame the ones who were struggling to keep from crying, or the ones who were immediately recounting the events they'd just witnessed onstage for fear of their memories eroding as the night came to a close, or maybe to make sure that what they'd experienced was actually real, that other people saw it too. In fact, she felt the same way and would've wanted to stick around and take it all in, if it weren't for her insatiable desire to lay her hands on Matty as soon as humanly possible.

She felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach, her anticipation and impatience spurred on by the glimpses and fragments of conversation that reached her ears from people around her.

"He looked so good in that leather jacket-" someone behind her had observed.

"I'm glad he took it off though. Cuz, arms? hello!"

somewhere from the center of the crowd, an overstimulated, antsy woman yelled out,

"but can we talk about Ross's hair?! I love him."

"I mean, I knew they weren't going to play antichrist, cuz Matty is evil, but at least give us fallingforyou?"

"bro, no matter what he does, you're never happy. he can't win at this point."

"ten years! it's been ten years! 2014 me, scrolling black and white tumblr would lose her shit if he could see this."

the smile that had plastered across her face grew wider with every comment she overheard. Though the walk to the backstage area wasn't long earlier in the day, when she'd wandered around, watching the backline tech and the crew set things up, right now, it felt miles away. Finally, too impatient to do things responsibly, she jumped the safety barrier and landed on the other side. giggling to herself as she sprinted to find the boys.

Her airy giggles broke into a fit of laughter when she spotted the four of them, dress in all black, huddled into a corner, whispering and laughing like children. Matty turned around at the clomping of her footsteps, a grin on his face.

"Babe-" was all he'd managed to say before she'd jumped into his arms with the full force of her body, laughing uncontrollably into his ear as she panted, breathless.

Matty's arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up, off the floor, and spinning around in circles, giggling until they were both dizzy.

"You- you did it!" was the first thing she could think to say, still out of breath and heaving, she pressed her lips to his, clumsily crashing into him. Her feet unsteady, and her head still dizzy, she chuckled when their teeth collided.

Remnants of Matty's aftershave still clung to his shirt. She could taste the cigarettes he'd smoked onstage and the drink he'd sipped on. She buried her face into him for a moment, leaning her body against his as she came down from the adrenalin high, then, with her feet firmly on the ground, she turned to face the boys.

"Congratulations! how're we feeling?"

chatter broke out again as they interrupted each other, answering her questions, describing the view from the stage, George boasting that his drum riser was the best spot up there, and Matty, restless as ever, re-enacting his moves.

"Ross, I, um, have some news." she looked up into his eyes, a gentle hand pressed on top of his. "Two people were injured, five lost consciousness. Your hair killed the entire front row." Ross's initial concern gave way to an innocent laugh, his head tilted upwards, his pearlescent smile drawing a dimple on his cheek.

"He knows, he knows." Adam patted Ross's back prompting Matty to reach over and pull the hair tie out of ross's hair. "glorious lions mane. He does it for the ladies."

***

She couldn't help but smile against the soft fabric of Matty's hoodie, clinging to him harder and letting her body sway along with his as he danced to the Killer's song from the side of the stage.

"Sorry, I'll calm down." Matty whispered down to her.

"No, no! Please don't. I love it when you like the music."

Hw wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his and moving them both to the rhythm of the music.

"Matty? You happy?" she looked up at his eyes and saw his answer before he even spoke.

"So happy."

"Good. I mean, you looked like you were having fun up there."

"'course I was. I mean, we used to come here as kids-"

George laid a hand on his shoulder squeezing it lightly, "oh, here it comes." playfully rolling his eyes.

"same old story." Ross mumbled.

"oh about how he came to Reading instead of picking up exam results?" Adam giggled.

Matty laughed, telling them to fuck off, before looking back down at her. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"And you get to do it all again tomorrow." she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I know. How lucky am I?"

[mjrtaurus]

Modern AU Monkey D. Dragon gets a bad rep with the more extreme evangelical splinter sects in his home state (which there are a lot of, unfortunately). Between not being white, not being straight, not being christian, not being right wing, and literally being named “Dragon”, he gets a few protestors here and there outside the courthouse with some interesting sign boards.

His favorite to date was held by a sour-faced little old lady in her Sunday best, and it read “HE IS THE ANTICHRIST” with his tattoo patterning sloppily incorporated into it. A journalist got a photo of it and he bought a copy to frame and hang on the wall at his home office. The boys think it’s hilarious.

[im-nothing-like-normal]

That's it.

I'm sick of how bad the writing is in Season 8. Even years later I am bitter that one of the best characters in that season is reduced to a warlock and all the religious themes are kind of just tossed in their half-hazard because no one knew what they wanted.

It was about witches and warlocks.

It was about robots and sci-fi shenanigans.

It was about a boy born at the end of murder house.

No!

It should have just simply been a story on the antichrist and how everyone is doomed to die. It should have been about the life inside a bunker, about not knowing what is going to happen to you or your family. It should have been about Michael Langdon winning and completing the prophecy without any involvement of witches.

Don't get me wrong, I love Coven, but it should not have been involved with Michael's story.

Let's talk about the lure of the antichrist, how he's charming, how he's supposed to become a minister and turn the world to him, how he punishes those who oppose him, how easily one's faith can be squandered when someone claims they are a prophet and proves it.

So thus, despite it being years later, I am going to rewrite that season. I'm talking about dark religious contexts with the horrors of the end times. I'm keeping the setting and the premise, but there will be no drawn-out backstory about magic.

I will be posting it soon. Keep a lookout for it~

[warnersister]

Star Cross’d

Jerome Valeska x Gordon’s daughter!Reader

Jerome Valeska x Reader

This couldn’t last forever. Nor could it last the remainder of the night. Your father; Jim Gordon, would find out soon enough and put a stop to all to all this nonsense.

Nonsense: the nights you’d both spent lying awake in eachother’s warm embrace, discussing all inevitable components that make up the matrix melancholy of the cogs of life. Shivering slightly under the thin covers, an early winter’s morn and nearing-replacement window panes sending an extra sharp gasp of cooling freeze, compliments of some state north of here. But the delicate gushing of blood through the fingertips that dance with solider-like coherency remind you of being alive.

Nonsense: the candy floss he had bought you the night you met, unknowing of your disliking to the sickly-sweetness of a fairground staple but you ate it regardless, noticing the dust particles falling from his wallet as he handed you the carnival delicacy: wide grin decorating a pearl-filled grin making your heart remind your head that regardless of your economical struggles recently, you truly were rich. An odd sparkle of a concoction of unintelligible senses that overwhelmed your consciousness with a haze-like hypnosis of enamour for the boy yet to receive a name.

Nonsense: having you sat in the front row; against your father’s wishes at his court hearing, eyes flickering mindlessly between you and the judge - amnesty ignoring his court-presented attorney to delicately study the breathing work of art sat behind him. Allowing his own fate to unfold if it meant he got to look at you that little while longer. His sentence to Arkham emitting a gasp from your lips, yet a sense of comfort knowing this somehow meant he wasn’t a mindless killer; he was ill. He wrestled his restraints to give you a finalising kiss to the back of your hand with a sincere tone, voice barely above a whisper as he made you vow to him to forgive him.

Nonsense: the letters stashed in the small shoe box in the bottom of your wardrobe, beneath a well-word pair of disregarded sneakers that acted as gatekeepers for some abhorrent alternation of Romeo and Juliet if Shakespeare was mentally disproportionate. The daily recorded scrawl of proclamations of love and mourning for the distance between the both of you, a somehow best yet illegible cursive getting progressively more dissipated as the page descended - adapting Lamark’s unacceptable theory as the boy evolved from a maladjustment killer to a love sick poet.

Nonsense: crying when you visited him, breaking down into a pool of tears as he appreciated your presence and worshiped your being to an alternative offspring of the Antichrist’s teaching; praying and begging for your mercy - your living self a shrine for his selfless obsession of palpitating sickness of his desire. Your small, naïve smile as you told him you understood, those countless, sleepless nights you lay away shivering in the cold and you ponder your own sanity.

Nonsense: being the first person whom he adheres to when broken out of the Asylum, climbing up a three-story dtysfunctioning drain pipe in the dead of night in the dismal rain of an autumnal Gotham oldhallow’s eve - thunder cracking as you shared a romantic desperation of the age old locking of lips, holding one another on the floor as though terrified the other would painfully disappear if they disimbedded their claws; leaving crescent shaped moon imprint on the skin.

Nonsense: having dates in the darkest hours to avoid disruption; dominating Gotham at three hands of two desperately pining adolescents; insanity of love a proclamation of their secession from the rest of world and society, a religious-like devotion to the other promised by a kiss at every goodbye and a smile at every hello.

Nonsense. The relationship between you and Jerome Valeska was utter nonsense; but the soft whisper-like kisses he leaves on the parting of your hair and down to the nape of your neck makes you alternately shiver as you allow yourself just that few more minutes of sinful indulgence.

[bunniesandbeheadings]

So many of napoleon II’s biographies remark on how astounding it is that a boy of like, four somehow managed to withstand the aggressive attempts by his Austrian family to make him deny his father

But I don’t think it’s astounding. I think it’s very simple

This little boy had one world where he was surrounded by love and everyone told him he could be whatever he wanted to be

And then Napoleon is overthrown and he’s thrust into another world where he’s looked at as an embarrassment at best ("we prostituted a daughter of the caesars to the corsican tyrant and this kid is living proof!") and a living devil at worst (don't play a drinking game where you take a shot every time there is a letter referring to this child as antichrist. you will die)

idk. i just feel like the kid naturally assumes that "the people who love me were telling the truth" and "the people who barely tolerate me are goddamn piece of shit loser liars"

[minetteskvareninova]

How Would I Put This For My Non-Slovak Mutuals

Slovakia is going to have elections (premature, I should note, because Matovič is an idiot, see bellow) and by God I am stressed. Our options are as follows:

Progresívne Slovensko (Progressive Slovakia) - They are the, well, progressive party of the Slovak political spectrum. Which means they are the only fucking party that supports the LGBT movement with any consistency. Most of their other proposals are also relatively reasonable; they are interested in protecting the environment, want to improve the sorry state of Slovak healthcare, fight the corruption and so on. Their only two issues are the fact that their leader, Martin Šimečka, is a fucking nerd with the charisma of a wet noodle, and the fact that everyone, and I mean absolutely everyone, even people who theoretically should be on their side on account of not being bigoted Putin-loving dipshits, hates them for absolutely no reason. Well, except for their large preferences, probably. They are the most successful party, or second most successful (depends on how the elections pan out) after...

SMER - Sociálna demokracia (DIRECTION - Social Democracy; yes I know SMER is also short for something but I'm too lazy to look it up right now) - Hoo boy. These guys. How would I even start to explain the sheer amount of baggage these guys carry...? SMER has been in power in 2008-2012 and 2012-2020. And it was a fucking shitshow. Between massive corruption and widespread mismanagement of public resources, you can't help but wonder how the fuck did these people last one term, let alone three?! Don't let the Social Democracy thing in their name fool you, these people aren't really social democrats, they have no ideology beyond getting more votes and avoiding jail. Their leader is Róbert Fico, a literal antichrist whose corruption scandals would make for an exceptionally thick encyclopedia. This man is able to sell his soul to the devil for money and power, but since the devil seems kinda unavailable, he figured Putin is the next best (worst?) thing. His latest strategy for gaining more support is leaning into the fanatical Putin-loving, EU and human rights hating crowd, which in our country is depressingly large. Another memorable personality is Ľuboš Blaha, a tankie extraordinaire whose favourite meal is the sole of Volodya's boot and a steady diet of bathit conspiracies. Remember when Blaha engaged in casual atrocity denial around Bucha, because Pepperidge Farm and Minette's blog remember. https://www.tumblr.com/minetteskvareninova/680859499810177024/this-war-is-horrible-and-itself-would-be-enough

Hlas-SD (Voice-SD) - Most progressives in Slovakia have high hopes for these people. I don't. They are an offshoot of SMER, whose leader Peter Pellegrini has mostly held the line with Fico, but at least seems spineless enough to betray him if it happens to be advantageous enough. They don't really have any kind of concrete politics (most of their program is a vague "we'll make things better" kind of stuff), but at least they don't actively spread hate, so in that way they are able to climb over the low bar that is their mother party. Still, how are these people in the third place of every pre-election survey I will never know. I guess Pelle is just that sexy or whatever.

Obyčajní ľudia a nezávislé osobnosti (Ordinary People And Independent Personalities) - They have been the ruling party since 2020 and much like with SMER, it was kind of a shitshow, just in a different way. Their leader Igor Matovič is less corrupt (mind you, not NOT corrupt) than Fico, but more than makes up for it by being kinda stupid and also a horrendous drama queen whose antics prematurely ended two cabinets, his and Heger's. Tenderly nicknamed "Matelko", he became known for his "atom bombs" of ideas, such as giving out prizes in a lottery that people join by getting vaccinated. Y'know, to increase vaccination rates during the height of COVID-19 pandemic. That's why this whole thing had to be televised, complete with "call to collect your prize" type of deal. For what it's worth, he at least made attempts to fight the corruption of the previous regime; he did it badly, as is his way, but nonetheless. "Independent personalities" here means a bunch of small parties that joined them in this election, because they would have no chance otherwise. They are a pretty diverse bunch, meaning their ranks include, among others, an infamous bigot and fanatical anti-abortion activist Anna Záborská, but they also made my bae Jaroslav Naď a defence minister, so that kinda balances it out. I wouldn't hate it if they managed to get into parliament, I'll tell you that much.

Slododa a Solidarita (Freedom and Solidarity) - Considering Matelko profiles himself as an anti-corruption crusader, you'd think Róbert Fico is his nemesis. You'd be wrong. Fico unfortunately loses that prestigious title to one Richard Sulík, leader of SaS, who is... Eh? Like, he's competent in the questions of economy and in general not in the worst tier of Slovak politicians, but also, he's as much of a libertarian as is possible in our part of the world (which si to say, he's not as bad as an average American libertarian, but still engages in, for example, casual climate change denial) and constantly feuds with Matelko. Again, I don't hate him, but we could do a lot better.

Kresťanskodemokratické hnutie (Christian-Democratic Movement) - They are surprisingly not as bigoted as their name would suggest, but that's because here in Slovakia we are used to levels of homophobia and transphobia that would boggle the mind of an average non-fundie American. They come off as relatively reasonable, but only because one can't help but compare them to Putin kissasses like SMER, SNS and Republika. Which brings us to...

Slovenská národná strana (Slovak National Party) - You know, Stupidest Slovak Politician is a tough contest, so my respect to anyone who is able to win it as decisively as Andrej Danko. This man is like Róbert Fico, if his spirit animal was a sheep instead of a fox (and I say it as someone who has experience with sheep, those motherfuckers are ungodly stupid). He simped for Putin before it was cool, when that particular fanclub was just him and Blaha. He doesn't seem to be able to speak his mother tongue and his constant malaproper speech is the source of many a meme. Which, yes, means that him getting into parliament would be pretty funny. On the other hand, all that fun would probably be somewhat spoiled by the fact that he's ALSO super corrupt, not to mention, y'know, conspiracy-spreading Putin simp and bigot. He also cites Viktor Orbán as his actual, honest-to-God role model. So, an all-around cool dude that I am very happy might be in the next parliament (if Fico wins the election, because naturally these two get on like a house on fire). /s

Republika (The Republic) - I can't believe SMER legit isn't the worst mainstream Slovak party, but I mean, at least they aren't actual neonazis? I mean, Republika does its best to hide their affiliations, but because their leader, Milan Uhrík, is in competition for the second stupidest Slovak politician (the first place, as stated, firmly belonging to Danko), they don't do a particularly good job of that. I mean, Republika is the product of a schism within ĽSNS, who were already infamous for their idiocy (besides, you know, barely disguised fascism), so figures. Milan Uhrík in particular is the man whose most important contributions to Slovak culture were sitting in the European Parliament doing fuck all (did I mention that like most bigots, he also shits on EU constantly?) and the "I am not a historian" meme. Basically, because of the blatant fascist sympathies of his party, including worshipping Jozef Tiso, he was asked to condemn the crimes of the First Slovak Republic (which was basically a Nazi puppet - yeah, Ukrainians aren't the only nation in this region with a shady past, go figure; not that it prevents some people, including Uhrík himself, from spreading the "denazification" bullshit). Uhrík's answer? "I am not a historian". Since then, he has been given several options to revise this opinion. He never took any of them. His agenda is also truly something to behold, like I've never read something as profoundly dumb as the pamphlets where they present it. They don't seem to be as successful as ĽSNS, but that's unfortunately because their schtick was stolen by SMER with the good chunk of their electorate. Still, SMER might actually take them into their coalition, because like goes with the like even if the "like" is bigotry, and lest we forget, there is no God.

Sme rodina (We Are Family) - *sigh* Do I have to? Okay. Sme rodina is yet another conservative party, completely unlike EVERY OTHER PARTY THAT EVER GAINED ANY TRACTION IN THIS COUNTRY PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE. Ahem. Its leader Boris Kollár is a businessman who gained something of a memetic status in Slovak showbusiness by being a massive whore and having a fuckton of illegitimate children (the current count is I think 12?). Something of a Slovak Herschel Walker. And just like Herschel Walker, he, the avowed conservative that he is, has been accused of paying for abortions of one of his ex-girlfriends. Which is just a reflection of this guy's general moral consistency. To put it simply, Boris is the biggest Slovak whore. If Fico asked him to join his coalition, you bet your ass he would. He also has associated with people involved in organized crime (just like Fico) and sexted a fifteen year old drug addict. Because, as their billboards state, Sme rodina "protects children". Needless to say, I can't fucking stand this dude just as a person; since he seems to want to be an Isekai hero, I hope he gets hit by a truck.

Demokrati (The Democrats) - They're fine. Their leader is our former short-term prime minister Eduard Heger, whose only flaws were being hopelessly naive and letting Matelko get away with shit he should not have gotten away with. Any people that might be OK with them already vote for Progresívne Slovensko, but maybe they will get enough votes to be eligible for parliament? Maybe??? Their chances aren't high to be honest, but what do you know, miracles do happen.