#the holiness and horror of divine things

[derangedrhythms]

To be eaten and to be married to the god might not be so different.

C. S. Lewis, from ‘Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold’

[beautifultedium]

Really just want some earrings that look like big fish hooks but not the fake gauge ones. No hate but I would really like to look like I stuck large but regular-ass hooks through my ears

[ohholydyke]

See the thing about fundamentalists and trads and Christian nationalists and MAGA evangelicals and ethnocratic bigots is that they render the faith so boring.

I take no issue with the fact that they would look at me and say that I’m not a member of the faithful because their faith is radically, inherently, ontologically distinct from mine. My God is too big and too loving and too esoteric to fit neatly into the gendered understanding of an authoritarian white father disciplining his children for not perfectly falling into lockstep. My Savior is the man who told the religious leaders “Caesar can have his idolatrous blood money, but give God your heart and your faith,” challenging the notion of an earthly ruler. My apostles wrote of the throne of man being empty—there are no masters or kings or governments, there is only Jesus Christ, Basileus Basileōn, king of kings. I believe in radical oneness with God through Christ—one flesh and one body, biblical marriage with the bridegroom whose flesh and blood make up the holy Eucharist. My faith is Queer, ancestral, esoteric, anarchist, insurrectionary, anticolonial, antiracist, unorthodox, disruptive, free. When I encounter the divine, or pray to the saints, or sit in the chapel to pray, I am experiencing communion with the sublime, in every sense of the word, the same presence that made the apostles fall to their faces before the transfiguration, that shaped the world from void, that animates the deep care and rage which boil into every aspect of my being.

When conservatives tell me I am not a Christian it is only because they cannot conceive of a Christ and a faith so big, so all encompassing, so beyond anything our human minds can comprehend, and they cannot conceive being in tune with this divinity and being left senseless by the knowledge that the divine above all else is us and loves us more than we could ever comprehend, such that experiencing this love is enough to leave one fundamentally, ontologically changed down to the fiber of their being. I feel sorrow for them. I pray that Christ may reach into their hearts and open their eyes, that they may see not only the horrors that they commit but also the deep love and freedom that awaits them through abandoning their fundamentalism and their bigotry.

Or, in other words, me every time I see another conservative Christian whining about how people aren’t doing Christianity right because they don’t adhere to a super narrow and watered down version of the faith:

[cybersunnie]

So Divine ✶ Steve Harrington

18+ / MDNI — literally just smut w/ some fluff, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart, baby) got inspired by @/season4steve's comments (wc: 1k)

Steve was a gentle lover.

Compliments, spontaneous gifts, late-night calls because he wanted to hear your voice before bed. He was always soft and sweet with you, all boyish charm and smiles.

With his parents out of town again, you and Steve had the house all to yourselves. It started innocently. A movie night at his place, cuddling on the couch, the light touch on your hip growing more greedy as the night went on. You tried to ignore it, eyes trained on the screen, but you were still all too aware of his glances and smirks that meant no good. 

Your efforts were pointless.

The cheesy horror flick Steve had mindlessly picked out at work turned into background noise when he leaned in and kissed you slow, testing the waters. Your lips melted between his, warmth blossoming in your chest, your skin tingling. Whispers of I want you filled your ears, and you were suddenly putty in his hands—a mindless thing made of flesh and bones.

One thing led to another, and the both of you stumbled up the stairs and to his bedroom, giggling into the other’s mouth.

Your curves and edges, and his scars and birthmarks.

Steve had you pinned beneath him, his sheets wrinkled and a mess, clothes discarded and forgotten. You gasped so prettily for him, your face crumbling with ecstasy every time his hips snapped forward to meet yours, the slow drag of his cock making your head spin.

Even as he took you, Steve was nothing but gentle. Every kiss and touch ghosted over your skin like he was afraid to hurt you. 

As if you were a delicate flower, each limb a petal he wanted to preserve, to dote on. 

“You’re so pretty,” he rasped out, his nose nudging yours, urging you to look at him.

You keened, cheeks burning, eyes hazy with pleasure. How Steve looked at you was overwhelming—like you were the only good thing in the world.

"Yeah? You like being my pretty girl?"

You nodded and held him tighter, not wanting this to end. Your nails dug into his back, the crescent indents adding to his constellation of moles and freckles.

With Steve, all you saw were stars.

His gaze softened, a crinkle between his brows. "I know you do," he murmured, ducking his head down and kissing your jaw. Steve felt you shiver, your cunt squeezing his cock, snug and warm. He fought the urge to bite your shoulder as he buried himself deeper inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're killing me."

You wondered if Steve knew how much control he had over you. If he knew that his voice made everything around you feel light. If he knew that, in your mind, he embodied the night sky.

That he was timeless. Divine. A mysterious beauty.

He deserved to know.

But your voice was gone, the words stuck in your throat. The knot in your stomach grew tighter. The inevitable inched closer. You could only utter a meek whimper of his name with your fingers digging into his flesh. 

Steve pulled his face from your neck and looked at you, stilling himself. “What, baby?”

He sounded so concerned, so sincere—it just made you want him more.

You whined and pressed the heels of your feet against his ass, begging him to move, to keep fucking you. Thankfully, Steve took the hint, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in, his heart swelling with pride when you whimpered.

Steve knew you were close. He could fucking feel it.

"Keep squeezing me like that—holy shit," Steve groaned, almost whining, as your cunt pulsated around his cock. "You're close, huh? You gonna come for me?"

Overwhelmed, you shut your eyes. It was too much. Steve's body flushed with yours, your ears buzzing, your heart pounding so hard it rattled your ribcage—it was all too much.

And Steve noticed. He always noticed.

Soft and soothing, he whispered your name and grasped your chin, your skin warming under his fingertips.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes. Steve smiled the same smile that swept you off your feet the first time you met him. He leaned his forehead against yours, his usual sweet brown eyes hardened with lust, with the desire to please you.

"There we go," Steve murmured, kissing your lips. He let go of your chin and moved his hand, his large palm enveloping the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, your brows drawing tightly together as Steve kept fucking you nice and slow. "You still with me, yeah?"

You nodded, mind-numbing.

"Yeah," he cooed, his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling. A pitiful whine escaped you, and he swallowed it with another kiss. "You're okay. You're doing so good."

It was all tangled heat and longing. Your hands trailed into his hair, soft and roots drenched with sweat. Mouths hung open, moans and gasps, your hearts becoming one.

Steve grunted, head dipping down into the crook of your neck, his hips rocking into yours. "C'mon, baby, give it to me."

You were at his mercy, unprotected, bare of armor.

The knot snapped.

Pleasure erupted in the pit of your belly and wrecked through you. You cried out his name in gasps and moans, your legs locking around his waist, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve whimpered as if he was wounded, his thrusts faltering, tongue swirling over your pulse points, and teeth nipping at your skin.

Wrapped up in the other and your sweaty limbs entangled, the intensity died down, heavy breaths filling the air. Neither of you moved—a silent agreement to stay connected a little longer. 

"I love you," Steve whispered, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw until he reached your mouth. He stared at you with adore-filled eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair disheveled from your own doing. "I love you so much."

Through your haze, you grinned, fingers sowing through his hair, "I love you more."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. "Impossible."

author's note: yay i finally finished something!!!!! it had been such a long time since i wrote smut so i'm sorry if this wasn't up to par LMAO but i love me some soft and sappy sex

anyways i hope you enjoyed this!!! tysm for reading! <3

[transbookoftheday]

Trans Horror Podcasts

My post about trans horror books last year was much more popular than I expected, and since I've recently fallen in love with fiction podcasts and audio dramas, I thought I'd make a post about trans horror podcasts as well.

If you like trans horror, please give these a try - especially if you enjoy listening to audiobooks!

Hello From The Hallowoods:

Come walk between the black pines! In this award-winning queer fiction podcast, an eldritch narrator follows the increasingly connected residents of the forest at the end of the world. It's a bittersweet story that explores queer identity, horror genre tropes, and finding hope in humanity's last moments.

Hello From The Hallowoods is my absolute favorite podcast! If you only listen to one podcast from this list, please make it this one - it's so beautifully written and super queer! Also: season 4 starts today!

Trans main characters include:

our nonbinary eye-affiliated podcast host

a nonbinary "Frankenstein's creature"

a transmasc ghost

a genderfluid storm witch

a trans woman who can visit other people's dreams

multiple characters using neopronouns

Camp Here & There:

Good morning, campers! Camp Here & There is a weekly horror comedy podcast tuned in to the loudspeakers of a small midwestern sleepaway camp plagued by supernatural terrors and natural disasters. Sydney Sargent, resident camp nurse, cheerfully reports on all the terror we must face with a big smile. Let’s hope there’s nothing weird about that!

Sydney is a trans man.

Dos: After You:

Things have changed. Deck has fallen in love with someone who isn't human, and leaves a hungry house behind to see him again. Will he be waiting for you? The world has changed… but what about him? Dos: After You is a queer urban fantasy/horror audiodrama available in both English & Spanish

Deck is a trans man.

Jar of Rebuke:

Follow Dr. Jared Hel's journey as he works to re-discover his forgotten past and finds his place within the small Indiana farm town of Wichton and the cryptozoological organization he works for called 'The Enclosure'. These audio journals, and other recordings, dive deep into Midwestern US cryptids and folklore while also telling a mystery about identity, queerness, neurodivergence, and community.

Jared is nonbinary.

Spirit Box Radio:

Spirit Box Radio is an award winning, horror audio drama podcast about a radio show for enthusiasts of all things arcane. Follow Sam Enfield a former postboy with no experience in the arcane arts, who finds themselves forced to take over running the show, following the disappearance of the previous host. Sam soon discovers there are more than ghosts haunting the show, and finds himself amidst a mystery which threatens everything he knows about the world beyond his tiny basement broadcast studio, and maybe even himself.

Sam is a trans man.

The Silt Verses:

Carpenter and Faulkner, two worshippers of an outlawed god, travel up the length of their deity’s great black river, searching for holy revelations amongst the reeds and the wetlands. As their pilgrimage lengthens and the river’s mysteries deepen, the two acolytes find themselves under threat from a police manhunt, but also come into conflict with the weirder gods that have flourished in these forgotten rural territories. This is a world where divine intervention takes place through prayer-markings scratched into stumping-posts, and offerings are left squirming to die in the flats of the delta. This is a world of ritual, and hidden language, and sacrifice. This is folk horror, and fantasy, and a dark road trip into the depths of unusual faith.

Faulkner is a trans man and Paige is a trans woman.

The Magnus Protocol:

The Magnus Archives 2: The Magnus Protocol is the prequel/sequel/”sidequel” to the internationally renowned Magnus Archives podcast. The Magnus Institute was an organisation dedicated to academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal, based out of Manchester, England. It burned to the ground in 1999. There were no survivors. Now, almost 25 years later, Alice and Sam, a pair of low-level civil service workers at the underfunded Office of Incident Assessment and Response, have stumbled across its legacy. A legacy that will put them in grave danger. If this intrigues you then it is our pleasure to welcome you to the Office of Incident, Assessment and Response. Make sure you pick up your badge at desk and report to your line manager before sitting down. Oh and stay away from I.T., seriously.

Alice is a trans woman.

[felikatze]

listen to me. the Emblems are living existential horror. I am just going to talk about them and you can do nothing about this.

They are. Explicitly. not the people they seem to be. Emblem Marth knows he's not the real Marth. He's aware that he is simply a simulacrum, the personified image of Marth, as seen by myth and history, reconstructed into a person.

Listen to me. Look me in the eyes. What route is Corrin? What route is Byleth?

All of them. It's ALL OF THEM. And that's why they're so vague. That's why they're nigh contradictory. They're every telling of that character, rolled together into a ball.

And in Elyos? That's fine. There is only one Marth, and one Corrin, and one whoever Emblem. But you see, in Askr... There's so many of them. And they're just Another One. Just Another Marth.

But also, now suddenly all too keenly fake.

Any given Corrin in FEH is not filled with contradiction, because FEH is not restricted to having Just the One - you can have one for BR, one for CQ, another for Rev, keep some vague... The multiplicity of the characters can be portrayed in different figures in different stages of life.

But. the Emblems are just "stories".

DOES ANY EMBLEM EVER REFERENCE POSTCANON?

My theory is. the Emblems only remember what is contained in their story, within their game.

Take for example, Emblem Lyn, and Emblem Roy. If Lyn truly is the Lyn-- how come she doesn't recognize one of her best friend's children?

And yes, Sigurd is keenly aware that he dies, but... His death is part of the story, no? It's not something that happens far off and far away, it's part of the plot. Of course he's going to know it.

Whereas Emblem Hector, who dies in a different game to his Emblem's origin, is blissfully unaware of his own fate. It's not part of his story, it's part of Roy's.

(Listen. This first crossed my mind when I read all of Emblem Hector's bond conversations. He references Serra thrice, and his own daughter not even ONCE.)

They are their games, down to the fundamental level. FEH can have a Celica be Queen of Valentia, but that's just one blurb of epilogue, so obviously Emblem Celica is not.

You cannot change my mind on this reading of them. You cannot.

And. The game of course never explores this. But how does it feel for them? To only have this nebulous sense of identity? To remember and feel iterations of you that contradict one another? FEH opens so many doors it is too cowardly to explore in depth.

How does Marth feel remembering both versions of his own past, one with Kris and one without? How does Corrin feel knowing every path she has walked? How do they feel seeing versions of themselves that are specific lived experiences, instead of just legends?

In Elyos, there is no one to contrast them. There are only the legends, only the Emblems. Nobody truly remembers exactly how their stories went, so they never need to specify and show their version of events. They just exist, as the holy, powerful, worshipped Emblems.

Does Lucina know who her mother is? Does Roy? Does Lyn know who she marries? Does Hector know he's going to die? Does Byleth see every student dead or saved?

They are their games and they are every version of their games they are every version of themselves which amounts to being NONE of them.

Which amounts to vague platitudes and allusions to other events and what is a doylist fear of spoilers and an advertisement is also a watsonian nightmare.

This isn't even the worst thing about them.

They're not just simulacra. They're also tools. Literal objects to be called upon and dismissed at will. Sure, in the Somniel, they can move around. But.

They can only affect the physical world in the arena. In combat. Because that's what they are! They are tools of war!

And sure, the divine dragons ask them nicely for their powers, and they get to keep their free will when summoned this way instead of having their souls subjugated.

or well. Do they...?

Do we ever.... see an Emblem say no...?

Of course, the divine dragons are Just and Good and Nice. Obviously the Emblems want to aid them. Obviously the Emblems would rather fight beside Alear than Sombron, saving the world they've been entrusted to. Because the Emblems are their stories, the manifestation of Good and Rightous Heroes, always ready to save the day and slay evil.

Which, of course, leaves us with something unconfirmed.

Could an Emblem say no if it wanted to?

The line between divine and fell is dangerously thin. (That is a conspiracy rant for another day.) Like, we see Alear combine prayers and incantations into one package with just prayer effects. You can use an incantation as a prayer if you put your mind to it and you can probably also do it the other way around.

The Emblems either have no choice at all, or are given a choice with one option they would never pick, which renders having a choice moot in the first place.

They are tools, and they know this. They are swords, and it's all a matter of how nice the sheath is.

And yet. All of them remember being human. All of them have loved ones that do not exist, not for them. And what strikes me about the Emblems added to FEH so far... they're all universally stoked to be able to eat.

It's like a fucking sensory deprivation chamber. Unable to touch, to eat, to decide where you go, and the only physical sensation they DO feel is when someone touches their ring. Like I'm realizing this as I write this goddamn post. An Emblem going "That spot was bothering me" when being polished is the only time they ever express physical sensation. Like feeling the dirt on the metal is all they get.

(Side note: you know you're fucked when you look up the petting minigame for Lore)

Like. They know they're fake. That they never had anything outside of this half existence. But they remember it anyways. Of course these memories are going to be precious to them, as vague and muddled and contradictory as they are.

They're tools. They're literal objects. They're alive. They just want to eat some good food again. They want to be with people they love, with people that are long dead and gone.

And this weird spirit existence has to be enough. Smell good food instead of eating it. Make friends with your wielders, enjoy the scarce scenery you get to witness after every battle.

It has to be enough. There's nothing else for them.

And when their duty is done, they can finally rest.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! Ive been absolutely obsessed with fics where Crowley is insanely powerful lately, but there’s not really a tag for that since BAMF Crowley is pretty general. Do yall have any recommendations? :)

Hi! We have a #powerful crowley tag, so check that out. Here are some more fics to add...

I Do Not Forgive You by Puerinrotis (M)

The most powerful thing in the world, in the whole cosmos, was love. The second most powerful thing in the cosmos was rage, pure and unadulterated, red and white and blinding, hot and seething rage. Crowley had plenty of both in him to do the impossible. “I’ve had enough of your games, Mother,” Crowley growled, dangerous. “You made the choice to turn one of your most powerful children into a demon and now it’s time that you paid the price for creating a monsssster.” The Supreme Archangel looked up to stare at him in horror as he raised hands drenched in silver blood upwards in a grand gesture and announced with a feverish glow in his golden eyes, “Hello, Aziraphale. It’s time for you to welcome your new God.”

Cast Thou Send Lightnings? by midnightdragons (G)

Cast thou send lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are? — Job 38:35 A brief argument between angel and demon spirals a bit out of control when Crowley's tendency to become struck by lightning when caught up in the throes of his smoking anger makes itself known.

The Art of Creation by Bookwormgal (T)

Once upon a time, long before humans set foot outside of Eden and long before his inelegant landing in a pool of boiling sulfur, Crowley had been an angel. An angel with a very different name and far less cynicism. And that angel was made to build Her creations. He built stars, nebulas, and other beautiful and complicated things far out there in the cosmos. He shaped fundamental elements and materials into new creations. He molded burning fires and sculpted dust into breath-taking patterns. He started bright and powerful reactions, serving as a catalyst to spark the birth of stars. He set various celestial objects spinning. He built. He took raw materials and built wonderous things with them. He built because that was the role that She made him for. In the end, was rebuilding that much different than building? And wasn't rebuilding fairly close to healing? When it was his angel's existence on the line, Crowley was willing to grab at any chance available. He would find a way to fix what had been damaged. He would find a way to save him.

But I would walk 500 miles by Augenblickgotter (T)

There's a conspiring of foes from both sides that forcefully kidnap Aziraphale. Crowley is in hot pursuit and will stop at nothing, finding some unlikely aid along the way, and bringing up his True Form when the time is needed. Some depictions of pain and violence, minor character deaths by Holy Water, and mild gore. Also mild claustrophobic and dingy descriptions of Hell. And the boys relationship can be flat out platonic asexual best of friends or downright dirty lovers. The story is up to you and is more about how far they would go for each other. ;) No, no monster sex in this one either (comb for my last fic if you need it). Just BAMF Crowley ready to walk 500 Miles through Heaven or Hell to save his Angel.

This Is Who You Are by Azeutrecia (M)

Post S2 finale. Canon-friendly. This is a story of two tricksters …who have strong feelings for each other that they’re terrible at expressing …who have a status imbalance …who aren’t who they thought they were …who both are dealing with multiple types of trauma …in a dystopian divine+occult world …that may be entangled in a conspiracy based on the power of names and stories

- Mod D

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu is a demon lover story”: what’s the deal with Ellen and Orlok in the 2024 adaptation?

“Robert Eggers wants you to see his Nosferatu as both a lover and a biter”: source.

But what demon(s) are we talking about here, exactly? How and why are Ellen and Orlok connected? What’s the demonic love story Eggers is talking about? And where is this “love” we keep earring about?

These figures are not straight-out mentioned in the film itself, but there are several clues towards their identities. There’s a lot of hidden occult meaning in this film, like is customary in horror movies, especially in Dracula and Nosferatu (the unauthorized version of Dracula) adaptations.

How many references there are to Aleister Crowley Thelema and to Enochian Magic in “Nosferatu” (2024)? A lot! Because many of these were already in the 1922 original, but in a different way.

Things to keep in mind to understand this story:

This script is esoteric-coded: every word and expression has an hidden meaning;

This is a masterclass in how to write occult stories; with hidden messages only recognized by the “initiated” or those like me who have intelectual and academic interest in these topics (I’m a Art History PdH student, and many would be surprised with the insane amount of occult messages in Modern Art, including cinema).

Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is the story of a manifestation of Babalon (Ellen) and the Beast, the earthly incarnation of Chaos (Orlok), her spiritual consort. Mainstream Western societies know her by another name: the Whore of Babylon. Crowley called her earthly manifestation “Scarlet Woman”, and she’s seen as a divine feminine entity by occultists, who have re-interpreted her in a more empowering and positive light than biblical text.

I already discussed this in other post, alongside with Isis/Ellen and Osiris/Orlok, but will explore it further here. I recommend reading that first to understand what I’m talking about here.

We need to start with “Book of Revelations” from the Christian Bible because that’s the base for Thelemic and Enochian traditions present in the 2024 adaptation of “Nosferatu”:

Book of Revelations (Apocalypse)

“And I stood upon the sand of the sea. And I saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.”

Revelations 13:1

This passage is present in the actual film; when Friedrich Harding “expels” Thomas and Ellen, and they are returning home. One man on the street is paraphrasing this passage from “Revelations”, foreshadowing Orlok’s arrival to Wisburg (beast rise up from the sea). This is very straightforward. No doubts here.

In the same biblical text, there’s the story of the woman who rides this beast; Revelations 17:

“One of the seven angels who had the seven bowls came and said to me, “Come, I will show you the punishment of the great prostitute, who sits by many waters. With her the kings of the earth committed adultery, and the inhabitants of the earth were intoxicated with the wine of her adulteries.”

Then the angel carried me away in the Spirit into a wilderness. There I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was covered with blasphemous names and had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was dressed in purple [lilacs] and scarlet [blood], and was glittering with gold [sunlight] precious stones and pearls. She held a golden cup in her hand, filled with abominable things and the filth of her adulteries. The name written on her forehead was a mystery:

Babylon the great, the mother of prostitutes, and of the abominations of the earth.

“Seven heads” = heptagram, the seven-pointed star (Orlok and Babalon sigils)

“Ten horns” = ten lilac flowers

“Golden cup” = considered the “Holy Grail” = womb

“Filled with abominable things” = sex with undead Orlok (necrophilia)

“and the filth of her adulteries” = adulterous sex (she’s married to Thomas before God, and in Christian tradition this can’t be dissolved)

I saw that the woman was drunk with the blood of God’s holy people, the blood of those who bore testimony to Jesus. When I saw her, I was greatly astonished. Then the angel said to me: “Why are you astonished? I will explain to you the mystery of the woman and of the beast she rides, which has the seven heads and ten horns.

The beast, which you saw, once was, now is not, and yet will come up out of the Abyss and go to its destruction. The inhabitants of the earth whose names have not been written in the book of life from the creation of the world will be astonished when they see the beast, because it once was, now is not, and yet will come.

“This calls for a mind with wisdom. The seven heads are seven hills on which the woman sits. They are also seven kings. Five have fallen, one is, the other has not yet come; but when he does come, he must remain for only a little while. The beast who once was, and now is not, is an eighth king. He belongs to the seven and is going to his destruction.

[…]

“Then the angel said to me, “The waters you saw, where the prostitute sits, are peoples, multitudes, nations and languages. The beast and the ten horns you saw will hate the prostitute. They will bring her to ruin and leave her naked; they will eat her flesh and burn her with fire. For God has put it into their hearts to accomplish his purpose by agreeing to hand over to the beast their royal authority, until God’s words are fulfilled. The woman you saw is the great city that rules over the kings of the earth.”

This is the Christian interpretation of the “Whore of Babylon” and her Beast. And I already saw others picking up on this on social media, but with this line of interpretation, which isn’t what Robert Eggers was going for; he’s following the occultist interpretation.

Enochian tradition and Crowley’s occult system Thelema have a very different interpretation of this tale.

The Holy Whore, The Great Mother

“She [Babalon] rides astride the Beast; in her left hand she holds the reins, representing the passion which unites them. In her right she holds aloft the cup, the Holy Grail aflame with love and death. In this cup are mingled the elements of the sacrament of the Aeon”.

Aleister Crowley, “The Book of Thoth”

“Her cup” = womb

“Aflame” = sexual climax; orgasm

“With love and death” = her love for undead Orlok (Death)

Babalon is a complex and mysterious figure, associated with several Goddesses and deities (Nuit, Isis, Kali, Lilith, etc.). She embodies several archetypes: the Divine Feminine; the Great Mother, the Succubus, the Initiatrix, the Holy Whore (or Divine Harlot), the Womb, the Great Sea and the Divine Blood itself. She’s more than liberated female sexuality and lust (“Holy Whore” because she enjoys sex without the burden of reproduction), she’s Mother Earth itself, a creative and destructive force. She’s the “mother of abominations” associated with natural calamities (catastrophes like earthquakes and hurricanes, plagues, etc.). She’s both good and evil, divine and diabolical. Crowley called her earthy manifestation “Scarlet Woman” and the Holy Grail (womb) is her symbol. She’s worshipped throughout the spectrum of Occultism and Mysticism: Thelemics, Hermetics, Kabbalists, Satanists, etc.

“I shall persist to join you every night, first in sleep, then in your arms. Everything will be mixed with abomination, and you’ll be knee-deep in blood. Everyone will cry. There will be none to bury the dead. You are promised to me.”

Is Ellen “promised” and “fated” to Orlok because of the oath she made to him in the prologue of the film? Or because he tricked Thomas into signing a dissolution of his marriage to Ellen?

“You are not for the living. You are not for human kind. You shall be one with me ever-eternally. Do you swear it?” “I swear.”

Not quite. Because Fate is a huge theme in this story: “destiny” and “providence” are mentioned throughout the film, by Ellen, Herr Knock and Von Franz several times. “I fear my destiny.” Ellen says to Von Franz.

“Your passion is bound to me.”

To understand what Orlok is talking about, we need to go to Enochian tradition, and to the writings of John Dee and Edward Kelly. In 1587, they supposedly underwent a serie of magical workings and made contact with a female spirit, who gave them a vision, which is the first historical mention of “Babalon” (“wicked” in Enochian language):

“I am the daughter of Fortitude, and ravished every hour from my youth. For behold I am Understanding and science dwelleth in me; and the heavens oppress me. They cover and desire me with infinite appetite; for none that are earthly have embraced me, for I am shadowed with the Circle of the Stars and covered with the morning clouds. My feet are swifter than the winds, and my hands are sweeter than the morning dew. My garments are from the beginning, and my dwelling place is in myself. The Lion knoweth not where I walk, neither do the beast of the fields understand me. I am deflowered, yet a virgin; I sanctify and am not sanctified.”

Ellen's psychosexual connection to Orlok in her teenage years described to a T.

“I am an appetite, nothing more.” Orlok says. In the 2016 script, he asked Ellen: “Submit to complete abandon. Submit to yourself, to your power […] I hunger for you. Unite with me in the abyss.” Then he chants a passage from the Enochian Keys. “I cannot be sated without you.”

"A maiden's token I see. Your bride? [...] Liliac. [...] You are fortunate in your love." "Give me her heart, she is mine" metaphorical exchange.

This is an idea that was cooking in Robert Eggers’ mind for some time. We can’t forget this remake of “Nosferatu” was his dream project, and something he always wanted to make. He wanted to get it done after “The Witch” (2015), but it was not possible. So we are talking about a story with a wild amount of research and thought put into it.

In the 2016 script, it’s Herr Knock who “awakes” Orlok via a summoning ritual in the prologue. Orlok takes an interest in Ellen right away (almost unexplainably so), as she has a vision of her marriage to Death on her actual wedding to Thomas. He justifies his interest in her when they meet face-to-face: “I have sought a creature from the depths. A Eve that remembers her Eden. You are such one.” A possible reference to Lilith (also associated with Babalon).

In the 2023 script and in the actual film, it’s Ellen herself who awakes Orlok with her summoning prayer, in the prologue, as well.

They went on to develop a spiritual connection that ends up with sexual astral activity between them. It all ends when she meets and marries Thomas, and if we forget the Female Gothic themes, and focus on the spiritual, it’s probably because she makes an oath before God? Marriage is a holy sacrament. And that’s why she says to Thomas their love was supposed to be sacred?

This provides a better explanation for Orlok interest in her (an atual backstory) and also more fitting with Babalon’s “mother of abominations” and destructive/apocalyptic energy. She’s the one who unleashes Orlok and his blood plague onto the world.

“I have brought this evil upon us.” “His pull on me is so terrible, so strong - yet my spirit cannot be as evil as his.” “I need no salvation. My entire life I have done no ill but heed my nature.”

Is Ellen “evil”? It depends how we interpret it. In Christian religion? Yes. In Thelemic belief, no, because there’s no good nor evil. In Satanism, she’s considered good. So take your pick, here.

We have no detailed backstory on human Count Orlok, really. Other than him being a Hungarian or Romanian nobleman from the 16th century, and one of the Solomonari (from Romanian folklore), a dark wizard, student of the Devil, who rode dragons and controlled the weather, who sought to conquer immortality. We don’t know if he’s suppose to be Vlad III (“Vlad the Impaler”, the infamous “Dracula”) or not because there’s no indication of this in the story.

According to the abbess who tended to Thomas, the Devil kept Orlok’s soul so his corpse might walk again in blasphemy, as a vampire and a “plague carrier”. However, according to Orlok himself, he has been dead for centuries until Ellen, the “enchantress”, awake him from his grave. So, indeed, it was not the Devil who awoke him. What these characters know about Count Orlok are legends and superstitions, really.

O’er [for] centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit, ‘til you did wake me, enchantress, and stirred me from my grave. You are my affliction.

Orlok “search” for a “Eve that remembers her Eden” in the 2016 script (because little was changed in the final result), has me wondering about human Orlok and his magic practices in life (beside the immortality ordeal). Can this un-dead warlock be a nod/reference to Aleister Crowley? He lived obsessed in conjuring Babalon (a ancient and primeval female force) into being. Was this also one of Orlok’s aspirations and why he became so obsessed with Ellen right away, and why they are connected from the start? Because in the prologue, there’s an immediate recognition between them.

And if Ellen is a manifestation of Babalon, was she the one who “made” Orlok into a vampire when she awoke him from his grave? You know, as in “mother of abominations”. This would certainly explain why he calls her “his affliction” and how she can summon him at will (“I bid you, come to me”). Sure, he probably sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for immortality but he was literally dead in a stone sarcophagus. The guy clearly died in the 16th century (his clothes, etc.). And it’s Babalon who rides the beast.

In the 2016 script, Orlok asks Ellen: “Unite with me in the abyss”’ and he compels her to surrender to her own power. The “abyss” is also mentioned in “Revelations 17” as the place where the Beast dwells. In Thelemic tradition, the “abyss” is a metaphysical realm, a void separating the material world from the Divine. Apparently this is where Orlok’s soul was before being resurrected (“darkest pit”). Which lead us back to Aleister Crowley beliefs (who personally identified with the Beast), because he claimed to have crossed the Abyss and battled with its guardian demon, to known Babalon’s embrace.

As I talked about in my original post about Occult references in Ellen’s character in the 2024 adaptation, we see a lot of Babalon/Scarlet Woman elements in her narrative: her “hysterical fits” mirror the ritualistic trances of the “Scarlet Woman” (womb and sexual female energy empower her magic); she walks between the physical and the spiritual worlds, her connection with both “love” and “death”, she’s compared to supernatural creatures (“changeling girl”, “sylph”) and called a priestess of a Divine Feminine Goddess (Isis).

Orlok himself is described as a “beast” several times in the film; both by himself (loathsome beast), and Von Franz, who also mentions Ellen’s “dark bond with the beast”. He even growls and moves like a literal beast. To Crowley, the “Scarlett Woman” and “the Great Beast” are also titles in ritualistic Sex Magick; the “Scarlet Woman” is the High Priestess, and the “Beast” is the Hierophant. Which also fits Ellen (the priestess) and Orlok (warlock, black sorcerer) in “Nosferatu” (2024).

Ellen is also the one who can stop Orlok, according to Von Franz and the entire story. Why? Because it’s Babalon female energy that keeps the male Beast in check, in Thelemic occult tradition. They are complementary energies; creation/destruction; order/chaos; life/death; and so on. Babalon is the one who unleashes the Beast, who controls him and who tames him, like Ellen does with Orlok in the 2024 “Nosferatu” adaptation.

Why are Ellen and Orlok “fated”?

Because the “Great Beast” is destined for spiritual union with the “Great Whore” Babalon. The “Beast” is the consort of Babalon, per Thelemic occult tradition, established in 1904 in “The Book of Law” by Aleister Crowley. Which is why Orlok tells Ellen her passion is bound to him, as Babalon’s love is united with the Beast. Ellen’s destiny is being spiritually united with Orlok, hence why she’s meant for Death (“You are not for the living.”), and why she was so happy marrying Death in her prophetic dream.

“You run in vain! You cannot out-run your destiny!” Von Franz laughs in religious fervor as Thomas tries to save Ellen (I’ll talk about Thomas’ role in all of this shortly).

“Soon I will be no more a shadow to you. Your spirit was never enough. Soon our flesh shall embrace and we shall be as one.”

Babalon and the Beast represent the Mysteries of Polarity, Sex, and “Otherness”. In Thelemic tradition, the “mysteries of sex” = “mysteries of death”. Robert Eggers has said the themes of “sex and death” are central to his adaptation of “Nosferatu”, hence the “Death and the Maiden” motif at the end. So there’s that, too.

“Tonight you denied yourself.” Orlok tells Ellen when they meet face-to-face for the first time. And he gives her three nights for her to, essentially, accept her own nature, a nature she denies (“you deceive yourself”). We have all of these occult themes underneath a vampire horror story, but they are still there.

What’s Orlok purpose? What does “surrender to the darkness” means?

He’s the Beast, after all. He wants to be joined with the earthly manifestation of Babalon, Ellen, who’s his spiritual consort. Which also fits the theme of “bride of Dracula” from Bram Stoker’s story. He wants Ellen to accept her real nature.

From a occultist point of view, the point of Orlok and Ellen’s final scene is not him sucking her blood, nor her apparent superficial sacrifice to save her town (a town who hates her and never accepted her and upon which she unleashed this beast and his blood pague as punishment) It’s about them having sex, their bodily and spiritual union. This is Sex Magick bordelining on Tantric sex.

Ellen (earthy manifestation of Babalon) has sex with Orlok (earthly manifestation of the Great Beast) and she has a powerful orgasm (“her cup […] aflame with love and death”). As Crowley wrote: “in this cup are mingled the elements of the sacrament of the Aeon”. “Aeon” is like a spiritual age. It’s Babalon ecstasy when she has sex with the Beast that manifests the beginning of a new age for mankind, according to Thelemic tradition.

“He is coming” has a whole different meaning now, does it? This walking corpse really traveled miles to have sex with this woman and birth a new age.

And that’s why the sun (Egyptian God Horus) is the end result of Ellen and Orlok’s union. Crowley believed the “Aeon of Horus” (collective) would succeed the “Aeon of Osiris” (religion). The “Aeon of Horus” is the same as the “Age of Aquarius” for “New Age” believers; where mankind will be closer to harmony, egalitarianism, and understanding. Eggers took a 1922 story and gave it an entirely new meaning.

Both Ellen and Orlok make the ultimate blood sacrifice to complete their covenant (by physically dying), because this is a demonic love story, after all. Where did their spirits go? No idea. There’s many theories about the true identity of the “Great Beast”, with some saying it’s the Devil himself. Did they go to the “abyss”, “Hell”, “Underworld”? Probably.

Dove/Serpent and Love

Ellen: “You cannot love.” Orlok: “I cannot. Yet, I cannot be sated without you. Remember how once we were? A moment. Remember?” Ellen: “I abhor you.” Orlok: “You are false! [...] Tonight you denied yourself.”

Many didn’t see any “love” between Ellen and Orlok in this adaptation, but we, once again, have to return to Aleister Crowley Thelema:

“Love is the law, love under will. Nor let the fools mistake love; for there are love and love. There is the dove, and there is the serpent. Choose ye well!" Aleister Crowley, “Book of the Law”

There are several interpretations of what this actually means, but Robert Eggers appears to be going by the Ophidian Thelema interpretation in his adaptation of “Nosferatu”, so that’s what I’m going to be talking about here. 

“There is the dove, and there is the serpent.”

“He is Infinity… Eyes shining like a jewelled diadem. Putrescence. Asphyxience. Devourance. […] He shall cast upon you curses, confusion, affliction and rebuke.” (Pigeons and doves are from the same family bird)

Herr Knock eats the head of the pigeon/dove in a very graphic way in the film, killing it. Dr. Sievers asks him why he does this. There's no verbal explanation. The occult explanation it's him not choosing the "dove" in this Thelemic dichotomy of dove/serpent ("choose ye well!").

The “Dove” is religion and its worship. Crowley saw the "law of the dove” as repressed Christian love: pure and divine. It’s blind and obedient love, taught in religious circles, but also peaceful and harmonious, like the “Holy Spirit”. It’s brotherly love, as well. This is what Herr Knock rejects, and what Ellen has with Thomas and Anna.

“You mustn’t leave, I love you too much!” "My heart is lost without my Thomas." “From our love, I became as normal.” “I love Thomas.” “Our love was supposed to be sacred.” “Let him see. Let him see our love!” 

Thomas and Ellen share pure and Christian love, sanctified by marriage, as they made a holy oath before God (sacrament).

She tries to be the obedient wife (as Anna is to Friedrich), but her passionate nature sometimes betrays her: "The honeymoon was yet too short! Take off your shoes." Friedrich Harding jokes she doesn't want Thomas to be leave because "her dashing young husband is leaving her bedside cold". and calls her nature "ardent". She wants passionate and hungry love: Thomas' pecks and small kisses are not enough for her (as we see in the 2023 script). He also dismisses her worries as "fancies" and part of her medical condition ("melacholia"), and she promises to be "good" for him.

"Leni, your words spring from your honest heart." “I love her. She’s blameless of her malady.” "Our friendship is a precious balm to my heart." / "Thank you for loving me.” 

Anna and Ellen share sisterly love, and while Anna tries to be supportive of Ellen, again, her nature sometimes puzzles the God-fearing Anna, even thought she dismisses it as part of her “condition” like Thomas does: “My sweet romantic” or “Leni, please. For the sake of the children – Christmastide is upon us. Why must you remain so exasperatingly contrary?!”

Like Herr Knock literally kills the pigeon/dove, this is the “love” Orlok means to kill in Ellen's life, as well: “Love is inferior to you.” and “Tonight you denied yourself, and thereby you suffer me to vanish up the lives of those you love.”

The “Serpent” is Spirit with its devotion, wisdom and delight. While the “Dove” descends; the “Serpent” rises. It's the fire from below, kundalini (divine feminine energy from Hindu tantrism) ascending to reach the higher planes, it's Eros, it's lust: erotic sexual love. It’s physical and animalistic expression of love. It’s sexual ecstasy, passionate and hungry love. It’s spiritual and transformative love, the circle of life and death, and rebirth (immortality).

Ellen: I have felt you like a serpent crawling in my body. Orlok: It is not me. It is your nature.

"My vocation is the Serpent", says Babalon. Which explains why Orlok says "love" (as in "law of the dove") is inferior to Ellen. This is the love Ellen and Orlok share, it's beastly, sexual and ravishing love. As she tells Thomas: "You could never please me as he [Orlok] could."

But this side of Ellen is not accepted by Christian society and religion (as we see with every character in the film, aside from Von Franz and Orlok), and causes her deep and great shame. And to understand this, we need to understand the historical context where this story takes place: the Victorian era, where women weren't supposed have sexual desire (even within marriage it should be modest and contain).

“There is something I must tell you. Something so loathsome, so base. […] He is my shame! He is my melancholy! He took me as his lover then, and now he has come back. He discovered our marriage and has come back!”

In Thelemic tradition, the Beast will be harsh once he arrives (duh?), as we see Orlok forcing Ellen to accept her own nature, which is also a part of Thelemic tradition, by the way.

But “love”, according to Crowley, is “harsh” as well, as he defines it as “love may best be defined as the passion of Hatred inflamed to the point of madness, when it takes refuge in Self-destruction.” Which explains why Ellen says she abhors (hates) Orlok: what they had was so intense and passionate “it turned to torture, it would kill me” (self-destruction) as she confesses to Thomas. 

Also, the fact, like she reveals to Von Franz, that her father caught her naked and chastised her as a "sinner" and it’s implied he institutionalized her (in an asylum or something), probably adds to the mix of her seemly hatred for him, since this is a clear reference to masturbation. "I'm unclean!" Ellen cries out.

Orlok cannot love as in the "law of dove", he loves as in the "law of serpent" (I cannot be sated without you). Ellen, as a manifestation of Babalon, loves both ways, because the Dove (Thomas and Anna) is love, and the Serpent (Orlok) is love. At the end, she reconciles with that fact, spiritually.

Orlok: “Do you accept this, of your own will?” Ellen: “I do.” Orlok: “Then the covenant is fulfilled. Your oath re-pledged.” Ellen: “Yes.” Orlok: “As our spirits are one, so too shall be our flesh. You are mine.”

In Thelemic tradition, every action of the Beast is performed out of love under will, because "love is the law", and "do what thou will shall be the whole of the Law".

What does this mean?

“Thelema” literally means “will”, and establishes every person has their own unique, individual and autonomous will. Each individual has the right and responsibility to find out their purpose, and to achieve it. Which explains why Orlok says the compact commands Ellen must willingly re-pledge her vow. “She cannot be stolen.” 

The ordeal of Thomas with the gold and Orlok doesn’t mean anything really, it’s a red herring in the narrative. First, because Thomas and Ellen are married, which is a holy sacrament, and the reason why more fervorous Christians don’t believe in divorce it’s because this sacrament can’t be dissolved, unless by a crime against God.  Adulterous sex with an undead vampire will probably do it.

By Thelemic tradition, Orlok forces Ellen to accept her destiny, as a earthly manifestation of Babalon, fulfilling his own role as the Beast. He removes Ellen's mask and exposes her true nature, and he does this out of love, because love is active and is how one discovers their purpose. Which is why Von Franz speaks about how the “maiden gave her love to the beast” and “redeemed them all”. 

[threepandas]

Bad End: In Bad Faith

Summoning spells hurt.

Reality? It doesn't want to let you go. Whether you see it or not, you are attached. Part of the very fabric of the universe. Your atoms blending into the mess that is creation, on a level so small, that the human eye can not possibly catch it. Where you begin and end? Doesn't. Not really.

We are part of a tapestry, incomprehensible in scope. Mere designs. Details. Parts of it's ever sprawling beauty and horror. And? Woven in as we are? Part of it, as we are?

It does not want to let go.

Will, in fact, FIGHT not to let go. To Summon? Is an unnatural act. Many, foolishly, believe it's not. But... that is because they mistake Transportation magics with Summoning. With swapping a design's location upon the weave... with ripping it OUT.

In one? You take what is not yours. In the other? You're just rearranging what's there.

Nature (and indeed, the very Gods themselves) abhor Summonings, along with the vacuums they create. So, one must ask; How could they be called "Holy"? Such a painful, unnatural, divinely detested thing? Who in their right mind, would EVER do such a thing? Would cross the very Gods, as Summon in Their Name?

King's of course.

High Priests of the Holiest of Temples. Rich in gold and jewels, power and influence. Full of decadence and the surety of their own pure, pure souls. So much BETTER then the masses. So much HIGHER then the rabble. Poisoned on their own twisted faith. When given the choice between their God and Power? Faith and Fortune?

They would not be able to hear their God screaming, were he to stand right in front of them. But of course, they act in HIS Name.

I can feel it. Day in and day out. He looks upon his so called "Chosen" and is SICK.

Summoning hurts. My body, my soul, torn and stretch between to places. Until something gave. Were it not for the mercy of My God? I would have arrive at this end in chunks. A paste! Shredded beyond comprehension, killed beyond even mortal flesh. My very SOUL would have-!

The Universe SCREAMED as I was torn out of it. Like a fist full of fabric, made of person, of living flesh and bone, was gored out of a living thing. It was a disembowling. A calculated mauling. All burning light and tearing void. Chanting voices that dragged like hooking chains.

I... I can't even remember what I was doing that day. The sheer pain of it all? Overwhelms everything else in my memories. Left me delirious and weak. A puppet to be hoisted up and declared holy. A success. Stripped of my old clothes and anointed in oils and silks, finery and holy things.

A Holy Maiden.

In response, of course, to the King's Holy Maiden. Which was supposedly delivered by the God of Shining Light. She is very... perky, I am told. A plucky and endearing child. For all she is treated as some woman grown. She... she means well, even as she blunders through messes of her own creation. It is easy to tell. But all told? Anyone can tell you. She sounds... young. So very young.

Gods, what is she even DOING here? What are either of us? Every day, I can only pray the girl is safe. Because? I know. I know, I can not help her.

I am trapped.

She is trapped.

Whether she realizes it or not. Can see past the pretty smiles and fancy set dressing, to the unrelenting iron bars she can't escape. Though her chains are gilded and far longer then my own. She is a prop, a tool, in the hands of power. We both are. And neither of us asked to be, were given a choice. No... no we were simply taken from our homes.

Sometimes...? I catch the edges of something familiar. Beyond the Temple that is my cage. Hints of news or bits of gossip. When Worshipers or servants don't notice me nearby. I think? Possibly. We may have landed in an Otome game, her and I. But I can not be certain. It may simply be the only framework I have, for situations like this.

I wonder what my role is, in all this. If I even have one. Since I am kept like a trinket and holy trophy. Adored but not obeyed. No purpose beyond my supposed Holiness. Worshipped AT in the place of the God they know damn well they have angered. Though, through out all this? And, out of all of them? Worst, of all of them? Is the man who... who covets me.

There really is no other word for it, with the way he behaves. What else could it one call it? As he haunts the gilded cage he has created. The way his eyes track me, obsessive and cataloging, predatory and hunting. Picking apart my every action for meaning, for preference.

Trying to pry from me, my every thought and desire. As if to crack open my mind and read it's secrets. As though observing some sweet little creature, in it's natural habitat; And not his prisoner, in the pretty little cage he had made.

Forcing me to choose, again and again, between pretending not to notice? And engaging once again with my captor. Knowing all the while, if I so much as smile? Dared to so much as soften my expression?

I would be flooded, by whatever had caught me eye.

A lovely flower? Every room would be choked by them. Buried by them. The gardens filled and filled, until I begged for change. A good meal? I would get nothing else. Over and over, until all joy was stripped of it. Until I was sick of it. Could no longer stand the sight of it. Clothing, books, or paintings? Piles fit to beggar nations.

But the gods forbid, I EVER smile at people. Oh no. They were unworthy, you see.

The Grand Priest? Did not like when the filthy, unworthy, sacrilegious masses, dared to touch HIS Most Holy Maiden Of The God's. Or when I noticed them. Looked at any of them too long. Was "forced" to acknowledge they even existed. Gods forbid speaking to them! A sermon to the faithful was one thing! That could be allowed, if they purified themselves throughly, but the unwashed masses?

Gods, No.

Absolutely no such sacrilege would take part on HIS watch! By his word, his decree from on high, it was verboten.

It was...

Unquestionably, I knew, it was the antithesis of the Gentle Dark. That very God that had held my soul together. Through his unnatural summoning; That Very God, he SUPPOSEDLY swore too? Worshipped? Everything I prayed too. Reached my soul out too, in His kindness? For just a moment's escape? That very God.

From my God, to whom I prayed. Who anchored me, in these uncertain waters. All I could feel was His concern. For me, whom he could do little to aid. And His disgust. At what was being done in His name. As though rot had been smeared upon His flesh, vile and abhorrent. He recoiled, sickened, reaching for the safety of distant, faithful halls.

"Praying again, most Holy?" Came from the shadows, cool and soft. A pleasant voice to match a pleasant appearance. As though that was all that held meaning. "Even in your diligence and purity, you can not live on prayer alone, most Holy. I am afraid we will have to end you prayers for the day. So that you may eat. This humble servant has brought you offerings to choice from..."

He trailed off meaningfully. Wanted me to ask. A favorite game of his, this little trick. A verbal set up. Prompting you to ask this or that, engage him just a bit more, here or there. Get dragged into talking to him, dispite not wanting anything to do with him. He dangles bait. Shiny and enticing, just within reach. Hoping you'll take it.

Like a fishing lure.

No, actually, I don't want to know what dinner is. I, in fact, SHALL ignore why you call them "offerings". Yes, I DO plan to refuse to engage. Grey wall. Nonresponse, just all the way down. Boring, really.

You may be able to keep me here? But by the Gentle Dark, I CAN make this as miserable for you as possible. There shall be no Happy Little Family charades. No "content within my cage." No playing along to appease you.

(Quitely, but with FEELING, I say onto you! Get FUCKED.)

"A night of contemplations, I see. Understandable. Heavy are the shoulders that hold the heavens." That's Blasphemy, you heretical BASTARD. With a capital "B". To BOTH! No. NO. Do not engage. It's what he wan-! "You will be relieved, then, to know we are one step closer to disposing of that heretical whore."

I twitched. Hands squeezing each other until they were a white knuckled grip, to keep me from lashing out. Breathing in deep and slow, to try and fill my lungs with patience. The strength needed, not to not lash out. My jaw clenching hard as it battled the words snarling to escape.

(You leave that CHILD THE FUCK ALONE, YOU CREEP. She is sixteen! Seventeen AT BEST! She SHOULDN'T BE HERE! Should be safe. Meeting up with friends or chatting about interests. As she lounges, safe, at HOME. Going to school! Not getting dragged into politics! Tarted up and told to play soilder! Made a FUCKING RELIGIOUS LEADER!!!)

(Inside me, the Gentle Dark seethes and howls. Who is this man? To try and kill a Protected Child of The God's own Brother? What is Dark without Light? Light without Dark? Who are THEY to suggest the gods want anything but Balance?!)

Rising to my feet, I can not stay here. If I do, I may try and bludgeon my captor with an alter bowl. Desperately careful not to take my rage out on the alter before me, I run through the steps to finish my prayers. Gently. Gently. My God does NOT deserve misdirected wrath. Through gritted teeth, I force my breathe to be even. With tense muscles, I refuse to so much as look at him.

I DESPISE.

"How beautiful."

Like vile spiders and the sweeping prick of claws, his foul admiration sweeps over me. Disgusting. Hateful. Abhorrent and unholy. It is as though, the colder I become? The angrier and more disdainful? The more captivated, he becomes.

Twisting and twisting me, into some sort of disdainful god for him to worship. Abusing this soft house of benevolence, to make his self-harm somehow Holy. Coveting the Divine even as he refuses Them. It is... horrifying. A soul deep wrong.

A kinder woman would seek to understand "WHY?"...

I am not that kinder woman, I think.

"You are angry that I failed you, when all you ask of me is worship. Unity." He declares to my back. Once again projecting what he wants to believe, regardless of what I do or do not say. I have already given up trying. He lives in his own delusion, prefers it really. "Forgive me."

Ignoring him, I begin to walk away. Let him monolog in peace. Talk to the Idea of me, if he's so desperate! He can paint my face upon a wall, for all he needs my ACTUAL input. Sadly, however, I do not get far. With a swish of silks, knees hitting marble, my skirt train is caught in covetous hands. Jerking me to a stop. I turn.

"Ah..." He is kneeling, as though praying at my feet, my skirt's edge pressed to his face. His voice is... almost a sigh. Monotone, yet dancing the edge of obscene. "Oh, Most Holy, forgive your most loyal dog. Look only at me, I serve only thee, does my worship not please you?"

"Do you want more?"

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. There was fire and death there. Madness and burning. Religious zealotry churned and twisted into obsession, with his self made God. What did he even see? When he looked at me? It was almost... ironic. That the Grand Priest of the Gentle Dark, would BURN with such Scorching.

The Priests of the Shining Light would have noticed. Would have warned him. Helped him. No doubt why he avoided them. The monsters of their Gods, clouded his mind... and yet? And YET?

He was a Grand Priest.

No beast could take his soul, that HE did not ALLOW.

He was a monster of his own becoming. I wondered... in this moment... was THIS how he gained the power to Summon me? What damned DEALS did he MAKE? Does he seek to corrupt me? Turn me from the Gentle Dark to the Endless Dark? Something crueler? Colder still?

Disgust. Refusal. Rage.

"Oh." His voice wavered, obscene as he sucked in air, even as his eyes widened up at me. Hands reflexively clenching at my skirts. A jagged grin, of too many teeth, slowly carved its way across his face. Transfixed. Unhinged. As he shuddered.

"Magnificent, my Goddess. So Pure. So Clean. Mine and mine alone. I alone, am Worthy. Your most loyal soldier. Your most DEVOUT worshiper. I will give you the World. Everything, my queen. My lady. My Master of the heavens. Ha ha ha! Mine."

"All mine!"

"Amen."

[gayleviticus]

i often found the framing of 'God sacrificed his Son for the world' frustrating when I was younger - even though it obviously is true and biblical - because I thought the way it gets spouted ignores the far more interesting and compelling truth that God (the Son) sacrificed himself for the world.

but i think both perspectives are important - not just because the Trinity necessitates both that God is the sacrificer and the one sacrificed - but because they shine complementary light on the kind of love present in the crucifixion.

In Jesus we see God sacrificing himself; giving up power and glory and riches in helplessness. God chooses to un-God himself (in the sense of suffering pain and death, the very antithesis of divinity - not in the sense Jesus isn't God) for us.

And in the Father we see God sacrificing the very person he loves most. i think if there's one thing that the popularity of Pieta scenes, with Mary cradling her dead son, shows is that this kind of sacrificial love is also something that resonates with people. There is nothing in the cosmos which is more precious to God the Father, nothing as beautiful or wonderful - and yet that doesn't get in the way of his love. There's a kind of interesting paradox; God loves us so much, he will give up the one he loves most for us.

And that makes God's sacrifice on the cross so much richer - not just the pain of death, but the pain of loss; not just the pain of abandonment, but the pain of watching the horrors unfold.

(now if someone else can shed light on whether the Holy Spirit adds an extra dimension to this I'd love to hear it)

[charliemwrites]

Nikto never doubted the horrors that men can do, he lives as a testament to it as both the victim and the perpetrator. He has suffered at the hands of those who felt justified, and justified the blood that stains his hands too. So he never doubted or questioned the idea of someone causing cruelty in the name of some Holy, Pure, Divine thing. But he never truly understood it either. But then: you. You, who did the impossible of resurrecting this dead man with only your two hands and your sweet voice, a miracle that no church could truly comprehend. And suddenly, Nikto understands why the crusades were undertaken, why Abraham was so willing to kill his beloved son in the name of his Holy Savior, why Cain would kill his brother in a desperate bid for the attention of that which he deemed worth worshipping. Nikto has long since thrown himself at the feet of your alter, ready to all that you’ve demanded of him (even when you are unaware that you are doing so), filled with an all-encompassing need to prove himself to you. And when he comes across you, with crystalline rivers flowing from your eyes and deep red ichor escaping from your veins, he is reminded of how rage and violence can feel like the purest act of worship, how destruction can feel like creation when done in the name of the humble and divine. But your voice reaches him through the maddening haze of bloodlust, just as it always has and always will, and you give him his third commandment: “Stay, please. Nikto, I’m scared and I’m hurt, please, I need you to help me first”. So he does. Uncertain of how, because destruction always came much easier to him than creation, he tries to help. And when he sees you, safe and alive and still divinely stunning, knowing that he ensured that possibility, he felt pride. And he carved the new commandment under the other two, a simple “helping her comes before revenge” now adorning his wall, he feels accomplished.

He feels even more accomplished when he leaves the ones who left you like that in a state worse than his own, suffering immensely for every tear they caused and every drop of your blood they spilled. After all, you never forbade him from this act of devotion.

- commandments anon 😘

GOD the devotion that Nikto has for reader…. I’m def gonna have to update soon.

[derangedrhythms]

How (Not) to Speak of God who has tried to reach us, who will do anything to reach us who is enough, who is more than enough who should be extolled with our sugared tongues who knows us in our burnished windshields as we pass who remembers the honey-colored husks of the locust who knows the scent of dust, the scent of each sparrow whose shadow does not flicker under streetlights who can feel without exaggerating anything who will care when the iridescent flies swarm toward us who shall be as the wings of the dove, its coppery shadows who waits in the midst of the mosquitoes who devoured the fruit of our ground, the skin of the overripe pears who saw the world incarnadined, the current flowing whose face is electrified by its own light who could be a piece of flame, a piece of mind shimmering who can feel without eroticizing everything who will pity us when the bees disappear into their shadows who loves the dank earth, its wolves and its tigresses

Mary Szybist, from 'Incarnadine'

[lets-try-some-writing]

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

Based off this post. Enjoy this short little thing.

Many times the Matrix was given, and many times its bearers writhed in agony at its touch. The priests told them they were worthy.

But Optimus knows he is not.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The priests always said that he was worthy. Like every Prime before him, Optimus's frame forever ached with the weight of the holy relic he bore. Fire leapt in his fuel lines. His hydraulics burned with exertion that he had done nothing to earn. Every waking moment was a form of torture as the relic within him made its opinion quite clear.

He was not worthy.

━━━━━━

"Your station is the most holy on all of Cybertron. Bear this weight with pride." The priests smiled as he passed, gilded in gold and draped in fine cloths. The people cheered as they saw him step out of the Citadel. He despised it.

They did not know the pain that came from carrying the relic within him. They did not know that just like every single Prime who came before him, he was not intended for this station.

"Rise, Optimus Prime." The head priest blessed him as he stood before the masses. The Matrix burned within his spark chamber, reminding him that he did not belong.

"Glory to the Empire!" The people shouted in joy. Optimus remained still, his battlemask ever present as he watched the celebration. Whispers spoke in the back of his mind, murmurs offering wisdom even as his spark flared in quiet agony.

The price he paid for divine knowledge was high. Such was the consequence of imposing on Primus's most holy.

━━━━━━

"You make an excellent Prime." Ratchet smiled as Optimus passed by. The doctor affixed his brooch to his cape, and while the act was tender, the Matrix thrummed in warning. If his corrupted form was to taint the divinity of the Primes, he was to have no joy.

"Now we can make some real change!" Ironhide exclaimed with glee as he patted Optimus on the back. Optimus nodded, but he did not smile. He was not allowed to smile. The Matrix was clear.

Every decision he made was done with agony clouding his thoughts. He learned to stop twitching when the Matrix caused his nerves to shoot with pain. He quickly silenced his instinctual cries when his plating felt so tight around him that he might suffocate.

"You alright Prime?" Jazz asked after one long cycle of legislation discussion. Optimus said nothing. Voicing his pain would bring only suffering to those around him.

"Of course." He answered simply. Jazz didn't believe him. No one did.

━━━━━━

"The Decepticons have turned Kaon into a fortress. It won't be long until they march on Tarn too." Prowl frowned as he hunched over a map. Optimus stood still, his vision hazy as ghostly forms surrounded him. Their glares were so intense that he couldn't help the way his plating flared.

"You are not worthy." They whispered as Optimus pointed out a location on the map, the knowledge of his unworthy predecessors guiding his thoughts.

The forms of the old gods pressed up against him, their ghostly frames burning everywhere they touched. The only ones who did not harm him where those who shared his fate. Countless presences wrapping around him and shielding him from the wrath of the ancient horrors that denied him the holy rank he had been forced to bear.

"Send our forces to the northern border and prepare for war. Cybertron will not fall." The ghostly optics never left him as he made his declaration. They held no love for him.

━━━━━━

"Sir, we need you." Ultra Magnus reached out, touching Optimus's shoulder as he looked out over the remains of the burning city of Rodion. It had all happened so fast. The flames of war engulfed their world before he had the chance to react.

"Please Prime, guide us." His Council begged, pleading with what they saw as the most holy for salvation. Optimus had nothing to give. The Matrix denied him. He could give no blessings or assurances.

"Optimus, what are we going to do?" One by one his companions came to him for comfort. Optimus's spark burned with righteous fury every time he offered another battle plan instead of some sort of prophecy, a promise of peace.

His frame forever burned. The Matrix cursed him, but the people needed him.

He would make himself worthy, if only to give his people something to cling to.

━━━━━━

"Energon shortages are increasing. This war is devastating the planet." Perceptor noted clinically. The rest of the war council grew grim. They knew how far their people had fallen. Centuries of war were killing their world and they all knew it.

"If a true Prime had been chosen, this would have never come to pass." The old gods whispered, their digits digging under his plating and setting his circuits alight with agony. Optimus did not react. He had long learned to remain silent when the Matrix saw fit to punish him for his hubris.

How a mortal could have ever dreamed of carrying the Matrix was beyond him. And yet, he had to be worthy. Whatever the Matrix said, his people needed him. Perhaps he was not a proper Prime, but he was all that remained.

He would tear himself apart to be worthy of the mantle he bore.

━━━━━━

"Optimus, your frame is falling to pieces! You need to rest!" Ratchet demanded as Optimus stood watch. His digits were shaky, as was now his regular state of being. His plating was cracked, his hydraulics were weakened, his optics strained more with every passing cycle. Already he had been forced to permanently wear his mask just to hide his eternal frown. It hurt too much to pretend anymore. Such was the curse of his station.

The longer he stood in the place of a divine, the more he deteriorated. All those who came before him fell this way. Optimus merely endured because he had to.

"Pride shall be your downfall oh foolish mortal." Their whispers forever haunted his audials. He could hardly recharge anymore. And yet, while Megatron still reigned, he could not falter.

"Orion, please, this has got to stop." Jazz pleaded with him as they prepared to leave Cybertron. He wasn't sure if Jazz meant the war or his increasing distance from his troops. Optimus wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He had to be worthy... there was no other choice.

━━━━━━

"Prime." Megatron met his gaze, and Optimus returned it. What was the use in fighting anymore? After so very long, they had new concerns. Cybertron needed to be restored. Their war was irrelevant.

"Let us get this over with." Optimus murmured as the words of the Matrix drowned out all else. He wished it could all end.

His frame was battered and he had not recharged properly in millennia. His life was one of pain. The Matrix never allowed him a moment's rest, not while he defiled it with his very existence. Over and over it murmured-

"You are not worthy."

He knew it, and he believed it.

━━━━━━

"Sup OP!" Hot Rod held out his first, an Earth custom that he had picked up from Primus knows where. Optimus stalled as the eternal whispers quieted. Hot Rod tilted his helm in confusion as Optimus reached up with shaky digits to wipe at his face.

It didn't hurt anymore.

"You are worthy." His voice was breathless as his knees felt weak. Megatron came to support him as Optimus struggled to stand upright. The pain had begun to fade. The Matrix sang with joy as he set his gaze upon the warrior before him.

"Prime, you alright?" Hot Rod nervously came forward, unsure how to act. Optimus retracted his mask. Those gathered gasped as Optimus dropped to a knee, a smile on his face.

"You are worthy." He repeated, echoing the words of the gods within him.

"What? I don't get it? What's going on?" Optimus continued to smile as the Matrix pulsed within him. He knew what it desired and he had no interest in denying it. Soon, very soon.

Soon he would not need to be worthy.

━━━━━━

Vorns came and went. Optimus endured the pain. Hot Rod needed more time. He was not prepared for his station, not yet. The Matrix flared every time he approached the warrior, prodding but not demanding, not yet.

But finally, after what felt like an eternity, the time had come.

"Hot Rod, will you accept this station?" Optimus asked, and the warrior before him paused. The mecha gathered around paused in their steps, dropping whatever they were doing to stare. Optimus had come from nowhere. He could see why they were concerned.

However, he could not wait any longer. Not when salvation stood before him.

"I don't understand." Hot Rod stared in confusion. Optimus smiled.

"You will. For unlike me... you are worthy." His chest plating parted, the Matrix shone. For one in his functioning, Optimus felt its approval. This was the correct choice.

The relic tore away from him, and Optimus fell to a knee as he caught it and held it out to the mech before him. The Matrix burned his servos as he touched it, but the holy fire merely served to have him shake. His freedom stood before him.

Hot Rod reached out, his hesitation obvious up until he touched the relic. A smile spread across his face. He looked as though he had found a piece of himself long lost. Optimus smiled alongside him as the Matrix finally found its Prime.

"Rise, Rodimus Prime." A new Prime stood before him, holy flame his to command. Optimus relished in the flames that whipped across his plating. They burned, but not as the Matrix had tormented him for so long.

He was free.

He was not worthy.

But he did not need to be.

[cyberstole]

𝒜 𝒟𝐎𝐖𝐑𝐘 𝒪𝐅 𝐵𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐬.𝐭. 𝐠𝐢𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐧

a series of dialogue prompts from the 2021 dracula re-telling.  feel free to change pronouns as you see fit ! cw; gore, sexual themes, emotional abuse, & toxic relationships

❛ i never dreamed it would end like this. ❜ 

❛ there is no horror left in this world that can surprise me. ❜

❛ eventually, even your death becomes its own sort of inevitability. ❜

❛ i was so happy to be your marionette, at first. ❜

❛ am i sick to still think on you softly, even after all the blood and broken promises? ❜

❛ this is my last love letter to you, though some would call it a confession. ❜

❛ war is never valiant, only crude and hideous. ❜

❛ good. when life fails you, spite will not. ❜

❛ i will raise you out of the dirt and into queenship. and, i will give you your vengeance. ❜

❛ i wanted to break them, even more slowly and painfully than they had broken me, leave them bleeding out and begging for mercy. ❜

❛ water your mother’s flowers with their blood. ❜

❛ in this world, you are what i say you are, and i say you are a ghost. ❜

❛ bloodlust brings on a delirium that’s difficult to describe. ❜

❛ i have loved you too long to imagine you do anything without an ulterior motive. ❜

❛ i’ve never been looked at before. like that. ❜

❛ what is more lovely, after all, than a monster undone with want? ❜

❛ i was your little mouse, kept in a gilded cage until it was time for the cat to play. ❜

❛ i knew nothing except the strength of your arms and the scent of your hair. ❜

❛ your priest’s bedtime stories cannot account for us. ❜

❛ to know oneself, one’s limits and abilities, is its own power. ❜

❛ i was alone, and i was scared. i had no home left to speak of. ❜

❛ and god, how i adored you. it went beyond love, beyond devotion. ❜

❛ i wanted to dash myself against your rocks like a wave, to obliterate my old self and see what rose shining and new from the sea foam. ❜

❛ you turned a strong-minded girl into a pulsing wound of need. ❜

❛ what would you have me do, as ruler? ❜

❛ are you sure you aren’t a holy man come to lecture me on the sins of excess? ❜

❛ i was well-acquainted with violence by then. ❜

❛ but I had never outgrown my thirst for vengeance. ❜

❛ in my mind, i was god’s lovely angel of judgement, come to unsheathe the sword of divine wrath against those who truly deserved it. ❜

❛ you mocked my lofty aspirations, cynical as ever. ❜

❛ when will you give up this ridiculous crusade? ❜

❛ there was a darkness in your eyes and a tightness to your mouth i hadn’t noticed before—or perhaps hadn’t wanted to. ❜

❛ i would never leave you, my love. not for the entirety of my second life. ❜

❛ you seemed to me a fire burning in the woods. i was drawn in by your enticing, smoky darkness, a darkness that still stirs memories of safety, of autumn, of home. ❜

❛ it was like grasping at a flame. i never penetrated to the burning heart of you, only came away with empty, scorched fingers. ❜

❛ whenever we were apart, you left your essence caught in my hair, in my clothes. i scented the taste of it on the wind, I shivered and ached for it. ❜

❛ i was happy to spend countless lifetimes chasing the warmth coming off you, even though the haze was clouding my vision. ❜

❛ my piety was a sporadic, half-feral thing, sometimes lashing out at god with teeth bared, other times nuzzling against his loving providence like a kitten. ❜

❛ i felt my heart tumble down through my ribs and hit the ground. ❜

❛ it tortured me, how perfect you looked. i wanted to pull you behind the carriage and drain you dry. ❜

❛ i wanted to crawl between whatever was blossoming between the two of you and live there. ❜

❛ you’ve found cruelty to be an effective tool. ❜

❛ do you want her for your own? ❜

❛ ours is a solitary existence. it would be good for you to have a friend. ❜

❛ it’s as easy as breathing. one foot and then the other. and don’t overthink it. ❜

❛ you must never overthink any good and pleasurable thing. ❜

❛ you must sit with me tonight at dinner. i must have you close. i want us to be the best of friends. ❜

❛ i think i shall never marry, my lord. i will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows. ❜

❛ am i to be bidden to my own bed like a dog invited to beg at the master’s table? ❜

❛ desire makes idiots of all of us. but you already knew that part, didn’t you? ❜

❛ there was an uncontrollable fire in you that was hard to look away from, much less resist. ❜

❛ all vampires find some way to stave off the monotony of an endless life, with hedonism or asceticism or a rotating door of lovers. ❜

❛ i’m talking about us, you and i. let’s be honest with each other, for once. ❜

❛ love was no girlhood game. it was an iron yoke, forged in fire and heavy to wear. ❜

❛ laying with you made me feel so vibrantly alive. it was almost enough to make me forget that i was already dead. ❜

❛ this is about your obsession with justice, isn’t it? ❜

❛ i was suspicious, and even more dangerously, i was curious. ❜

❛ i was the love that started it all, wasn’t i? ❜

❛ it has been a long time since i have felt clean. ❜

❛ like christ, i had become intimately acquainted with violence and the sins of the world, but i had not come away unblemished. ❜

❛ but it was not god who spoke.it was you. ❜

❛ you could have kissed me or slit my throat and either would have made as much sense. ❜

❛ i don’t know what I had been thinking, supposing i was strong enough to leave. ❜

❛ you made it into an art form, this quiet sort of violence. ❜

❛ i want to live. but i want to live in the world, not on the outskirts of it. ❜

❛ love is violence, my darling, it is a thunderstorm that tears apart your world. ❜

❛ love makes monsters of us, [ name ] and not everyone is cut out for monstrosity. ❜

❛ [ name], our sunlight, our destroyer. my prince cast in marble and gold. ❜

❛ he was as inevitable as a revolution, and heralded in just as much violence. ❜

❛ potential. you always loved that word. you were drawn to potential like a shark to blood. ❜

❛ look around you. what sort of life is this? ❜

❛ i craved you like maidens crave the grave, the way death burns for human touch: inconsolably, unrelentingly, aching for the annihilation in your kiss. ❜

❛ i still wanted to believe I was living in a fairy tale, that i laid down every night with a prince instead of a wolf. ❜

❛ before your time dear, just some dreadful victorians. ❜

❛ it took every ounce of self-control i had not to pin him down and tear out his throat. ❜

❛ the world has no place for us, we are wanderers by nature, lions among lambs. ❜

❛ we cannot exist only for each other. ❜

❛ i had never allowed myself to want this because i assumed it wasn’t a possibility. ❜

❛ i love you. look at me, [ name ], my jewel, my wife. i love you. don’t do this. ❜

❛ i was tired of waiting expectantly at your tomb every night for you to rise and bring light into my world once again. ❜

❛ i made you into my private christ, supplicated with my own dark devotions. nothing existed beyond the range of your exacting gaze, not even me. ❜

❛ i apologize if you were expecting contrition, my lord. i don’t have any to muster. ❜

❛ here's your demon, do what you will with him. ❜

❛ i think, someday, i would like to fall in love again. ❜

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe & Tianlang-Jun: Origins. And a Bit of Projection.

Disclaimer: This is basically just a collection of quotes from The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Volume 3, accompanied by (adjective) thoughts, and then even more relevant quotes listed at the end. If I could, I’d paste the entirety of Chapter 18.

“As expected, I can’t bring myself to hate humans.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 21: Always Together

I will always be conflicted on the topic of Tianlang-jun, and it annoys me. There is so much I could say about him, and so little I can successfully articulate. He is, to me, more confounding, complex and tragic than Shen Jiu.

He’s pitiful and awe-inspiring, wicked and affable, cunning and wide-eyed in his curiousity. He is a compelling, heartbreaking character. He alternates between emotionless wisdom and mournful apathy. I admire how his knees don’t buckle under the weight of his grief, but how he crumbles at the barest hint of hope. How rage claws at him and, still, he can’t figure out how to make it stick.

I empathise with him. I understand him.

But then, in the distance, Luo Binghe's indifferent voice disturbs the silence, causing me to drop my drink onto the floor and this post onto your screen:

“He’s not my father.”

It’s an interesting exercise, exploring their relationship in reconciliation fics. To see them interact (semi-)honestly, watch them take turns filling up the chasm between them. It’s wonderful. Every fic I’ve read centred around them was a delightful read that I still think about.

However. I cannot see Tianlang-Jun, as I understand him, as Luo Binghe’s father. And not just because of the 3rd Novel’s events.

But because Binghe had hoped for something; he did have that wide-eyed wonder. He did hold one last window open, for the sake of an improbability he couldn’t quite, just yet, dismiss.

It’s what (most) orphaned and/or adopted childred do.

Though Luo Binghe had never said a word about it before, Shen Qingqiu knew that he harbored some fantasies about his birth parents. […] In fact, he’d always secretly fantasized about whether his parents might still be alive, and how well they’d treat him, and how they’d never let him suffer the mildest slight. — Vol. 3, Chapter 17: Tianlang

It is the most human thing; to want to be helped, accepted, invited by those given to you. A family is given to you. Whether you believe it an act of the divine, of nature, of coincidence, it isn’t something you fight for. It’s the first and, arguably, only thing you don’t have to fight for in life.

Depending on a multitude of factors, that can be a blessing or a curse; but where there is room for interpretation, questions left unanswered, most childred—Binghe included—will turn to their imagination, and try to make sense of it. Usually, to comfort themselves, to reassure themselves that surely, if their family could, they would have.

And, yeah. Most likely, if the Palace Master had gotten punted into the Sun like he fucking deserved, they would have. But does it matter?

In the face of a bleak reality, what comfort is a could-have-been?

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. […] Luo Binghe was in fact…someone who was unloved by even his own parents. — Vol. 3, Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

What use are good intentions to an abandoned child? What consolation is it, to say, They gave birth to you, when that child has seen no evidence of their care? Does it dry their tears, that their mother can’t be here, but she surely would have wished to be? That their father would protect them, if only he knew of them?

(And don’t make me tell you about the visceral horror I felt reading the Origins chapter. I’ve yet to make my peace with it. MXTX, Airplane, whoever: you’ve ruined me.)

The washerwoman was and continues to be, to Binghe, his only mother. And I would argue, that’s healthy. Even independent of his other traumas (Abyss, Shizun’s betrayal, Xin Mo’s influence, living on the streets, etc, holy shit Binghe) Luo Binghe will not accept anyone else as his mother.

“Who is this Su Xiyan?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. “My mother was a mere washerwoman.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 18: Origins.

It may seem callous. It probably even is! But it is a healthy line he’d drawn by his own initiative. It’s what helps him, what he feels he needs to do in order to do right by his mother, and his own heart.

And! Tianlang-Jun doesn’t seem to give much of a shit, either!

Won’t, probably, even in the future, once the dust will have settled. He is exhausted, weary with carrying the corpse of his love, the loss of his nephew. Whatever goodwill he shows, it’s a perfunctory sort, because he can’t afford more.

So. Uhh.

Tianlang-Jun is not a character I can love, nor one I can hate. Usually, I can’t help but be inclined to love complex characters. Like them, too—though that’s more of an action-based thing rather than just said character’s personality.

But with Tianlang-Jun, I’m stuck whichever way I turn. If I want to love/like him, I’m drawn back by Binghe’s pain and disappointment. If I try to hate/dislike him, I’m drawn back by his own history and grief.

In conclusion:

I don't know! I'm not really trying to, like, prove anything. I still love the aforementioned TLJ & LBH fics, I still love their dynamic. I started walking and ended up exactly in the same space. This, perhaps, could be considered a Heavenly Demon Family Mobius Strip!

I'm not really trying to say anything. It just… makes me feel conflicted, and angry, and whenever I allow myself to think about it a bit more, sad.

But.

However!

Alas.

Nonetheless, even.

As a reader and—on my better days—a writer, all I can say is:

As promised/threatened: some selected passages, for your reading pleasure:

So, it looked like neither the father nor the cousin had any intention of acknowledging Luo Binghe. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand, took a look at Luo Binghe’s snow-pale face, and commented indifferently, “He looks like his mother.” “His eyes look like yours,” came a chill voice from the side. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

The faint hopes and dreams Luo Binghe had held in his heart for many years had been mercilessly pulverized into so much dust. […] [Tianlang-Jun] refused to speak a single word of their relationship and had been utterly ruthless back in the Holy Mausoleum. […] To his parents, Luo Binghe was an unwanted child. — Chapter 18: Origins

“If he was my father, why didn’t he bring it up earlier? Why not tell me?” The most Tianlang-Jun had said was that single line he offered while beating up Luo Binghe, devoid of either praise or criticism: “He looks like his mother.” He looks like his mother. What of it? But that was all. There was nothing more. — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “He’s not my father.” […] Luo Binghe shook his head. It was unclear what he was stubbornly clinging to, but he repeated, “He’s not my father.” — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe raised his smiling face, his eyes shining brightly. “Mother was the kindest person in all the world to me.” — Chapter 19: Shen Jiu

[merymoonbeam]

A Tool of Creation

CC3 spoiler. You have been warned.

In acomaf we learn that book of breathings was made to control the cauldron.

“When the Cauldron was made,” the carver interrupted, “its dark maker used the last of the molten ore to forge a book. The Book of Breathings. In it, written between the carved words, are the spells to negate the Cauldron’s power—or control it wholly. But after the War, it was split into two pieces. One went to the Fae, one to the six human queens. It was part of the Treaty, purely symbolic, as the Cauldron had been lost for millennia and considered mere myth. The Book was believed harmless, because like calls to like—and only that which was Made can speak those spells and summon its power. No creature born of the earth may wield it, so the High Lords and humans dismissed it as little more than a historical heirloom, but if the Book were in the hands of something reforged … You would have to test such a theory, of course—but … it might be possible.” (acomaf)

So...only made can use its magic.

Made = Feyre , Nesta and Elain

And later in the book we learn that the book is written in Holy Tongue—Leshon Hakodesh.

She stared and stared at the Book—as if it were a ghost, as if it were a miracle—and said, “It is the Leshon Hakodesh. The Holy Tongue.” Those quicksilver eyes shifted to Rhysand, and I realized she’d understood, too, why she’d gone. Rhysand said, “I heard a legend that it was written in a tongue of mighty beings who feared the Cauldron’s power and made the Book to combat it. Mighty beings who were here … and then vanished. You are the only one who can uncode it.” (acomaf)

Might beings: Daglan/Asteri

And this is confirmed in Hofas.

Amren turned to Rhysand and said in that new, strange language—their language: “The glowing letters inked on her back … they’re the same as those in the Book of Breathings.” (hofas)

Bryce's tattoo is in the holy language.

And later in hofas Rigelus says that it was his people's language.

“I can teach you things you’ve never even dreamed of,” Rigelus promised. “The language inked on your back—it is our language. From our home world. I can teach you how to wield it. Any world might be open to you, Bryce Quinlan. Name the world, and it shall be yours.”(hofas)

So the book of breathings can control cauldron and it can "open any world" to who can wield it.

Also in Hofas we learn that Asteri corrupted the Cauldron.

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage.(hofas)

So asteri turned it from tool of creation to tool of destruction.

Once upon a time...cauldron was good.

Can we use Book Of Breathings to uncorrupt the Cauldron? To bring it back to its natural "tool of creation" state?

In Hoeab we learn that the book of breathings is in crescent city. In jesiba's library.

Micah loomed over her. She stretched her arm out—toward the shelf. Her tingling fingers brushed over the titles. On the Divine Number; The Walking Dead; The Book of Breathings; The Queen with Many Faces …

Do we need to get book of breathings from crescent city? Is the crossover not over yet? Are IC going to think with bryce having the language of book of breathings tattooed to her body she might have had access to book of breathings at some point? Are we going back to cc in the next acotar book?

Also it is a great time to add that Cauldron is obsessed with Elain.

“You stole from the Cauldron,” I said to Nesta, who seemed ready to jump between all of us and Elain. “But what if the Cauldron gave something to Elain?” (acowar)

The Cauldron purred in Elain’s presence as the King of Hybern slumped to his knees, clawing at the knife jutting through his throat. Elain backed away a step (Acowar)

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain … Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. It retreated the moment Elain’s eyes fell on our dead father lying in the adjacent clearing. The moment the scream came out of her.(Acowar

Why did it give elain such powers? Does it want someone to see how it was corrupted? Does it want to turn into tool of creation state again? Does it see elain as its salvation? (As @riddlecrux talked to me about). All the others saw cauldron as a thing to be used. A thing to be control. But it was only elain who had never stolen from it as nesta did while she was in the cauldron. It found Elain so lovely that it gave her the seer ability.

And from acotar we know that elain look at things as hope.

I gazed again at that sad, dark house—the place that had been a prison. Elain had said she missed it, and I wondered what she saw when she looked at the cottage. If she beheld not a prison but a shelter—a shelter from a world that had possessed so little good, but she tried to find it anyway, even if it had seemed foolish and useless to me. She had looked at it that cottage with hope; I had looked at it with nothing but hatred. And I knew which one of us had been stronger. (Acotar)

So maybe all cauldron needs for someone to look at it with hope. Also @riddlecrux told me that in cauldron myths and legends someone goes willingly into the cauldron to destroy it. Maybe in this case someone willingly going inside it uncorrupts the Cauldron..."Through love all is possible"

And we know that Cauldron is the most important thing in acotar

“Long ago, before the High Fae, before man, there was a Cauldron … They say all the magic was contained inside it, that the world was born in it. But it fell into the wrong hands. And great and horrible things were done with it. Things were forged with it. Such wicked things that the Cauldron was eventually stolen back at great cost. It could not be destroyed, for it had Made all things, and if it were broken, then life would cease to be. So it was hidden. And forgotten. Only with that Cauldron could something that is dead be reforged like that.” (Acomaf)

And in Hofas we learn that Daglan/Asteri made the Cauldron a kill switch.

“Once we left our home world, our powers began to dim. Too late, we realized that we had been dependent on our land’s inherent magic. The magic in other worlds was not potent enough. Yet we could not find the way back home. Those of us who ventured here found ways to amplify that power, thanks to the gifts of the land. We pooled our power, and imbued those gifts into the Cauldron so that it would work our will. We Made the Trove from it. And then bound the very essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world.” Solas. “So destroy the Cauldron …” “And you destroy this world. One cannot exist without the other.”

In my Mystic&Seers post I connected The Void and Cauldron to each other.

I managed to stand. To take one step before I felt it. The … thing in the Cauldron. Or lack of it. It was lack and substance, absence and presence. And … it was leaking into the world.I dared a step toward it. And what I beheld in those ruins of the Cauldron… It was a void. But also not a void—a growth.It did not belong here. Belong anywhere. (Acowar)

The darkness paused. “You are impertinent as well. Do you not know where I come from? My father was the Void, the Being That Existed Before. Chaos was his bride and my dam. It is to them that we shall all one day return, and their mighty powers that run in my blood.” (hosab)

And from Hofas we know that the Void is actually a blackhole.

The only force in the universe that ate light, so strong no light could ever escape it. A portal to nowhere. To a black hole. Wasn’t that the unholy power that Apollion possessed? The power of the Void. The antithesis of light.

And you know how Elain was when she came out of the Cauldron?

She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained

The power of the Void...The antithesis of Light.

Elain got rid of that murkiness in her eyes. When Azriel understood what was wrong with her.

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed. He asked Elain, “There is another queen?”

Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.

Maybe thats all Cauldron needs. So maybe we just need to get rid of the Void, to make sure Cauldron returns to its natural state—a tool of creation.

Also in my Mystic&Seer posts. I looked up what Mysticism is.

Mysticism is popularly known as becoming one with God or the Absolute, but may refer to any kind of ecstasy or altered state of consciousness which is given a religious or spiritual meaning. It may also refer to the attainment of insight in ultimate or hidden truths, and to human transformation supported by various practices and experiences.

Cauldron is the absolute. We looked up that above.

The hidden truths part.

When theia and fionn overthorwn the daglan they didn't learn all their secrets.

They fought the Daglan and won, she went on. Using the Daglan’s own weapons, they destroyed them. Yet my parents did not think to learn the Daglan’s other secrets—they were too weary, too eager to leave the past behind.

And Cauldron made Elain a seer. Maybe to see to learn the other secrets The Daglan had?

We can't even ask Amren because her timeline doesn't even match.

In acosf we learn this.

Rhys shook his head. “Only vaguely now. From what I’ve gleaned, she arrived during those years before Fionn and Gwydion rose, and went into the Prison during the Age of Legends—the time when this land was full of heroic figures who were keen to hunt down the last members of their former masters’ race. They feared Amren, believing her one of their enemies, and threw her into the Prison. When she emerged again, she’d missed Fionn’s fall and the loss of Gwydion, and found the High Lords ruling.”

The problem is how can she go into prison when there was no...prison.

Silene made the prison what it was after she returned from Crescent City. So before fionn's fall...there were no Prison. Actually theia ruled from the Prison Island.

Our home had been left empty since we’d vanished. As if the other Fae thought it cursed. So I made it truly cursed. Damned it all.

One after another, I hunted monsters—the remaining pets of the Daglan—until many of the lowest rooms were filled with them. Until my once-beautiful home became a prison. Until even the land was so disgusted by the evil I’d gathered here that the islands shriveled and the earth became barren. The winged horses who hadn’t gone with my mother to Midgard, who had once flown in the skies, playing in the surf … they were nearly gone. Not a single living soul remained, except for the monstrosities in the mountain.

So even Amren doesn't know. She is even confused in hofas.

Amren picked at an invisible speck on her silk blouse. “It’s murky. I went in before …” She shook her head. “But when I came out, there were rumors. That a great number of people had vanished, as if they had never been. Some said to another world, others said they’d moved on to distant lands, still others said they’d been chosen by the Cauldron and spirited away somewhere.”

So who is better to learn these secret than a Cauldron Made seer?

Also in hofas we learn that Cauldron sits on top of Ramiel.

“The Cauldron,” Nesta said hours later, pointing to yet another carving on the wall. It indeed showed a giant cauldron, perched atop what seemed to be a barren mountain peak with three stars above it. Azriel halted, angling his head. “That’s Ramiel.” At Bryce’s questioning look, he explained, “A mountain sacred to the Illyrians.”

And from Acosf we know that nobody went to look at what lies under ramiel. Sure enough Eris says "secrets". Maybe like daglan secrets???

Eris shrugged, and Nesta knew Cassian monitored his every breath. “There are three of them, you know. Sister peaks. This one, the mountain called the Prison, and the one the Illyrian brutes call Ramiel. All bald, barren mountains at odds with those around them.”

Eris gave him a mocking smile, but continued, “Unsurprisingly, the Illyrians were never curious enough to see what secrets lie beneath Ramiel. If it, too, was carved up like the others by ancient hands.”

What if there is more to under ramiel than we thought? What if its a secret Daglan hideout? I went into detail and what could have inspired it in my Wild Hunt post if you want to read it.

Also we know from acosf that Enalius tried to stop the "enemy" from reaching the stone on top of Ramiel.

Emerie’s eyes shone. “Long ago—so long ago they don’t even have a precise date for it—a great war was fought between the Fae and the ancient beings who oppressed them. One of its key battles was here, in these mountains. Our forces were battered and outnumbered, and for some reason, the enemy was desperate to reach the stone at the top of Ramiel. We were never taught the reason why; I think it’s been forgotten. But a young Illyrian warrior named Enalius held the line against the enemy soldiers for days. He found a natural archway of stone amongst the tangle of boulders and made that his bottleneck. He died in the end, but he held off the enemy long enough for our allies to reach us. This Rite is all to honor him. So much of the history has been lost, but the memory of his bravery remains.”

It was forgotten? Or was it never learned? What if it wasnt The stone the daglan was trying to reach but Cauldron as we know it stood on top of Ramiel? What if they were trying to reach that?

We also learn more about Enalius in hofas.

“You are no creator of mine,” Azriel said coldly. The Starsword gleamed in his other hand. If they bothered him, if they called to him, he didn’t let on. Neither hand so much as twitched. The Asteri’s eyes flared with recognition at the long blade. “Did Fionn send you, then? To slay me in my sleep? Or was it that traitor Enalius? I see that you bear his dagger—as his emissary? Or his assassin?”

The Truth-teller was Enalius's dagger. How did Azriel come to possess it? And we know that after Enalius's dead Fionn took possession of it as it was his friends dagger.

My father had never shown himself to be giving—long had he kept Gwydion and never once offered it to my mother. The dagger that had belonged to his dear friend, slain during the war, hung at his side, unused. But not for long.

And we know that Elain used the TT to kill the King of Hybern.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had. Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

So how did Elain stepped out of a shadow?

The asteri under Prison says Azriel doesnt know it use—its full potential.

Vesperus took another step, steadier now, and smiled past Bryce. At Azriel, at Truth-Teller. “You don’t know how to use it, do you?” Azriel pointed the dagger toward the advancing Asteri. “Pretty sure this end’s the one that’ll go through your gut.” Vesperus chuckled, her dark hair swaying with each inching step closer. “Typical of your kind. You want to play with our weapons, but have no concept of their true abilities. Your mind couldn’t hold all the possibilities at once.”

True abilities? All possibilities? There is more than just creating a portal to nowhere with gwydion? Maybe that's how Elain could step out of a shadow? The "unknown" abilities of the Truth-Teller?

Also Autumn king says this:

“The Starsword is Made, as you called it.” He waved an idle hand, sparks at his fingertips. “The knife can Unmake things. Made and Unmade. Matter and antimatter. With the right influx of power—a command from the one destined to wield them—they can be merged. And they can create a place where no life, no light exists. A place that is nothing. Nowhere.”

As @offtorivendell theorised in her mating bond theory. Did the Asteri messed with the mating bonds too?

Can the Truth-teller unmake a mating bond? As it looks the cauldron was corrupted? It even ties to Book Of Breathings and what it said in acomaf:

Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade—that is the cycle. Like calls to like.

And don't ever forget that...

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?" 🫡