Today I encountered a white and red lamp of a saint that said “Ride Or Die Bitch” on the halo and I’m basically gonna think about it for the rest of my life now

Went back to get a pic and on second viewing I think it’s of the Virgin Mary but idk I’m not an expert on these things

I think it’s these two dudes that really make it for me

grinningchaos‌:

A moment of surprise had her stumble backwards.  The buildings behind her were nothing more than cinders when her feet collided with it and that’s all it took.  

An explosion went off. A burst of energy that leveled everything clear 50 miles away leaving not a living soul down to the very smallest blade of grass.  Everything was dead. Leveled. Gone. 

And she was free to continue her rampage. 

grinningchaos‌:

So sharp.  So pointed. She tore and beat and grabbed and pulled.  Claws digging into flesh, sharp teeth gnawing like some great hound.  She refused to be stopped by such a meager being!

She was WAR, she was RAGE, she was DEATH.  She reared her head back and pounded it into their’s, smashing over and over again.  Pain meant very little to her.  What mattered was being kept from her.  

Her whole being was burning everything alive within 10 miles. It only grew the angrier she became.  Massive fires would rage on without the aid of fire patrol.  Anything that could catch fire, did.  Metal melted, windows exploded, flesh was boiled from bones, people were dead before they had a change to scream.  It was like a nuke was slowly going off. 

Tears streaked down Zalgo’s face, enough to power rivers, but any lost ground from the struggle just resulted in their shaking arms pulling tighter. Their head tucked against her white-hot shoulder in a meager attempt to shield their face from the blows, and they choked on another cry of pain.

They could not let go. They could not let go.

No amount of pain would keep them from trying.

Shakily, they attempted to find their footing, but after nearly slipping on the ravine, it seemed as though pulling her back with them into the Void wasn’t an option.

But she didn’t need to know that it wasn’t an option.

Quickly, fuzzily, they gave another yank backward. Immediately afterward, they pushed forward with all their weight, ignoring the collateral damage. They hoped against reason that using her resistance against her would be enough to make her lose her footing and fall into the shorter but still viable buildings behind her. It wouldn’t be a smooth shift, but it would be enough to grant them both passage. They just needed to remove her from the situation. From the people. From everything.

The Void was the only place they could think of.

A hoarse whisper escaped as one God prayed to the other.

“... Please...”

grinningchaos‌:

Annoyance mixed into her rage, only dragging it out further with flames directed at the corpses.  Her flesh burned hot, hotter than any known flame and hotter than a star.  The very form she held tried to escape reality, a golden sheen only wrapped in red shattered her being.  She was losing control of her shape to allow the ungodly seep into this realm and blind, drive mad, and kill any that gaze upon her. 

Still holding firm, she reared her first back to thrust it into his face, not keen on whatever he was planning.  This road bump needed to die and she took her claws to them. 

It was like holding the sun. The fire of her flesh singed their mouths, and they screamed. Everything was agony, and it all came from this being in their arms. They shook and cursed and cried.

But you cannot let go.

They may not have been expecting just how searing her flesh was, but they were expecting the claws. They were expecting the fight. The pain was already everywhere, and the movement helped ground them.

Like taking a pot from an oven without any mitts, they squeezed as hard as they could before yanking backward, their back passing through the tallest building in the city and into the infinite silent, still darkness of the Void.

grinningchaos‌:

“You don’t know who I am. That part is clear,” they said aloud in straightening back up. “That doesn’t mean you’re completely gone. I don’t want to fight you, Bast.”

They took their first step toward her, and the small rumble it created on the street jostled the rising corpses. Mouths agape and eyes weeping, those victims of the rampage that still had their limbs staggered and dragged and crawled their way toward the Goddess, all thoughts replaced with a sheer hivemind will.

There was no memory of much.  Only vague ideas but the intent was clear, she had to keep going.  Her destruction was her release and to stop it now meant she would never be rid of this unbearable rage. 

Her heel struck the ground, the earth broke open and swallowed the beings whole.  In another step, she caused the fissure to rupture at their feet, trying to knock the being over.  They were in the way.  They were slowing her down. 

In a deep breath, she let flames bellow from her maw to engulf them.  They still had a whole country to destroy.  What was a few hundred million souls? 

The first fissure gave them enough warning of the second to avoid it, but the fire was enough of a surprise to cause Zalgo to stagger once more. They didn’t burn. They couldn’t burn. But it was bright and hot and painful all the same.

Where some corrupted corpses were swallowed, others rose from underneath cars to take their place, shuffling toward Bast seemingly with the sole intention of holding her in place. Keeping her from her destruction. The walls bled harder. The corruption ribboning the streets drained into the artificial canyon.

There has to be something. There has to be a way. She has to be stopped.

Zalgo squeezed their eyes shut and leapt forward, the hugging motion painfully familiar.

Flipped cars. Fire. Shattered glass. Blood. If it weren’t for the intermingled desperate prayers and cries for salvation, Zalgo might have felt right at home.

The story came to them in bursts. Divine wrath. A deity come to reap every soul she came across. She was tall as Heaven and just as merciless. No amount of gore seemed to satisfy her, and so many Zalgists were holed up in their makeshift churches. So many more were hiding on that very street, choking back pleas for mercy. At least 70 souls had already joined the Courtyard.

For the first time in years, Zalgo’s heels clicked down a ruined street, their cape whispering over the shattered glass below them.

They had been reset a few times before. They’d hunted poor Adrian like pheasant. They’d forgotten everything about Jeffrey. They’d laughed with Satan and forgotten every lesson they’d ever learned.

Bast did not deserve this weighing on her when she woke up.

They stepped through another wall and emerged, a full 8 feet of grinning and grimacing mouths and horns and sharp eyes right in the Goddess’s way.

“Sweetheart, this needs to stop. You need to go home.”

Stories were told of her wrath at one point.  They spoke of the rivers of blood that ran the streets and stained the Nile when she once thought humanity was the problem.  Yet as eons went on, she grew different, forced to see things in a different way and desiring nothing more than to stay the docile being she had become. 

Bound by ancient magic and the lives of the very gods, she sought to create a better life, setting out in ancient tomes to ensure that she was branded anew; Bast. 

Her name was Bast.

But all she knew now was blood lust and rage that could not be quelled. 

When they appeared, their voice was carried little in weight and so she carried on.  Flames spat from her maw and set ablaze whole buildings.  Women cried as their children were smothered to death by the heavy ashen smoke.  Men ran for their lives and tried to save those few that were alive yet she found them, and she crushed them between her teeth. 

She did not care that this being was before her.  She was here to cull an entire country and the whole of the East Coast had taken her wrath.  

Before they had a form of their own, they’d known about her. So much chaos had fed their existence from the blood she spilled and the fear she inspired. She and Yahweh and Cronus and Kali were pillars, role models to build upon and admire while hoarsely whispering tales of their victories into the fabric of reality.

But as millennia passed and they coalesced into something more complex, so had she, and the open arms with which she had first greeted the strange eldritch being were the warmest thing they’d ever encountered. She was warm even as they still had trouble keeping to a solid form. She was docile and patient as they understood what humanity had to offer. She smiled and laughed and kikied with them.

Tears clawed at the deity’s eyes as another wave of prayers flooded in.

Did she remember anything?

With a deep breath, they attempted to expand their form enough to be eye-to-eye with her. They did not want to fight her. They did not want to fight her. They did not want—

The walls began to bleed.

Those that knew of her, recognized her person despite the mass of blood piled upon her flesh and fur; they cried out in pleas, they prayed to her, they asked for forgiveness and begged to be spared. 

They weren’t.  They were another obstacle in the way all brought on by a single command that flooded her with chaos. 

She was not herself.

She could not be. 

She was the Berserk, the Death Bringer.  She was and always would be War. 

In moving forward, a new being blocked her path, her eyes measuring them with a sheer discontent.  They were in the way and she readily grabbed the remains of a building and flung it at them.  

They were admittedly rusty. The impact of the remains wasn’t nothing, and they staggered into a structure behind them in surprise and pain. In recovering, though, they had enough of their wits about them to break the structure down before letting it fall. Unfortunately, that just added to the collecting ooze filling the new potholes in the street with swirling, unnatural colors.

“You don’t know who I am. That part is clear,” they said aloud in straightening back up. “That doesn’t mean you’re completely gone. I don’t want to fight you, Bast.”

They took their first step toward her, and the small rumble it created on the street jostled the rising corpses. Mouths agape and eyes weeping, those victims of the rampage that still had their limbs staggered and dragged and crawled their way toward the Goddess, all thoughts replaced with a sheer hivemind will.

Flipped cars. Fire. Shattered glass. Blood. If it weren’t for the intermingled desperate prayers and cries for salvation, Zalgo might have felt right at home.

The story came to them in bursts. Divine wrath. A deity come to reap every soul she came across. She was tall as Heaven and just as merciless. No amount of gore seemed to satisfy her, and so many Zalgists were holed up in their makeshift churches. So many more were hiding on that very street, choking back pleas for mercy. At least 70 souls had already joined the Courtyard.

For the first time in years, Zalgo’s heels clicked down a ruined street, their cape whispering over the shattered glass below them.

They had been reset a few times before. They’d hunted poor Adrian like pheasant. They’d forgotten everything about Jeffrey. They’d laughed with Satan and forgotten every lesson they’d ever learned.

Bast did not deserve this weighing on her when she woke up.

They stepped through another wall and emerged, a full 8 feet of grinning and grimacing mouths and horns and sharp eyes right in the Goddess’s way.

“Sweetheart, this needs to stop. You need to go home.”

Stories were told of her wrath at one point.  They spoke of the rivers of blood that ran the streets and stained the Nile when she once thought humanity was the problem.  Yet as eons went on, she grew different, forced to see things in a different way and desiring nothing more than to stay the docile being she had become. 

Bound by ancient magic and the lives of the very gods, she sought to create a better life, setting out in ancient tomes to ensure that she was branded anew; Bast. 

Her name was Bast.

But all she knew now was blood lust and rage that could not be quelled. 

When they appeared, their voice was carried little in weight and so she carried on.  Flames spat from her maw and set ablaze whole buildings.  Women cried as their children were smothered to death by the heavy ashen smoke.  Men ran for their lives and tried to save those few that were alive yet she found them, and she crushed them between her teeth. 

She did not care that this being was before her.  She was here to cull an entire country and the whole of the East Coast had taken her wrath.  

Before they had a form of their own, they’d known about her. So much chaos had fed their existence from the blood she spilled and the fear she inspired. She and Yahweh and Cronus and Kali were pillars, role models to build upon and admire while hoarsely whispering tales of their victories into the fabric of reality.

But as millennia passed and they coalesced into something more complex, so had she, and the open arms with which she had first greeted the strange eldritch being were the warmest thing they’d ever encountered. She was warm even as they still had trouble keeping to a solid form. She was docile and patient as they understood what humanity had to offer. She smiled and laughed and kikied with them.

Tears clawed at the deity’s eyes as another wave of prayers flooded in.

Did she remember anything?

With a deep breath, they attempted to expand their form enough to be eye-to-eye with her. They did not want to fight her. They did not want to fight her. They did not want—

The walls began to bleed.

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