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seraphiism · 1 year

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐀

( i think of all that might have been / waiting here, for evermore. )

chara : belial fandom : granblue fantasy quote cr : dan stevens a/n : ty for the comm :^)

ACT ONE : IT IS A MYTH THAT ANGELS ARE BORN FROM PURITIES AND VIRTUES, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF A HIGHER BEING, AN ANGEL IS A BEAST, A BURDEN, A BRUTALITY : FRIGHTENING, MONSTROUS, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DAMNATION THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

belial is a curse in existence, created with intention but a failure in execution. how very fitting for him, a fallen angel that consumes every ounce of hatred and twists it into something so hideously and falsely beautiful. how his wings have darkened so, white muddled and stained with black. but that is not his true form, not the core of his existence, and should you ever ask to see it, he will laugh, and it will break your heart over and over again, just as much as it breaks his.

he is a feign divinity made of hypocrisy and deceptions ; in the knowing of you, he realizes that the ugly truth is that you are entirely the opposite of him – you are what an angel should be, yet you are human, and that is the vast difference that will tear you apart in the end.

“asking to see my truest self, are you?” his voice is low, taunting, yet there is a familiar affection laced beneath it. “haven’t you seen just enough of me?”

he’s always been one to hide his feelings, always been one to put on a facade, throwing another into confusion and chaos in order to carry out his true intentions. but you’ve never fallen for his tricks– not you, never you, he’s noticed, and you are far more stubborn and resilient than he expected. he simply smiles a teasing smile, but you almost wonder if you sense a melancholy resting on the curve of his lips.

“please,” you whisper, and surely it is the way you plead that sends a shiver down his spine, but he will lie, tell himself it’s the frigid air, “i want to see all of you.”

“oh, but don’t you understand why angels warn humans to not be afraid?” he asks, amusement clear in his voice. “what makes you think a fallen angel is any less frightening?”

your hand cups his cheek, tender, and he almost instinctively leans into your touch.

“i won’t be afraid, belial.”

he hums, content, takes your hand and presses a kiss against your wrist. your pulse quickens, and he cannot help but smile at the realization.

foolish being, he thinks, but at the end of it all, he does not know who he refers to.

( it is a very cruel thing, this version of love he is falling into : the innocence of need, the slow decay of fantasy in this swan song between beauty and beast. )

ACT TWO : IT IS A MYTH THAT BEAUTY IS BORN FROM VANITY AND EGOTISMS, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF SELF, THE BEAUTY IS THE HEART, A KINDNESS, A BENEVOLENCE : SELFLESS, MERCIFUL, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DELICACY THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

but love is a CURSE, and it is not something that belongs in the bloodied hands of the fiend. it is something he has sought after since the beginning of genesis, and in the failed creation’s mind, love has always been a distortion : maddening, mindless, but befitting for a beast. it was all he knew, all he felt, all he thought he deserved. but what he shares with you – it is so vastly different in its purest form : an acceptance, a relentless longing, the knowing that it will end in remorse and resignation, and the knowing that goodbye will be the right choice at the end of the line.

to have something this kind, to know it in the most cherished of ways – it is slipping through his fingers, slowly slowly slowly, and he knows it, yet he does not try to save it. it is not meant for the saving, this connection between souls, because the beast is a curse, woven with thorns, and the beauty is a blessing, a rose meant to bloom, not wither.

yes, belial thinks, you are his blessing. he almost laughs at the sentiment, bittersweet, decayed. it is only then that he, an angel with a venomous tongue, is allowed to speak such a virtuous word. maybe it is because of the way you sleep soundly in his arms, trusting enough to fall into a deep slumber in the presence of the devil in disguise, or maybe it is because of the rare peace that he hardly subjects himself to– how it sinks into the crevices of a broken being, restores them with gold, granting silent and temporary permission to something never meant to be.

maybe it is because of the warmth that settles in the little distance between your bodies, the feeling of your heartbeat a fascination due to the absence of his. belial has a still heart, frozen in experimentation gone wrong, yet there is something else that flourishes inside his chest, and it is so beautiful and terrifying all the same.

it is very much love that is a mass of contradictions, and he feels it in the way you place your heart in his hands, the aching of his claws itching for release. you know of this, you do, but you know he would never destroy what remains of your humanity.

you are meant for something good, something better. he is everything you should not have, and you are everything he wants to have.

you are not meant to be. he knows this, and so he decides this fairytale must come to an end, just as all stories do. it will not have a happy ending, but none of them do, do they? he smiles, a quiet, foreign sorrow somewhere in the depths of defeat.

he moves swiftly, carefully, as to not wake you. he watches your sleeping figure, feels this strange sharpness in his heart. he is not used to this kind of pain; there is no joy or thrill to be found in it, only a lingering grief he cannot understand. he tears his gaze away, turns to leave.

it is time for the curtain call.

“you’re leaving, aren’t you?”

he should have known you were pretending.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t turn around. you don’t expect him to, and maybe it’s better that way. your voice is heavy with exhaustion, but not surprise, and maybe you both have known that this is how it would end. he doesn’t speak, but you can almost imagine that idiotic, coy smile he puts on for show.

instead, he smiles a sad smile.

“better this way, hm?” he hardly looks over his shoulder, but he can feel your gaze nonetheless. “it was fun while it lasted.”

he is going to leave you, let you go, knowing you will seek happiness elsewhere. he has always been so sickeningly selfish, but for you, he will not be.

you will not convince him to stay, not now. but this is your story, too. you will control how it ends.

perhaps in another life, he muses, should there be one after this, you will coexist in a world where you are meant to be happy together. but not in this life. not in this world.

he leaves, and somewhere, a rose petal falls, slowly slowly slowly.

( yes, this fairy tale ends in remorse and resignation. yes, an angel reminds himself, goodbye is the right choice. )

ACT THREE : IT IS A MYTH THAT BEASTS ARE BORN FROM EVILS AND DEPRAVITIES, AND IN THE TRUEST FORM OF AN AVATAR, A BEAST IS A VULNERABILITY, A LONELINESS, AN ACHING : LOVELORN, HYPOCRITICAL, AND IN DESPERATE DESIRE FOR A DOOM THEY WILL CALL LOVE.

you occupy his thoughts more than you should, and even though you are apart, he still watches over you. from the skies, he ensures your safety, a bittersweet relief washing over him when he sees that you are healing from the hurt. he wonders if he is healing, too. he wonders if he made the right decision.

it is safer, better this way. a fallen angel has no place in the heart of a human. it doesn’t matter what he desires, what he wants.

he smiles, wonders what it would still be like, having you at his side. he does not dare admit he misses you– there’s no need to solidify the pain, acknowledge its unwanted presence.

love is a very cruel and tragic being, isn’t it?

something inside slowly unravels– it is not wrath that unleashes his true form, but perhaps it is a silent cry of mourning, this shift in appearance : the presence of thorns, so violently red, the markings that adorn his body, the black sclera. there is no need for it, but he does not choose to suppress it. he hums in forced amusement, closes his eyes. he wonders if you truly would have been fearless of him in this state. what a shame it is that he will never know.

time passes. he feels something strange in his chest– an unknown sensation, a jolt, and he wonders if that is the sensation of a beating heart. he opens his eyes to the familiar blue skies.

“you’re persistent. you’ve found me, after all.”

you stand behind him, and he can practically feel your sorrow, your frustration, that slight anger. when he turns around, he sees it all. from the moment he left, you knew you would find him, but the path to reunion has not been an easy one. you freeze, and he forces a grin.

“how is it? my truest form? does it frighten you?”

you don’t speak for a long while. it doesn’t, no. not at all. you have always found belial beautiful, and you still do. but there’s this dying grief that overwhelms you, the same grief you have carried in all the time you have been separated. it tastes bitter on your tongue, renders you speechless.

you’ve been waiting for this moment, and now that it’s here, you just–

you swallow hard. love is not meant to be cruel, nor tragic. one step forward, then another. his expression is unreadable, carefully crafted. it’s no longer that mischievous facade nor is it dejection. you’ve always been one to see through his games though, and somewhere in the deep red, there’s this excruciating loneliness that you also feel.

“you couldn’t love someone like me, right?” he laughs. “a fallen angel with the appearance of a demon.”

but you don’t falter. you don’t buy it.

“enough, belial.” your voice wavers, the words heavy on your tongue. how they almost threaten to choke you, and you wonder what will take you first : the tides of longing or the courage that dies in words unspoken. “why do you think i’ve spent all this time searching for you?”

your fingers trace over his markings, the ghost of your touch leaving a burning sensation in their wake. you’re trembling, he notices, and he feels it in the way you cup his face in your hands, gentle. you look at him, and he almost wonders if he is imagining the reverence and ardor in your gaze.

“you left because you thought it was better that way, right? because you thought i could find someone better, someone worthy.” you murmur, and now it is his hands that shake this time. “because you think you’re not worthy of anything good, because everything you know is painful, so you think you’re better off subjecting yourself to the pain because it’s all you know.” and there is this quiet smile that blossoms on your lips, and it grows the slightest bit when you see that quiet uncertainty in crimson hues. “you can love, belial. you can be loved.”

your thumb grazes over the markings once more, and he feels that frightening sensation in his heart again– a dull thud, slow– but then it picks up in its pacing, beats and beats and beats, and surely you must hear it too, the way it pounds so violently.

“there’s no one better, belial. it’s you that i want. it’s always been you.”

you take his hand, press a kiss against the inside of his wrist, and he almost laughs at the familiarity of it all. you’ve always had him wrapped around your finger.

“you’ve always been a stubborn one, haven’t you?” his lips meet yours, and he feels the way you smile into the kiss. “be careful you don’t regret this.”

you laugh, squeeze his hand.

“i won’t, belial.”

( yes, this fairy tale beloved ends with reunion and revelations. yes, belial reminds himself, your fingers laced with his, you are his blessing, his happy ending. )

#granblue fantasy x reader #belial x reader #gbf x reader #.: writing #.: comm

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springfallendeer · 2 years

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Vampire AU - Lore

I went ahead and wrote up all of the lore I could think of for my Vampire AU. Just a fair warning, its a LONG read. 6k+ words. Under a read more because duh.

There is technically some NSFW content in this as it describes a few things like Vampire genitals, murder, miscarriage, and sexual things in some amount.

VAMPIRE AU

Background: This is a world in which Gods exist. Born alongside the very fabric of reality, these entities were tasks with the unfathomable burdens of maintaining the balance of everything. Every concept or tangible aspect of life can be tied back to the work of some form of God. Some of them docile. Some of them hostile. Some of them well known and established. Others known only in theory due to their reclusive nature. They are timeless by human comparison. Insanely powerful and incredibly important. Their very existence requires in order to assure the survival of reality as it is known.

They are immortal, but they are not deathless. They are powerful, but not without means of being defeated. Their status capable of being stripped away from them and granted to others, either willingly or through the use of force.

The origin of the Celestial brothers stems from the destruction of a God and the subsequent need to replace it.

The previous God of the Cosmos was a great and powerful entity, but it was a wrathful and violent one. It would go from world to world, bringing with it all manner of chaos and destruction. The purpose of this Deity was to maintain the countless untold balances of space and time. The rise and fall of life on every inhabitable planet, the creation of new planets, the destruction of old planets, the births and the deaths of stars, and so much more were all under its direction, but not under its absolute control. The old God was meant to act as a powerful guide that would dictate the flow of calm and chaos through all of space and time.

Whether this job eventually drove it mad or not, the entity was as malicious as it was powerful. When it arrived at Earth, it may as well have brought with it an extinction event. Its massive frame towered over even the tallest of trees and its body a construct not easily comprehended by the inhabitants of the world.

Balls of molten rock rained from the sky. The sky burned red as the Deity willed the protective ozone layer of the world to be eaten away. The lava beneath the crust of the Earth bubbled and boiled with enthusiasm. The arrival of the Cosmic God brought with it the promise of annihilation. Not just for humanity, but for all of life on Earth as it was known.

The desperation for survival brought with it a dire need to eliminate the threat. Genuinely, it is not known how any one man succeeded at striking down the malicious Deity. Be it a stroke of luck or sheer unwillingness to die despite any horrific injuries endured, it does not matter. All that matters is the fact that that God fell.

The Cosmic God was slaughtered. Brutally murdered by one desperate man in hopes of bringing salvation to his people. But in his desperate desire to save, he unwittingly brought the promise of greater destruction. With no God to rule the Cosmos, the apocalypse of all life would prove inevitable. When the destruction did not immediately stop but instead grew worse from the aimless chaos of a reality without guidance, a new act of desperation was taken.

That lone man took up the burden of the Cosmic God. He hastily consumed of its flesh and blood, devouring its power. While the corpse proved more than any mortal body could stomach, he still succeeded in taking what needed to be attained. He shouldered the burden of a God and all of the horrors that came with it, but was further cursed by the spite of the dead Deity to punish him for his actions.

His humanity was stripped from him. His body warped and changed into something corrupted by the basis of the power that he had stolen. To condemn him for his actions; selfish in the eyes of the executed God; he was made to bear a curse that would end only with his own destruction. The humans which he sought to protect were doomed to become his source of sustenance. Cursed to forever crave the blood and flesh of humanity as retribution for having dared to consume the blood and flesh of a God.

In his madness, he shared his curse with two others. Two brothers, by blood or by virtue, forced to also partake cursed of blood and flesh. Made into Celestial Deities doomed to crave the blood and flesh of humanity. Gods made Vampire out of spite as life faded from the corpse of the fallen Deity.

There followed centuries of horror as this trio of freshly created Deities struggled to satiate their horrible desires. Countless human lives were lost. How humanity evaded extinction is unknown. These new Gods established themselves as something just as vile and evil as the Deity that had been destroyed in order to create them. This was damage to their reputations that could never be genuinely undone without isolation and the passage of time.

When the madness faded, the trio of Deities retreated. Bearing equal parts the burden of the Cosmos, the three secluded themselves far beyond the reach of human settlement. To hide from the shame of the horrific things that they had done. To wait for the passage of time to ideally erase them from history. Only ever leaving to tend to deal to the other problems born of the destruction of the old God.

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Celestial Vampires: A trio of Deities created to replace the previous Cosmic God. These Deities share the unfathomable burden of overseeing the balance of the Cosmos, each bearing an equal portion of the crippling weight of the responsibility.

These Deities bear the curse of Vampirism as punishment for the slaughter of the previous God. This curse instills into them a desire to consume mortal flesh and drink human blood. As they were once human, the blood and flesh they crave the most is human. The true purpose of the curse is to make them suffer for choices that were made. A God was killed and devoured by people, for the sake of protecting people. There is no punishment more fitting than a punishment that would make the new Deities harm the very same creatures that they sought to protect. Such was the curse created from the seething rage of the previous Cosmic God as it fell before the hands of humanity.

Though they cannot die if they fail to do so, the Deities will become afflicted by a horrible madness that will drive them to satisfy these cravings. In these fits of madness, they will haphazardly mutilate, kill, and even torture the people that wind up being used to satisfy themselves. They will become as cruel and unfeeling as the very being that was destroyed in order to create them. Previous failures to properly satiate their cravings has resulted in multiple incidents of humans being callously slaughtered, which further adds to the guilt of the Deities.

These new Cosmic Gods are heavily feared and despised. They are worshiped only because that is what humans are expected to do. They are given offerings not out of respect, but out of fear. The Deities in turn go out of their way to maintain distance from humanity. They have taken residence in an isolated space that is not easy to access, to discourage visitors. There they remain. Immortal and isolated. Venturing out only to tend to duties pertaining to governing their subjects or satisfying their accursed cravings.

Like the lesser Vampires born as a side effect of the previous God’s death, their bodies have been warped and twisted by untold forces. Their human appearances are all but gone, replaced is traits that make them better resemble entities of the Cosmos. Their skin is bitter cold while their insides burn with the heat of stars. Their blood glows. Their eyes mirror the celestial bodies which orbit the Earth. However, this change in appearance is not believed to be an additional side effect of the Vampiric Curse, but a side effect of having absorbed the powers of a Cosmic God.

Strangely, many of their sexual or biological defining traits have changed. They lack nipples. Their genitals have been tucked away inside of an orifice that could be compared to a mock cloaca. This gives them a seemingly doll like appearance when stripped of clothing, further stripping them of their previous human forms.

Additionally, their genitals have taken on an appearance quite different from humans. No longer a basic human penis, but a long phallus that would better resemble the arm of an octopus, minus the suction cups. This peculiar phallus is even prehensile, and can be freely moved about. The lack any sort of noticeable testicles, inside or out. If there is an explanation behind these bizarre changes, then the Deities have not provided it. Namely because such details are rather private.

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Vampires: Creatures cursed to crave the blood and flesh of mortals, most specifically humans. They have their origins in humanity, but have been stripped of many basic human traits. The Cosmic Gods are the original bearers of this curse, but it has spread to afflict those uninvolved in the murder of the former God.

Vampires are most well known for their frozen skin and burning insides, as well as their cravings for human flesh and blood. Most satisfy these urges on blood alone, with the initial bite into the flesh satisfying the urge to consume it. What is lesser known are the varied traits found among the Vampires.

Vampires have branched out into three distinct factions as a result of their diverse traits. These three distinct branches each specifically follow the leadership of one of the three Celestial Deities. Eclipse, Sun, and Moon. Those who fall into a specific faction will generally best resemble the Deity associated with that faction. The curse expresses itself differently throughout humanity, just as it has expressed itself differently among the Gods.

In terms of reproduction, Vampires do have struggles. The basis of their curse means that the addition of an extra life growing in a female body leads to increase in thirst for blood. Complications are less common in Vampire x Vampire pairings and grow more severe in the event of Vampire x Human pairings. The exact reason behind hybrid partnerships resulting in so many issues has yet to be discovered and is chalked up to some additional byproduct of the curse.

Strangely, Vampirism cannot effect non-human animals. Animals which might have been afflicted by the curse are instead driven to cannibalism, but suffer no additional effects such as immortality or heightened strength.

The Vampires of these world are not deterred by sunlight and cannot be poisoned through use of Garlic or Silver. Christianity does not exist in this world (Yahweh

/Jehovah is not an entity that exists, or if he does, it’s definitely not in the same way as in our world), but there are other religions that focus on other Gods. Association with some of these religions does bring with it some level of protection against Vampires.

Even the weaknesses most commonly associated with Vampires are not entirely guaranteed. The three distinct factions of Vampires each have unique traits that grant them different levels of weakness. Some Vampires are weak to Flame. Some are weak to Ice. Others cannot be harmed by either. To puncture the heart with wood, steel, or stone is unlikely to be lethal and all manner of physical injury can heal if the injury is not immediately fatal. The one surefire way to kill a Vampire is to remove its head. Puncturing the heart with a weapon made of human bone can also prove lethal, but is not guaranteed. Either option proves difficult, as their frozen skin does not cut as easily as human flesh and their bones are not easy to crack.

---------------------------------------------------------------------- Originals) The first generation of Vampires, cursed directly by the previous God. These Vampires acquired their curse by consuming water polluted by the blood of that God, and by consuming produce grown on land polluted by its rotting flesh, or by consuming animals that were fed that produce. These Vampires most strongly resemble the Trio of Cosmic Deities, and have near identical anatomy as a result. The only difference being that their height will rarely exceed 7 feet, and their blood does not glow. Still, their flesh is frozen and their blood will burn anyone it touches.

The males lack nipples and have their genitals tucked away in the false cloaca, with the same tentacle like phallus that the Deities bear. Females have retained their nipples for the sake of providing for their young. Additionally, their vaginal areas no longer have the external defining features. All of these features have been moved to the interior of their genital cloaca.

The Original Vampires (Also referred to as True Vampires) are the only among the Vampire species to be able to create Thralls, as the curse is strongest with them.

As the lands polluted by the old God are still able to afflict humans with the curse, new Originals are still born from time to time. Often on purpose to assure a specific number of True Vampires exist. These lands are sealed off to prevent humans from being able to access them, hence it being near impossible for a human to accidentally become an Original Vampire by consuming of the cursed ground.

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Dull Bloods) The offspring of Vampires who bear a slightly weaker version of the curse. These are descendants of True Vampires that have not had any human blood mixed in. They are an important distinction only because of their ability to look slightly more human. A distinction that was only made due to growing confusion of humans that might interact with them in an intimate manner. Questions are inevitably asks when Vampires have such a wide range of biological appearance.

In terms of power and ability, they are identical to True Vampires. Their skin is frozen and their blood hot. They visually resemble the Celestial Deities, except for where the most bizarre changes are concerned. That meaning that as generations pass, Dull Bloods begin to look more biologically human. As descendants have had descendants and have had descendants, the changes have gradually appeared. To the point that now, some Dull Bloods have genitals that almost perfectly match the genitals on humans.

All manner of genital appearance in between have come to exist. From everything tucked neatly away inside of a cloaca, to a peculiar halfway point, to everything exposed and vulnerable. These Vampires are still 100% Vampire with no human blood mixed in genetically to dilute or change the curse, but for some reason the defining genital changes are just less exaggerated.

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Mixed Bloods) Hybrid offspring of humans and Vampires. Mixed Bloods are very rare. Not as a result of an unwillingness to breed, but as a result of the curse not properly cooperating when it comes to creating offspring.

Pregnancies where hybrid offspring are concerned are dangerous and difficult.

If the mother is human, it is incredibly likely that she will die without being able to carry the fetus to term. Her human flesh and blood will be consumed by her own body in order to satiate the cravings of the curse. A human woman who is not given thorough and care while pregnant with a Vampire’s child will waste away to nothing and die. One who is given consistent care is still highly likely to suffer near crippling health risks. Even with this high level of care, it is still incredibly likely that that the fetus will expire before it has grown enough to be reasonably born. This in turn leads to additional complications from the miscarriage, which might render the mother sterile.

If the mother is a Vampire, then the pregnancy will be easier, but the odds of success as still low. A Vampire mother is better suited to satisfy the cravings of the curse by consuming human blood, but her cravings will be more intense and she will be at risk of going mad. Many would be Vampire Mothers of Hybrid children die not as a result of getting weak, but as a result of being executed for the good of the public. An inability to satisfy their thirst will lead to madness. That madness will lead to violence. That violence will lead to death. Often times these madness driven slaughters will only end with the destruction of the mother or the loss of the pregnancy.

Additionally, Vampire mothers do not have better odds of delivering a live child in the event that they manage to keep themselves sane. Miscarriages are pathetically common. The one upside being that a female Vampire is unlikely to be rendered sterile as a result of the complications brought on by a halfblood miscarriage.

Mixed Bloods are distinct in the sense that they can either look more human or more Vampire depending on which parent was the mother. However, regardless of their appearance, a Half Blood will always have some specific defining traits. Half Bloods do not have frozen skin, their blood is not nearly as hot, and their fits of madness are less extreme. They grow quickly then will abruptly stop aging after reaching a specific stage of growth, at which point they are equally as immortal as their Vampire ancestors. Going without blood for too long will result in madness, but their madness can be quickly cured with a single drink of blood.

Additionally, a Half Blood will begin to waste away and can eventually die if they do not consume enough blood. The blood that they drink does not have to be human at all.A Half Blood can survive entirely on animal blood if they so decide, with some even finding animal blood more appealing to their sense of taste. Their visual biology will either more closely resemble human or Vampire in terms of the peculiar status of their genitals.

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Thralls) Vampires who were born through an unnatural means as a result of consuming the blood and flesh of an Original (or True) Vampire are referred to as Thralls. These Vampires retain almost all of their human traits, making them easy to identify among their peers. Visually, the only real difference between a Thrall and a human is their teeth, as Thralls have the typical sharp teeth associated with Vampires.

A Thrall has frozen skin but cold blood, and the curse is so laughably weak in them that they never come to properly resemble the True Vampires or the Dull Bloods. It would take constant and consistent feedings of Vampire blood and flesh in order to cause any sort of additional changes in appearance, but the process is long and tedious and ultimately would only serve for vanity purposes. The only real reason to feed a Thrall Vampire blood and flesh is order to create and maintain them.

Thralls are most commonly created for sake of reproduction, because Vampire and Human relations come with a wide range of complications. Because Thralls are technically Vampires, they are able to safely reproduce with other Vampires without any of the risks associated with Vampire and Human pairings.

One important distinction that must be made when it comes to Thralls, is that they are not genuinely immortal. A Thrall will continue to age due to how weak the Vampire curse is within them, but they are aging so slowly that they often get mistaken for immortal. It takes centuries for visible changes in age to be made, and these changes can be reversed by consumption of more Vampire blood and flesh. A Thrall that never consumes the blood and flesh of a Vampire past the moment of creation will slowly but inevitably grow into old age and eventually succumb to all of the issues associated with it.

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Faction of Eclipse) A group of Vampires that primarily worship and serve Eclipse, though they remain subservient to the other two. These Vampires most closely resemble Eclipse in appearance, and so are believed to be most tied to him. The most common defining traits are extra arms, above average height, dark skin with fiery markings, eyes which resemble a solar eclipse, and a halo of solar rays which resemble a dying flame. Any combination of these traits will result in a Vampire falling into this faction of worship, but all traits are not guaranteed to be present in any one individual. Individuals of this faction cannot be harmed by flame or by ice. Faction of Sun) A group of Vampires that primarily worship and serve Sun, though they remain subservient to the other two. These Vampires most closely resemble Sun in appearance, and so are believed to be most tied to him. The most common defining traits are pale skin with golden/yellow/orange markings, eyes which resemble the sun at mid-day, “Overly hot” blood, and a halo of solar rays which burn vibrantly. Any combination of these traits will result in a Vampire falling into this faction of worship, but all traits are not guaranteed to be present in any one individual. Individuals of this faction cannot be harmed by flame, but can be weakened by ice. Faction of Moon) A group of Vampires that primarily worship and serve Moon, though they remain subservient to the other two. These Vampires most closely resemble Moon in appearance, and so are believed to be most tied to him. The most common defining traits are pale blue skin with white/silver/icy markings, eyes which resemble the moon at any phase, and trail of cosmic dust which will follow their heads, and “cold” blood. Any combination of these traits will result in a Vampire falling into this faction of worship, but all traits are not guaranteed to be present in any one individual. Individuals of this faction are weak to the flame, but cannot be harmed by ice.

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The Cosmic Vampire Deities And the Celestial Pact

Eclipse: The first of the three brothers to ascend to the status of Godhood, and the one most afflicted from the Vampire curse. The scars of his former life as a human remain on him even now as a permanent reminded of what he has done and what he has lost. His human name has been lost or abandoned to time.

Eclipse is the one to have slaughtered the old God and to have first partaken of its blood and flesh. His body has been twisted, making him unrecognizable to his old self. His skin is black as night and his body marked with patches that resemble flame. He lacks hair and instead wears a halo of glowing light that protrudes directly from his skin. This halo shines with the light of a dying flame. As part of his transformation, he grew taller and gained an extra set of arms. His skin is freezing and his body is hot, but not as hot Sun’s. He is most compared to a dying star.

He has taken up the name “Eclipse” in reference to the peculiar appearance of his eyes, which resemble a solar eclipse in a dark sky.

Having regained his sanity following the madness of his transformation, he can no longer bear the taste of human blood. As such he has taken to drinking the blood of animals to fend off the cravings. When those cravings lose ability to be satisfied by animal blood, he will drink the blood of one of his brothers after they have consumed human blood.

He is isolated by his own choice, even in his own home. This has rendered Eclipse as someone that could be described as socially awkward. He is blunt when addressing people and honest with his words, to the point of it being unnerving. This has resulted in him being mistaken for a cold and callous creature, as he struggles to form emotional connections with those that he might interact with. Even his brothers would appear to be treated more as servants than as family.

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Sun: The last of the three brothers to ascend to the status of Godhood. Forced to take up the role in order to avoid being left to the passage of time while his siblings were cursed to an eternity of suffering. The Vampire curse does not bother him as much as it does Eclipse, but it bothers him more than it does Moon.

As a result of his curse and having become a God, his body has been twisted, making him unrecognizable to his old self. His skin is pale and his body marked with patches that resemble resemble gold. These golden markings will shimmer and glow with a light that mirrors the radiance of the sun. He lacks hair and instead wears a halo of glowing light that protrudes directly from his skin. This halo, like his markings, shines with the radiance of the sun. As part of his transformation, he grew taller. His skin is freezing and his body is hot. In fact, his blood burns the hottest of his siblings. He is most compared to a thriving star.

He has taken up the name “Sun” in reference to the peculiar appearance of his eyes, which resemble the sun high in the sky at mid-day..

Having regained his sanity following the madness of his transformation, he has chosen to isolate himself with his brothers. Despite having lost access to his humanity, he still craves those many human things that he once loved. As such he has taken up a multitude of hobbies for the sake of feeling closer to his former human self. Those hobbies including cooking, eating, and drinking human food. These actions do nothing but bring him comfort and help him maintain his sanity.

Despite not being as badly tormented by the curse as Eclipse, he is the one most prone to snapping and injuring the humans that he feeds on. This has resulted in him being the most known to kill people; a fact which torments him to no end. He struggles to maintain any sort of a happy sibling relationship with an Eclipse as a result of this guilt, as he cannot help but blame his brother for the hardships that they now face. Still, there is no denying that he cares deeply for his brothers. Enough so that he is willing to use himself as a means of feeding Eclipse.

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Moon: The second of the three brothers to ascend to the status of Godhood, but the first to be forced to do so by Eclipse. Moon had actually been severely wounded by the assault of the former God and was doomed to perish. His life was secured by his ascension, but he was stripped of his connection to humanity as a result. He is the least effected by the torment of the curse, possibly as a result of having been genuinely forced to partake of the blood and flesh used to transform him.

As a result of his curse and having become a God, his body has been twisted, making him unrecognizable to his old self. His skin is pale and his body marked with patches that resemble silver or snow. Unlike with Sun, these markings are not a direct result of his transformation. These markings are the scars of his former human body, made beautiful by his transformation. These silver markings will shimmer and glow with a light that mirrors the pale glow of moonlight. He lacks hair and instead wears a “night cap” made of cosmic dust. This dust shimmers and glitters as he moves and it follows him wherever he goes. Fingers can be moved through it as though it were hair. There even appears to be a miniature planet trailing at the end of this “cap” of space dust. He has been known to joke that this miniature planet houses life.

As part of his transformation, he grew taller. His skin is freezing and his body is cold, compared to his brothers. In fact, his blood is hardly any warmer than that of a human. A reality chalked up to a belief that, after having nearly been burned to death as a human, he cannot bear to carry the heat of the stars within him. He is most commonly compared to a frozen comet. A false star made not of flame, but of ice.

He has taken up the name “Moon” in reference to the peculiar appearance of his eyes, which track the various phases of the moon in the night sky.

Having regained his sanity following the madness of his transformation, he has chosen to isolate himself with his brothers. Despite having lost access to his humanity, he still craves those many human things that he once loved. As such he has taken up a multitude of hobbies for the sake of feeling closer to his former human self. Those hobbies including gardening, medicine making, and reading. These actions do nothing but bring him comfort and help him maintain his sanity. He often sneaks the medicines he crafts to distant human towns as a means of providing for those in need.

Moon is the least prone to bouts of madness, but when he snaps, he snaps hard. This has resulted in him doing the most damage to people during a feeding, meaning that every time he does snap, he kills someone. A fact which torments him to no end, as he wants for nothing more than to help people. He struggles to maintain any sort of a happy sibling relationship with an Eclipse as a result of this guilt and anger, as the choice to become a God was never given. He was forced to become what he now is. Still, there is no denying that he cares deeply for his brothers. Enough so that he is willing to use himself as a means of feeding Eclipse, if only reluctantly.

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The “Celestial Pact”: The “Celestial Pact” is a sort of verbal arrangement created by the Celestial Deities following a series of dramatic events. The terms of the pact are admittedly inconsistent, prone to being changed over time and altered from time to time in order to maintain the safety and the happiness of everyone involved.

The overall basis of the pact is simple. A human who agrees to the terms will be allowed to live in the home of the Deities. They will be cared for in any way they desire; food, water, clothing, and shelter are guaranteed to be provided. Any additional wants or needs can be tended to at request, but nothing is guaranteed.

Some of the lasting rules of the pact that cannot or will not be changed, are as follows.1. The pact is set in stone once the human provides their name. If the human later reveals that the name they gave was a fake one, then the pact is considered void and they will be expected to leave.2. The human will not be forced to spend all of their time in the Gods home, but they are expected to live there. If the human in question leaves with intention of no longer living with the trio, then the pact is considered broken and they will never be allowed to return.3. The phrase “A drink for a drink, a meal for a meal” is used in reference to the human being expected to satisfy the hunger for blood and flesh that the Deities suffer with in exchange for the Deities assuring that the human is given all the food and drink that they need to thrive.4. There is a lesser discussed addition to the previous phrase, known as “A touch for a touch”, which is used to voice consent in acts of physical intimacy. This intimacy does not have to be sexual, but depending on which Deity this is being expressed with, there will be demands of it being equal. That meaning do not touch where you are not willing to be touched, and do not expect to be shown skin that you would not be willing to show yourself. Because the Deities struggle to connect with people, it is unlikely that “A touch for a touch” will be uttered at all, or that it will be uttered a second time if there has ever been a case of rejection.

5.Another lesser known addition to the first part of the phrase is “Health for Health”. By providing blood for the Deities, the human in question is assuring the well being of their sanity, aka their mental health. In turn, the Deities will go out of their way to assure that the physical and mental health of a pact holder is tended too. Hence there are going to be a lot of social interactions outside of the actual feeding for the sake of assessing the physical and mental well being of the pact holder.

6. Someone bound by the pact is under the protection of the Deities. Thus meaning that by all accounts, Vampires are forbidden from touching them or feeding on them. To hold a pact with the Gods is more or less to become their exclusive meal. A Vampire which makes the mistake of feeding off of the pact holder is likely to be punished, but often times the pact holder is the one to settle on the punishment.

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The “Bleeders Orgasm”: A sort of nifty trick used by the Deities and by non-divine Vampires in order to assure that humans don’t put up much of a fuss during feedings. It is something consciously arranged for by the Vampire as a sort of marker for when enough blood has been drawn.

The act of feeding is an act of drawing life from the human whose blood is being consumed. No two humans are likely to respond the same way to that life being drained. No two humans are guaranteed to survive from the same amount of blood being drawn during a feeding.

Why do humans experience an orgasm when having their blood sucked? To provide an obvious physical reaction when the Vampire’s draw too close to crossing the line and doing lethal damage to the person they’re feeding off of. Not all Vampires utilize this particular trick, but there are variants of it.

There also exists the “Bleeders Sleep” is one such example, where a human will abruptly lose consciousness once enough blood has been drawn. This is not uncommon but it is not as favored, as the abrupt collapse can unwittingly mask the fact that potentially lethal damage has been done, preventing emergency care from being given.

Alternatively, some Vampires go the other route and make the feeding more painful as blood is drawn. They’ll judge when to remove their teeth based upon how violently the humans that they feed on will thrash in their grip. This trick is less favorable as it leads to additional injuries to the human in question, while also providing excuse to label Vampires as creatures that must be feared.

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Extra: Unspoken Rules for Vampires 1. No targeting children (You will be personally struck down by the Gods) 2. No targeting pregnant women (You will be punished) 3. No targeting the sick (You will be ostracized. Also the sick have bad blood) 4. Do not kill your target (You will be ostracized)

Extra: The Vampire Towns There exist towns predominantly made to be inhabited by Vampires. Over the years, these towns have become places where Vampires and Humans comfortably coexist. These are the towns most commonly visited by the Deities, as they are less likely to be met with fear upon arrival.

There are churches dedicated to the Vampire Deities in these towns, and most other religions are not practiced there. Especially the religions with practices that actively harm Vampires.

The whole concept of feeding is treated as a game, to make the children in these towns more comfortable. The game comes with rules on both sides, which everyone is expected to follow. This game is where myths pertaining to Vampires not being able to enter a home uninvited and not being able to cross water come from. The later of which being an aspect of the game which has been drastically changed by word of mouth outside of these towns. The real rule is to not go after a man or a woman who are in the bath.

The myth claiming that Vampires cannot enter a home uninvited comes from the rule explicitly stating that you must ask permission to feed off of a person. Permission is given when you are invited into the home “for a drink”.

The game does change from town to town and even from household to household. Particularly in homes where unmarried people without children might live. Vampires and humans alike are bound to seek the pleasures of the flesh, and when there is a trick used that can make someone experience an orgasm during a feeding, it is inevitable that the game has erotic variants. There are even erotic variants of the game that involve “predator and prey” style behaviors, or other questionable forms of roleplay. (Don’t kinkshame a Vampire and they won’t kinkshame you).

#Vampire AU #Vampire AU Lore #Vampire God Lore #long read #not osha approved

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mrlnsfrt · 1 year

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It Is Finished 2023

Heaven beheld as Jesus was betrayed into the hands of the murderous mob, and with mockery and violence hurried from one tribunal to another.

Angels heard the sneers of His persecutors because of His lowly birth.

They heard the denial with cursing and swearing by one of His best-loved disciples.

All of heaven saw the frenzied work of Satan, and his power over the hearts of men and women.

Imagine this terrible scene...

The Savior seized at midnight in Gethsemane, dragged to and fro from palace to judgment hall, arraigned twice before the priests, twice before the Sanhedrin, twice before Pilate, and once before Herod, mocked, scourged, condemned, and led out to be crucified, bearing the heavy burden of the cross, amid the wailing of the daughters of Jerusalem and the jeering of the crowd.

Heaven viewed with grief and amazement Christ hanging upon the cross, blood flowing from His wounded temples, and sweat tinged with blood standing upon His brow.

From His hands and feet, the blood fell, drop by drop, upon the rock drilled for the foot of the cross.

The wounds made by the nails gaped as the weight of His body dragged upon His hands.

His labored breath grew quick and shallow, as His soul panted under the burden of the sins of the world.

All heaven was filled with wonder when the prayer of Christ was offered in the midst of His terrible suffering, —“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.” Luke 23:34.

Yet there stood men, formed in the image of God, joining to crush out the life of His one and only Son. What a sight for the heavenly universe! (Inspired by The Desire of Ages)

Controversy

How did we get here?

How can anyone make sense of Jesus, a man who lived a perfect life hanging on a cross? Even more puzzling how do we end up with the Son of God dying on earth? To make matters even more complex, Jesus is God, He is our Creator, why is He dying, when it would be more convenient for Him to simply destroy us and make a brand new earth?

The Bible refers to Jesus dying on the cross as “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (1 Corinthians 1:23).

If you were starting a revolution, a movement to impact the whole world, would you have the hero of your story, the savior, die a humiliating and painful public death?

Seems odd right? Who would come up with this story and think it is a good one? Would it not be much better to have the hero be incredibly strong and have him destroy all his enemies? Would that not be a much better story to tell, would that not be a better hero? One you could be proud of?

Why would you tell the story of the hero dying a terrible death while all his followers ran away? The cross sounds more like a defeat than victory. Yet here we are, still talking about it, some 2000 years later. Why does this story persist?

A story about an all-powerful God who toys with His creation and uses them as mere entertainment or slaves makes sense.

A story about a mighty God who is indifferent to the lives of lower beings living in a speck floating around in a vast universe makes sense.

There are so many stories about various gods, so many religions and beliefs, and so many fables, yet here we are talking about one which is particularly challenging. A story where we have the most powerful God, in fact, the only God, the creator God, dying for His creatures, that He created, that He could easily destroy, that cannot live without Him. Yet God not only sustains us, even as we live in rebellion against Him, but He also died for us.

This kind of love, and this level of self-sacrifice, make my head spin.

This story is so odd, that this God, after doing all this, offers us the gift of salvation, offers us eternal life, as a free gift. He then tells us to tell everyone the good news, that they don’t have to die, that they can have eternal life, that they can have hope, and that everything will be okay. There is no special reward for us doing this, we do not gain bonus eternal life, or a bigger house on the new earth depending on how obedient we were.

Yet, people who truly believe in this wild story, of a God who loved the world so much that He sent His one-of-a-kind Son to die so that everyone who believes in Him would not have to die, but instead have life that would never end, live a transformed life. These people who believe in the God of the Bible live a transformed life. Their life does not make sense. They help people for free! They go out of their way to be kind to people they don’t even know. They volunteer and give and help and do things to help those who could never repay them. You would expect these followers of the God of the Bible to be miserable people, to be poor and exhausted from all that volunteering and helping and donating. Yet, they seem to be healthier, happier, and more content than those who live simply to gratify their own selfish desires.

Many of these people give away 10% of their income, and a good number of them give even more, not to mention countless hours of volunteer work. How can people who give so much live happy and healthy lives? How can they have enough for themselves? Especially in this economy?

In a world that is becoming more and more divided. When people find all kinds of reasons to fight and offend and attack, these believers in Jesus come together and enjoy a sense of community based on helping each other and even those outside of their group.

This is very puzzling indeed.

As you can probably tell by now, this story is no regular story. Though many try to discredit it, poke fun at it, and downplay it, it is the most powerful story in the world, because it introduces the listener to the very heart and character of God.

The enemy

This is explained in more detail in my post One Story to Rule Them All, but Jesus explains the existence of evil by claiming “an enemy has done this” (Matthew 13:28). This enemy is called Lucifer (light bearer), Satan (adversary), Devil (false accuser), among other names.

Lucifer had been originally an angel of light.

“You were the seal of perfection, Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden, the garden of God; Every precious stone was your covering: The sardius, topaz, and diamond, Beryl, onyx, and jasper, Sapphire, turquoise, and emerald with gold. The workmanship of your timbrels and pipes Was prepared for you on the day you were created. “You were the anointed cherub who covers; I established you; You were on the holy mountain of God; You walked back and forth in the midst of fiery stones. You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, Till iniquity was found in you. - Ezekiel 28:12-15

Lucifer was cast out of heaven because he desired to be God.

“How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground, You who weakened the nations! For you have said in your heart: ‘I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God; I will also sit on the mount of the congregation On the farthest sides of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High.’ Yet you shall be brought down to Sheol, To the lowest depths of the Pit. - Isaiah 14:12-15 NKJV

Lucifer started a rebellion in heaven. He wanted to be God. Lucifer believed that he could do a better job than what God was doing.

And war broke out in heaven: Michael and his angels fought with the dragon; and the dragon and his angels fought, but they did not prevail, nor was a place found for them in heaven any longer. So the great dragon was cast out, that serpent of old, called the Devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was cast to the earth, and his angels were cast out with him. - Revelation 12:7-9 NKJV (bold mine)

Not only did Satan start a rebellion, Revelation 12:4a tells us that "His tail drew a third of the stars of heaven and threw them to the earth." I understand that to mean that one-third of the angels of heaven followed Satan in his rebellion against God. (In prophecy sometimes stars represent angels Revelation 1:20)

Satan had been so crafty with his lies that I believe it was not until the brutal death of Christ on the cross that the character of Satan was clearly revealed to the angels. Satan's deceptions had been so masterful that even holy beings had not clearly seen the true nature of his rebellion.

These verses help paint a fuller picture of the story of redemption.

You may be wondering, why did God not destroy Satan right away? Why cast him to earth?

God could have destroyed Satan and the rebellious angels as easily as you can cast a pebble to the ground, but He did not do this. God was not going to crush a rebellion by force. Coercion is found only under Satan's government. God's principles are very different. His authority rests upon goodness, mercy, and love; and the presentation of these principles is the means He uses. God's government is moral, and truth and love are to be the prevailing power.

If God simply crushed Satan and his followers He would have proved Satan right. God would forever appear to be a tyrant instead of a loving God. The whole universe would follow God out of fear of being destroyed and the angels would have forever wondered if Lucifer really would have been a better ruler.

Time reveals the truth

Satan came to earth and tempted Adam and Eve, and when they fell, they chose Satan over God. Now the universe would watch and see the outcome of Satan's style of leadership.

Aleister Crowley, an occultist from the early 1900s, claims that "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law."

I really don't want to chase that rabbit into the occult and satanism, etc. but I mention this just to point out how his law is diametrically opposed to God's law which can be summed up in loving God above everything else and your neighbor as yourself. (Matthew 22:34-40)

God's law is focused on others while Satan's is focused on self. God says "If you love me keep my commandments" (John 14:15) Satan says "Do whatever you want."

Another way of describing this is God has a law, and Satan is against the law.

Being an outlaw can seem harmless, even fun. Doing what you want doesn't seem like an evil way to live one's life. So you can see why Satan would have gained a following, and why many others who did not follow him might still have wondered if maybe Satan was not that bad of an angel, maybe he was on to something.

How we view God

Many seem to view God as a harsh, old-fashioned, stern, all-powerful being who can't wait to zap those who disobey His will. Satan has done a good job spreading his views of God. Sadly he seems to have used the church on many occasions to misrepresent God and turn many away from Him. Causing many to believe that they can indeed be much happier living without God, living as if God did not exist, just doing whatever makes them happy.

Enter Jesus

God revealed Who He is in the Old Testament. His grace, His mercy, His patience, it’s all there. But that was not enough. Jesus' life on earth is the greatest revelation of who God is.

Through Jesus, God's mercy was manifested to humanity. Jesus was the Word of God made flesh (John 1:14). Jesus lived a perfect life, a life of perfect obedience to the law of God, and though He was tempted like us, Jesus never sinned (Hebrews 4:15 [more verses about Jesus' sinlessness]). Since Jesus never sinned, that means He never broke God’s law (1 John 3:4). In living a perfect life Jesus was nothing like the religious leaders of His time.

In living a life that followed the will of God in every aspect with perfection Jesus was not an unpleasant person, rather the opposite, children wanted to be with Him and multitudes followed Him. Jesus brought life and healing and clarity regarding the will of God. Jesus revealed not only the true character of God, but also what a perfect life of obedience looked like, not something terrible, but rather the greatest blessing this world had ever witnessed.

Relating to the Law

Nevertheless, mercy does not set aside justice. The law reveals the attributes of God's character, and not a jot or tittle of it could be changed (Matthew 5:18) to meet humanity in its fallen condition.

God did not change His law, but He sacrificed Himself, in Christ, for the redemption of all humankind.

“God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself.” 2 Corinthians 5:19.

I believe everyone understands that the law requires righteousness,—a righteous life, a perfect character; and we humans cannot offer this to God, because we have all sinned (Romans 3:23). We cannot meet the claims of God's holy law.

But Christ, coming to the earth as man, lived a holy life, and developed a perfect character. These He offers as a free gift to all who will receive them. His life stands for the life of men. The Desire of Ages page 762

This is how our past sins are forgiven, thanks to God's patience. More than this, Christ imbues us with the attributes of God. He builds up our human character to become more and more like His divine character, full of spiritual strength and beauty. This is how the very righteousness of the law is fulfilled in the believer in Christ. God can “be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.” Romans 3:26.

I find it amazing how God's love can be been expressed in His justice just like in His mercy. Justice is the foundation of God's government, it is also the fruit of His love. Satan tried to separate mercy from truth and justice. Satan sought to prove that the righteousness of God's law is an enemy to peace and happiness. But Christ shows us that in God's plan justice and mercy are inseparable, the one cannot exist without the other.

“Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.” Psalm 85:10.

Justice and Mercy

By His life and His death, Jesus proved once and for all that God's justice did not destroy His mercy. Jesus also made it clear that sin could be forgiven, and that the law is righteous, and can be perfectly obeyed. Satan's charges against God's government and character were refuted.

God had given humanity unmistakable evidence of His infinite love.

Satan, however, had one more trick up his sleeve. He would now proclaim that mercy destroyed justice, that the death of Christ did away with the Father's law.

The problem with this line of thought is that if it had been possible for the law to be changed or repealed, then Christ did not have to die. I have a whole post on how Jesus prayed to the Father asking if there was any other way, but there wasn't, so Jesus agreed to drink the cup (die on the cross for our sins). (Matthew 26:36-46)

The problem with doing away with the law is that doing so would immortalize transgression, and place the world forever under Satan's control. If the law was faulty in any way and needed to be changed somehow, it would prove Satan's claims that God's government was flawed and that he, Satan, could do a better job as God. It was exactly because the law was changeless, and because humanity could be saved only through obedience to its precepts, that Jesus was lifted up on the cross. Yet the very means by which Christ established the law Satan represented as destroying it. This is where we have the last conflict of the great controversy between Christ and Satan.

The death of Jesus on the cross demonstrates that God's law is perfect and immutable.

The cross also made manifest the true nature of sin, revealing the true character of Satan.

At the cross the destruction of sin and Satan was forever made certain, the redemption of man was assured, and the universe was made eternally secure.

Christ fully comprehended the results of the sacrifice made upon Calvary. To all these, He looked forward when upon the cross He cried out, “It is finished.” (John 19:30)

Finally, at the end of time, the final destruction of sin will vindicate God's love and establish His honor before a universe of beings who delight to do His will, and in whose heart is His law.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me,“Write, for these words are true and faithful.” - Revelation 21:1-5 NKJV

#cross #Jesus #Theology #Salvation

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dankusner · 14 days

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The Prince We Never Knew A revealing new documentary could redefine our understanding of the pop icon. But you will probably never get to see it.

Dig, if you will, a small slice of Ezra Edelman’s nine-hour documentary about Prince — a cursed masterpiece that the public may never be allowed to see.

It’s 1984, and Prince is about to release “Purple Rain,” the album that will make him a superstar and push pop music into distant realms we had no idea we were ready for.

The sound engineer Peggy McCreary, one of many female engineers he worked with, describes witnessing a flash of genius during the creation of his song “When Doves Cry.”

Over a two-day marathon recording session, she and Prince filled the studio with sound — wailing guitars, thrumming keyboards, an overdubbed choir of harmonizing Princes.

It was the sort of maximalist stew possible only when someone is (as Prince was) a master of just about every musical instrument ever invented.

But something wasn’t right.

So at 5 or 6 in the morning, Prince found the solution:

He started subtracting.

He took out the guitar solo;

he took out the keyboard.

And then his boldest, most heterodox move:

He took out the bass.

McCreary remembers him saying, with satisfaction, “Ain’t nobody gonna believe I did that.”

He knew what he had.

The song became an anthem, a platinum megahit.

The next sequence starts to probe the origins of Prince’s genius, how it grew alongside a gnawing desire for recognition.

His sister, Tyka Nelson, a woman with owlish eyes and pink and purple streaks in her hair, appears onscreen.

She describes the violence in their household growing up.

How their musician father’s face changed when he hit their mother.

The ire he directed at his son, on whom he bestowed his former stage name, Prince — a gift, but also a burden, a reminder that the demands of supporting his children had caused him to abandon his own musical career.

Prince would risk lashings by sneaking over to the piano and plinking away at it — the son already embarked on his life’s work of besting his father, the father giving and withdrawing love, the son doing the same.

Cut to Jill Jones, one in a long line of girlfriend-muses whom Prince anointed, styled, encouraged and criticized.

Hers is one of the most anguished testimonies in the film, revealing a side of Prince many of his fans would rather not see.

Late one night in 1984, she and a friend visited Prince at a hotel.

He started kissing the friend, and in a fit of jealousy, Jones slapped him.

She says he then looked at her and said, “Bitch, this ain’t no [expletive] movie.”

They tussled, and he began to punch her in the face over and over.

She wanted to press charges, but his manager told her it would ruin his career.

So she backed off.

Yet for a time, she still loved him and wanted to be with him, and stayed in his orbit for many more years.

Recounting the incident three decades later, she is still furious, still processing the stress of being involved with him.

In the next sequence, it’s the evening of the premiere of “Purple Rain,” the movie, which will go on to win the Academy Award for best original song score in 1985. Prince’s tour manager, Alan Leeds, was with him in the back of a limo on the way to the ceremony.

He remembers one of Prince’s bodyguards turning to Prince and saying:

“This is going to be the biggest day of your life! They say every star in town is there!”

And Prince clutched Leeds’s hand, trembling in fear.

But then, as Leeds tells it, some switch flipped, and “he caught himself.”

Prince’s eyes turned hard.

He was back in control.

“That was it,” Leeds says.

“But for maybe 10 seconds, he completely lost it. And I loved it. Because it showed he was human!”

In the next shot, we see Prince emerging from the limo and walking down the red carpet in an iridescent purple trench coat over a creamy ruffled collar, his black curls piled high.

He swaggers, twirling a flower, unbothered: a creature of regal remove.

Prince in his Purple Rain outfit.

These four moments happen back to back, about three hours into the film.

I watched it for the first time on a winter evening in 2023, and during this particular sequence, my body clenched as it registered contradictory intensities: amazement, pity, disgust, tenderness.

Like most Americans who grew up in the 1980s, I had an image of Prince emblazoned in my mind: wonderfully strange; a gender-bending, dreamy master of funk.

He flouted and floated above all categories and gave permission to generations of kids to do the same. Edelman’s film deepened those impressions, while at the same time removing Prince’s many veils.

This creature of pure sex and mischief and silky ambiguity, I now saw, was also dark, vindictive and sad.

This artist who liberated so many could be pathologically controlled and controlling.

The film is sometimes uncomfortable to watch.

But then, always, there is relief: the miracle of Prince’s music — a release for me and a release, above all, for Prince.

Behold him writhing at the microphone, shrieking out the chorus of “The Beautiful Ones,” a song about the pain of love. Wendy Melvoin, a member of his band the Revolution and one of the people with whom Prince was most intimate (though only briefly, only ever briefly), tells Edelman that when “he’s screaming, there is a look in his eyes of pure torture.”

She quotes the lyrics “Do you want him, or do you want me? ’Cause I want you!” “It feels like the big struggle of his entire life,’’ Melvoin says.

“The consequence of you not choosing me is too much to bear.”

The sequence I just described is 20 minutes long.

Imagine sustaining this density of character analysis for 520 more, which is what Edelman has done.

In the process, he offers one answer to a question that has agonized the culture at large for the last decade.

How should we think about artists whose moral failings are exposed?

Edelman manages to present a deeply flawed person while still granting him his greatness — and his dignity.

Wesley Morris, a critic at The Times and one of a small group of people who have seen the film, told me, “It’s one of the only works I have ever seen that approximates the experience of suffering with and suffering through and alongside genius.”

The film took Edelman almost five years to finish, and it nearly broke him.

Whenever he makes a documentary, he told me, “It’s like willingly walking into the jail or locking myself up into a box like Houdini and being like, ‘Can I get out?’ ”

But he had been locked in for a long time, often working nights and weekends, chasing down recalcitrant subjects who seemed haunted by their friendships with Prince and researching in Prince’s personal archive, which was filled with gaps and elisions.

Prince kept slipping away from him.

“How can you tell the truth about someone who, when you’re talking to people, they all had different things to say?” Edelman told me.

“How can you tell the truth about someone who never told the truth about himself?”

Over a year and a half, I had observed as Edelman continued to perfect his film, working to capture the essence of Prince, even as it became slowly, painfully clear that it would most likely never air.

The Prince estate had changed hands, and the new executors objected to the project.

Last spring, they saw a cut and, claiming that it misrepresented Prince, entered into a protracted battle with Netflix, which owns the rights to the film, to prevent its release.

As of today, there is no indication that the film will ever come out. It has been like watching a monument being swallowed by the sea.

I first met Edelman at his office in Brooklyn in February 2023.

His films have a plain-spoken, confident erudition, and I expected the person behind the camera to be similarly poised.

But I soon discovered that he has a spiky conversational style and, beneath it, a sensitive, hyperattuned temperament. His last film, “O.J.: Made in America,” which won the Academy Award for best documentary feature in 2017, is widely regarded as one of the most ambitious documentaries ever made. Running about eight hours, it shows how O.J. Simpson’s rise and fall contains the whole history of America’s race pathologies. As A.O. Scott wrote in The Times, it has “the grandeur and authority of the best long-form nonfiction. If it were a book, it could sit on the shelf alongside ‘The Executioner’s Song’ by Norman Mailer and the great biographical works of Robert Caro.”

Edelman folded his six-foot frame into a small armchair, slouching in a black hoodie. Affixed to the wall behind him was an intricate timeline of Prince’s life, hundreds of neatly typed labels arranged in rows, almost covering the wall. He described the soul-shredding experience of trying to figure out the person who lay behind that timeline, creating as deep a portrait as he could of someone who spent his life trying to avoid being fully seen.

The project was not his idea. In fact, when he was first approached about it in the spring of 2019 by Lisa Nishimura, the vice president of independent film and documentary features at Netflix, he was doubtful. Though he had his own indelible Prince memory (8 years old, visiting New York City, “Little Red Corvette” pumping out of his headphones as he looked up at the skyscrapers), he wasn’t an ardent fan. He knew several filmmakers for whom Prince was a white whale; he respected Prince’s artistry — who didn’t? — but he also was aware of what a defining figure he was for so many fans, who might not enjoy seeing their hero inspected with the intensity he brings to his projects.

Edelman was the toast of the film world after his Oscar win for “O.J.: Made in America.” The shape of the Simpson film had formed in his mind almost instantly, in part because he could see that Simpson’s story was a meeting point for two of his lifelong interests. The son of the civil rights activist Marian Wright Edelman and the progressive lawyer Peter Edelman, who were the third interracial couple to marry in Virginia in 1968, Edelman grew up steeped in the history of the Black American struggle. He is also a sports fanatic. The Prince project was the inverse of “O.J.”: Simpson was so visible, his story so raked over, and Edelman made new meaning of it; but Prince was a mystery. Despite the existence of several biographies and oral histories, there was still so much about Prince’s life that was unknown, and the challenge would be to try to figure out who he really was.

What ultimately persuaded Edelman to take on the film was a potential treasure trove of new material. For tens of millions of dollars, according to a source familiar with the negotiation, Netflix had secured from the estate exclusive access to Prince’s personal archive, referred to among Princeologists as “the vault.” It had been an actual room, in the basement of his fortresslike home and studio, Paisley Park, in Chanhassen, Minn., filled with unreleased recordings and concert footage and the master copies of all his music and drawings and photographs and who knew what else. In life, Prince was defiantly private. He rarely sat for interviews, and when he did talk to the press, he often spoke in koans. There were so many unexplained oddities. The changing of his name to a symbol — a move that was widely mocked and that no one ever fully explained. His many battles with record companies, including the years when, feuding with Warner Brothers over control of his output and his master recordings, he took to performing with the word “slave” written on his face. His decade of perfect albums, followed by years of uneven, often impenetrable ones. There was, most perplexing of all, his death from a fentanyl overdose, when he always seemed to disdain drugs and alcohol. Access to the vault presented a chance to tell a more detailed story about Prince than had emerged before.

Prince’s estate, which was then being administered by a bank in Minnesota, would have no editorial influence over the project, Edelman was told. Edelman and Netflix would retain final cut, though the estate could review the film for factual accuracy. He decided to sign on.

Edelman and his team, including the editor Bret Granato and the producer Nina Krstic, spent a full year watching tape they found in the vault. At first, they were excited by the material: hours upon hours of band rehearsals and music videos, all of Prince’s never-before-seen performances, including pristine 16-millimeter film from his tour for the 1981 album “Controversy” and elegiac scenes from one of his final Piano and a Microphone shows in 2016. The footage moved the film’s editors to tears, but though he would make ample use of it, Edelman knew he didn’t want to make a concert film. What he wanted was to tell the story of the arc of those years, of the person who resided in the gaps among Prince’s many metamorphoses.

But it soon became clear that there was almost nothing that was spontaneous or personal in the vault, almost no footage of him recording or writing. At one point, they were excited to discover a few home movies of Prince horsing around with girlfriends, but when they watched the tapes, they appeared to have been deliberately damaged. As Granato, one of two main editors on the film along with Gabriel Rhodes, put it, the vault was “not all that different from an Instagram account or a Facebook page.” It was manicured, curated, just the way Prince wanted it.

After a year, some of the most revealing material was scraps of unintentional candor — moments when Prince thought a camera wasn’t rolling and “would transition into a different person,” Granato told me. “He’d turn inward, look at the floor.” At first, “it looks like nothing, because he’s just looking, quiet,’’ but the accumulation of these moments was revelatory: “Within these things, there’s a lot of vulnerability. There’s shyness. There’s a lack of confidence that butts up against confidence in this really interesting way.” What did these moments mean? They needed the people who knew Prince to tell them.

Edelman, with the help of the producer Tamara Rosenberg, carefully tried to penetrate the concentric circles around Prince. “It’s a complicated culture in that Prince world,” Rosenberg told me. “People are very protective for various reasons.” It’s no surprise that interview subjects would be guarded about the personal life of a world-famous celebrity, but the vehemence of the refusal in some cases, combined with a sense of suspicion about their motives, was a continual source of frustration for Edelman and his team. Edelman sometimes felt as if Prince was still dictating what could and couldn’t be said. “What are you not telling me?” he found himself wondering. “What’s the big secret?”

Rosenberg spent hours each day on the phone, trying to reassure everyone. As the months went by, the team slowly persuaded more people — former bandmates, sound engineers, assistants, bodyguards, managers, a hairstylist, girlfriends, childhood friends, record-company executives and Prince’s sister — to come on camera.

Edelman’s collaborators spoke of his supreme skill as an interviewer, how he builds rapport with his subjects, prodding them to reveal shockingly honest feelings about their lives. His method is simple but profound: preparation and duration. He inhales every document he can, synthesizes all he learns, prepares pages of questions and then, when he is in the room with an interview subject — often for many hours at a time — sets the notes aside. He knows so much about the people he is speaking to that he disarms them, producing obscure episodes from their pasts that intrigue them. He is “offering them a real space to talk about their experience. To really roam around and find the right words,” Rosenberg told me. “You see people thinking on camera,” and their buried memories begin to surface.

The story of Prince that was emerging was a story of a person bent on fame and control. From the very beginning, when he signed his first contract with Warner Brothers at age 18, he insisted on a level of independence unusual for an artist so green. When Warner Brothers suggested that Maurice White from Earth, Wind and Fire produce his debut album, Prince refused and did it himself. He became a domineering band leader — ruthlessly extracting from his musicians the sounds he was hearing in his head, often subjecting them to 10-, 12-hour days and growling in their faces about their insufficiencies. Edelman was finding that the people Prince worked with were still afraid of him — yet in many cases were also tenderly protective.

As Edelman completed his interviews — more than 70 of them — he realized there wasn’t some big secret that people were hiding. Instead, what he found were the defining traumas of Prince’s childhood and his constant recapitulating of them. The story unfolds slowly, hauntingly, over the course of the film.

Prince’s parents, John Nelson and Mattie Shaw, had a volatile, violent relationship. They split up when Prince was 6 or 7, and his mother remarried a man named Hayward Baker. Two people in the film — a youth counselor and a childhood friend — said Prince told them that Baker locked Prince in his bedroom for a period of time (the youth counselor said it was for six weeks), passing food through the door. When Prince emerged, according to the counselor, his ebullience was gone: “He went inside.”

According to people in the film, Prince’s mother kicked him out of her house when he was around 12; she sent him to live with his father, whom he idolized as a musician. But after catching Prince with a girl in his room for the third time, his father, a strict Seventh-day Adventist, kicked him out, too. Prince was 14, and as his sister Tyka tells Edelman, “It broke his heart.” He stayed with various friends, for many years sleeping on a mattress in the basement of his best friend, André Cymone.

Prince had always been short and was brutally teased. Edelman’s team found footage from a local news channel of him as a boy, age 11, being interviewed along with other children at his school. Standing behind a taller boy, he hops up and down, determined to be seen. By the time he reached his full adult height of 5-foot-2, he had accepted that he wouldn’t be a basketball player (though he was a lifelong, maniacally competitive baller) and developed a swagger to counteract his smallness. At 16, he was already getting a local reputation as a guitarist and songwriter in various bands. But the sense that his own parents couldn’t apprehend his gifts, that they found his presence distasteful, was a deep gash in his psyche. Prince tells us the story himself, in miniature, in the song “When Doves Cry”: “How can you just leave me standing/Alone in a world that’s so cold?” I had always taken Prince’s yelps and cries as transgressive, in-your-face sexuality; watching the film, I understood that they also carried real grief.

As his fame grew, he had a troubled relationship with his family members. His mother was in and out of his life, at times asking him for money. He and his only full sibling, Tyka, who sometimes abused drugs, were estranged for periods. He would draw close to his father, buying him a house and cars, bringing him as his date to an awards show, the two men dressed in matching purple suits. He continued to hunger for his father’s praise (a touching inscription on a copy of his cosmically great album “1999” flashes across the screen: “Hi Poppa, please play side with a star on it. It’s longer and better. Love you, Prince”), but John Nelson’s love was inconsistent and self-aggrandizing. In the film, we see him take credit in interviews for all Prince was, even demanding a co-writing credit on some of his songs, angering Prince and leading to more years of estrangement.

A byproduct of this familial absence was Prince’s constant attempts to create for himself his own stable family. He fantasized about becoming a loving husband and father. But Prince could not really attach: He turned and grew paranoid, and despite the entourages that he assembled and disassembled around himself, he was ultimately, terribly alone.

Several years into the interviewing, there were still crucial holdouts among those who had been closest to Prince. It wasn’t until the fourth year of the project that Edelman and Rosenberg managed to persuade Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman, the guitarist and keyboardist from the Revolution and two of his most important collaborators, to participate. After interviewing them, Edelman breathed a sigh of relief: He had found the emotional core of the film.

The period when they worked with Prince was one of his most joyous and fertile. He made his career-defining albums “1999” and “Purple Rain” and went from being a niche act to a major rock star. His band was tight, flamboyant and funky, an amalgam of races and genders and sexualities, revolutionary in name and sound and intent.

Melvoin and Coleman offered Edelman a singular perspective on Prince during the years when he was molding himself into an astronomical musical force. The women were a couple, and Melvoin says in the film that Prince loved their relationship. “He was really intrigued by the freedom that we felt about ourselves. That gave him the strength to explore his own gender-bending sexuality.” Coleman talked about applying makeup to his back acne before going onstage and intuiting how alone he sometimes felt, strutting around half-naked. “I felt his vulnerability. Because he was going to go out onstage and take off his coat and be sexy.” Melvoin describes the monumentality of his talent, how he would disappear and come back with new songs in what seemed like minutes — but also the buzzing, compulsive quality of it. Music poured out of him with a geyser-like force that he couldn’t turn off. No one could possibly keep up.

The three of them had an almost telepathic working relationship. “It felt pretty intimate,” Melvoin tells Edelman. “And I guess our music was the sex.” For a time, Prince was able to accept their love — to build a kind of family with Melvoin and Coleman and the other members of the Revolution. But his pattern was to create closeness that could edge into suffocation — and then suddenly turn away.

He became romantically involved with Melvoin’s identical twin, Susannah, another of Prince’s muses, who was co-lead of the Family, one of the many bands he created. She also speaks insightfully in the film, describing how he could switch between doting care and alarming coldness. When they moved in together, she told Edelman, he monitored her phone calls and discouraged her from leaving the house. He tried to prevent her from seeing Wendy — who had told Prince, in essence, that if he messed with Susannah, he was messing with them both. In their interviews, you can see that the two women are still working through their hurt. Yet neither can divorce herself from sympathy. “He was so marginalized as a kid,” Susannah says. “He was always trying to find his worth. Where do I belong? Who’s going to accept me? Who’s going to take me as I am?”

In these women, he had found that acceptance, collaboration and love. It’s heart-rending to watch as he destroys it. When members of the Revolution tried to negotiate for higher pay, according to Coleman, he told them that they wouldn’t ask for more money if they really loved him — a pattern in his working relationships, another person who worked for Prince told me. They threatened to leave, and he told them to go ahead. In 1986, he disbanded the Revolution, built a new band and started constructing Paisley Park, his Shangri-La in a cornfield outside Minneapolis, where he would gather and disperse new casts of characters every few years.

Prince was known as a bolsterer of women. He had a long list of collaborators with complex, sexy, mysterious personas of their own. Prince was fascinated by femininity and often embodied it himself, with his flowing locks and makeup and lacy underwear. He had an alter ego called Camille, inspired by a 19th-century French intersex woman, Herculine Barbin, in whose voice he sometimes sang. He wrote about his fluidity: “I’m not a woman/I’m not a man/I am something that you’ll never understand,” he sings in “I Would Die 4 U.” But as with so many aspects of Prince, his alignment with women contained opposing impulses: merging and control, support and domination.

Over time, Edelman and his team interviewed many of Prince’s protégées from the 1980s and ’90s: Jill Jones, Carmen Electra, Robin Power, Anna Fantastic, Sheila E. and others. They were muses, girlfriends, baby dolls, many of them getting involved with him as teenagers (though he was careful not to sleep with them until they turned 18) and hanging around Paisley Park for months or years. They all appear in the film and give differing accounts of their experiences. Some, like Jill Jones, describe his cruelty and diminishment of them; others, like Electra and Fantastic, are still spellbound by their time with him and speak of how he buttressed their sense of self. Robin Power says that Prince truly thought of himself as part female; Jones explains how, fiercely competitive as he was, he tried to best her at her own femininity. The result is a many-faced portrait: The women emerge as variously funny, appealing, appalled, victimized, knowing. We’re asked to sit with Prince’s multiplying paradoxes for many hours, allowing them to unsettle one another.

One of the most disturbing parts of the film depicts Prince’s relationship with Mayte Garcia, who became his wife. Now a striking, doe-eyed 50-year-old woman in a flowing silk shirt, she describes how she met Prince when she was 16 and he was 35, after he saw tapes of her belly dancing. After two years of calls and visits, he invited her to dance with his band the New Power Generation. Prince told Garcia that he idolized her virginity, and though they became a couple, they didn’t have sex until she was 19. A letter that Prince wrote to her is shown onscreen: “u are a child of God — an angel and I worship u,” he writes (his I’s rendered in Prince’s signature style as a drawing of an eye). “I’ve known other women all my life, and I suspect I always will. I have a history.” He went on: “One of the main reasons I love and worship u is because u don’t have a history. And what’s more beautiful is that u don’t desire one.” He ends the letter by writing over and over again, like an incantation, “I will never leave u.”

On their wedding night, when Garcia was 22, Prince presented her with two new songs: “Friend, Lover, Sister, Mother/Wife” and “Let’s Have a Baby.” She became pregnant not long after, much to Prince’s joy. He had clouds painted all over Paisley Park, built a playground and bought 10-speed bikes. He took Garcia’s ultrasound recordings into the studio and used the heartbeat in the song “Sex in the Summer.”

Eight months into the pregnancy, Garcia went into labor, and when their son was born, they discovered he had a disease called Pfeiffer syndrome Type 2 and was unable to breathe on his own. They jointly made the decision to take him off a respirator. In the film, Garcia slowly narrates the aftermath of the baby’s death. Almost immediately, Prince was on a plane, doing a show in Miami. Just days after the baby died, they shot a music video for the song “Betcha By Golly Wow!” in which they embrace on a hospital bed, in the same hospital where she had just given birth. A week after that, Garcia was on the floor of her room, weeping, when Prince walked in and announced that Oprah was due to arrive at Paisley Park that morning. She was coming to interview the couple to promote his new album, “Emancipation.” Garcia understood that she “had to put it together, had to be his wife.”

In the vault, Edelman’s team found footage from right before the interview began. Garcia appears in a white miniskirt and jacket. Prince criticizes her under his breath: “We can see up your dress.” The interview itself, which Edelman stitches into Garcia’s account of this time, is wrenching. Garcia settles herself into a chair next to him. At one point, Oprah turns to her and asks, brightly, “What would you like to say about your relationship?” Garcia offers a wavering smile and looks pleadingly at Prince. Garcia recalls the moment for Edelman. “I could barely look at her. I just kept looking at him like, Help me keep it together.” Oprah inquires about the status of her pregnancy. Prince had told Garcia not to say that the baby died, so she says nothing. After an awkward beat, he answers for her: “Well, our family exists. We’re just beginning it. And we’ve got many kids to have.”

This was the start of a period when Prince neglected, betrayed and ultimately abandoned the marriage. But the mode of the film is not to linger in judgment; it’s to probe, to try to make narrative sense out of the disparateness of Prince’s personality, in part by showing how his memory lives in the people who knew him. Garcia, now a self-possessed woman who retains an air of innocence amid the wreckage of her experience, can summon affection and understanding; she herself cannot seem to condemn him. Edelman allows us to see her own mythmaking, the moments in the interview when she seems magnetized by the fantastical love story she is narrating. “It’s what every woman wants to hear on her wedding night,” she says, describing his singing “Friend, Lover, Sister, Mother/Wife,” her eyes filling with tears. She seems as mystified as we are by the starkness of Prince’s contradictions, still in thrall to his tenderness and brilliance and invested, perhaps, in having been the object of his prickly admiration.

Edelman presents the depth of Prince’s denial about the death of his baby — for years, he would never acknowledge it publicly — as more evidence of his inability to show how truly vulnerable he was: a motherless, fatherless child who longed to be protected by a family of his own. As the family-making enterprise was failing, it seems he sought a different form of protection. Over the next 15 years, he adhered to a strict religious observance, falling under the sway of an ersatz father figure, the musician Larry Graham, who insinuated himself into Prince’s life and instilled in him the Jehovah’s Witness theology. Another seemingly inexplicable chapter in Prince’s metamorphosis starts to make some kind of sense. That weird period when Prince kind of went off the deep end? The film shows how he was caught in a grief that he couldn’t admit to or comprehend, trying on many new guises in an attempt to shed it.

By the spring of 2023, Edelman and his team had assembled a cut of the film that was nine hours long, and they were still obsessively editing it, still trying to calibrate Prince’s many sides, while also allowing the viewer to luxuriate in the utter genius of his performances. But even as they continued their work, the project was being obstructed by Prince’s estate.

Of the many bafflements of Prince, one of the most haunting is his failure to leave a will. Prince spent years in a burning fury over Warner Brothers’s ownership of his master recordings. Having them restored to him was his great crusade. Two years before he died, a deal was finally worked out, and he got his masters back. In the film, he refers to them as his children. So how could it be that he left no plan for their posterity? Was it the ultimate act of control, a reflection of his distrust of lawyers and contracts? Or was it a final act of abandonment — of himself, of his own work?

After he died, his estate, which was divided among his sister, Tyka, and five half-siblings, was plunged into chaos. When Netflix negotiated the deal for the documentary, a court had placed the estate, which owed millions in back taxes, under the administration of Comerica Bank & Trust. But in 2022, after years of legal battles, a Minnesota court divided Prince’s assets between Primary Wave, a music company to whom three of Prince’s heirs had sold their shares, and Prince Legacy LLC, composed of the other three heirs and L. Londell McMillan, a lawyer who worked with Prince in the 1990s and 2000s, and Charles Spicer, a music producer.

The estate quickly moved to shut Edelman and his team out of the vault, with no explanation, making it even more difficult to finish the film. In the fall of 2022, when several representatives of the estate were shown the first part of the film, which details Prince’s early years, Edelman says they expressed displeasure with its content and tone. (When I asked a representative for Netflix how they responded to the estate’s position, they declined to comment.) Then came another blow: In March 2023, Lisa Nishimura, the Netflix executive who negotiated the original deal and hired Edelman, was laid off after restructuring, a move that shocked the industry and was generally thought to signal a change in Netflix’s strategy. With Nishimura gone, the project lost its most skilled intermediary with the estate and its most powerful internal champion.

Edelman started showing the film to family and friends and to some of the people who had appeared in it. One day in summer 2023, he invited Questlove, the hip-hop artist, music historian and Academy Award-winning filmmaker — and perhaps the world’s No. 1 Prince fan, who serves in the film as one of the chief explicators of his musical innovation — to a daylong screening with several friends in Brooklyn.

By the fourth hour, when I arrived, the room had the distinctive movie-theater musk: popcorn and bodies stewing in emotion. Questlove, sitting in the very front in a black sweatsuit, made his pleasure and pain known. When Susannah Melvoin described how Prince’s personality in bed was the very opposite of his stage persona (“He was very controlled, very shut down”), Questlove bellowed an incredulous expletive. When Morris Hayes, one of Prince’s longtime bandmates, said he encouraged Prince to reconcile with his father — “You only got one dad” — Questlove snapped his fingers in agreement.

You could feel the collective wonder in the room at the end of the penultimate chapter of the film, when Edelman presents the story behind Prince’s famous guitar solo during “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on the night he was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2004. It has been viewed more than 29 million times on YouTube. After Tom Petty, Steve Winwood, Jeff Lynne and Dhani Harrison have played through most of a reverential rendition of the song, Prince emerges from the wings, in a black suit and a red bowler hat, poker-faced, and plays a solo of such intricacy and mournfulness that the other players shake their heads and grin with admiration. On its face, it’s a supreme expression of Prince’s superiority and bravura. But the film gives it a new context.

Questlove, on the screen, talks about his disbelief, the previous year, when Rolling Stone made a list of the 100 greatest guitar players of all time, and Prince was left off it. Prince nursed these kinds of slights, and his commandeering of the stage — at an event associated with Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone — was, in part, an act of revenge. There’s spite and aggression in the performance. But there’s also pain — in his wincing face, his apartness: a small, soigné Black man onstage with these rumpled white rockers.

Edelman juxtaposes the first moments of the solo with wisps of the past, calling back to earlier images: Here’s Prince jumping up again to be seen behind his peers; here’s Prince as a baby being held by his mother, and we hear his voice saying, “I ran away when I was 12.” We know, from the sequence before this one, that his parents had recently died. Suddenly, this triumphant performance is given this other dimension of insecurity and insistence in the face of all doubters — the white rock establishment, his uncomprehending parents, the demons in his head. The keening he elicits from the guitar is so plaintive, you want to weep too. A close friend of his later told me that Prince would watch this performance over and over.

Prince died on April 21, 2016, at age 57, of a fentanyl overdose, alone, in an elevator at Paisley Park. His death was presaged in the lyrics of “Let’s Go Crazy” (“Tell me,” he yowls, “are we gonna let de-elevator bring us down? Oh no, let’s go! Let’s go crazy! Let’s go nuts!”), leaving his friends to wonder if he had somehow planned it, fulfilling his own prophecy, orchestrating his mythology until the end. In the final moments of the film, Edelman gives him to us in his glory, sitting at a piano and singing “The Ladder,” a song but also a prayer: “Everybody’s looking for the ladder. Everybody wants salvation of the soul.”

When the screening ended, after midnight, Questlove was shaken. Since he was 7 years old, he said, he had modeled himself on Prince — his fashion, his overflowing creativity, his musical rule-breaking. So “it was a heavy pill to swallow when someone that you put on a pedestal is normal.” That was the bottom line for him: that Prince was both extraordinary and a regular human being who struggled with self-destructiveness and rage. “Everything’s here: He’s a genius, he’s majestical, he’s sexual, he’s flawed, he’s trash, he’s divine, he’s all those things. And, man. Wow.”

I called Questlove a few months later, to see how it had all settled in his mind. He said he went home that night and spoke to his therapist until 3 a.m. He cried so hard he couldn’t see. Watching the film forced him to confront the consequences of putting on a mask of invincibility — a burden that he feels has been imposed on Black people for generations. “A certain level of shield — we could call it masculinity, or coolness: the idea of cool, the mere ideal of cool was invented by Black people to protect themselves in this country,” he said. “But we made it sexy. … We can take dark emotion and make that cool, too.”

The night of the screening, he said he told his therapist, was a wake-up call: “I don’t want my life to be what I just saw there.” It was painful, he said, to “take your hero and subject him to the one thing that he detests more than life, which is to show his heart, show his emotion.” But Questlove feels the film performs a cultural service: a cracking, particularly for Black men, of a facade of invincibility. “No one wants to go first,” he told me, but “for the greater good, for the greater good of mankind and our evolution as human beings, and wanting to be seen as human beings,” he said, “I saw this as a rare, rare, rare chance for us to look human to the world.”

A few weeks after the Brooklyn screening, a cut of the full film was shown to the estate for a factual review. McMillan responded with 17 pages of notes demanding changes. Edelman, wanting to reach a compromise, made some adjustments. But he was adamant that he wouldn’t remove episodes or ideas that felt crucial for the film’s narrative and journalistic cohesion. The estate had demanded, for instance, that he reshoot Paisley Park because they didn’t like the way it looked, or that during the scene depicting Prince’s death, he remove the song “Let’s Go Crazy,” with its lyric about the elevator. They wanted him to take out a part of Wendy Melvoin’s interview, when she talks about Prince’s calling her up after he became more religious to ask her to renounce her homosexuality as a precondition for getting the band back together, and to excise Alan Leeds’s assessment — which was echoed by some critics at the time — that Prince’s 2001 album, “The Rainbow Children,” contained antisemitic lyrics. Edelman refused, insisting that this phase of Prince’s life demanded explanation. How could an artist who talked about freedom and inclusiveness also profess these kinds of beliefs? It wasn’t the entirety of Prince, but it was an important part of his trajectory.

McMillan was intransigent. In the one face-to-face meeting they had, in August 2023, Edelman said that McMillan told him he believed his film would do generational harm to Prince. (Neither McMillan nor Primary Wave responded to multiple interview requests or a detailed list of questions.)

In late spring of this year, the news started to percolate in Hollywood that Edelman’s film might never air. The estate’s attitude about the project seemed to be encapsulated in a July 2024 tweet by Charles Spicer: “We have a duty to honor and protect his legacy with a story that fairly shows his complexities as well as his greatness. #no9hourhitjob.” On Reddit fan threads, rumors abounded that the film was salacious, a takedown. One post, sent to me by a friend of Prince’s who told me it reflected the attitude of the estate, read: “The documentary tears him down and then builds him up. They only do this to our Black heroes. Will they talk about a fight with an ex from 45 years ago when they do Mick Jagger’s or David Bowie’s documentary? Will they talk about drug use or grooming young women? Of course not.”

I discussed this argument with the writer Danyel Smith, former editor of the music magazine Vibe, the author of “Shine Bright: A Very Personal History of Black Women in Pop” and a contributor to this magazine. Smith has not seen the film, but she told me that while she would never insist on a purely celebratory portrait of a Black icon like Prince, she could understand the feelings of rage and neglect that lie behind that wish. The fact that we rarely see this anatomization of Mick Jagger or Bowie — or for that matter Paul Simon or Paul McCartney — “allows a very traditional white male masculinity to still stand there as a monument of what genius is supposed to look like,” she said. She offered a comparison to George Washington, who was allowed to stand as an unquestioned national hero for centuries before anyone focused on how he “stole dentures from his slaves’ mouths.”

Although the shareholders in the estate claim publicly to have an equal voice, several people who have dealt with them directly say that McMillan is the dominant shaper of strategy and decisions. He has been a lawyer in the music industry for 30 years, and he is known as a canny businessman, who was instrumental in helping Prince get out of his Warner Brothers contract more than two decades ago, though he and Prince were not close in the last years of his life. He is also a polarizing figure whom several people characterized to me as controlling and bullying. Jay-Z famously went after him on his album “4:44”: “I sat down with Prince, eye to eye/He told me his wishes before he died/Now, Londell McMillan, he must be colorblind/They only see green from them purple eyes.” Several people I spoke to said they believe McMillan’s objections come down to a fear that the film will get Prince “canceled” and devalue the estate’s bottom line.

In July, Matthew Belloni reported in his newsletter, “What I’m Hearing,” which is widely read in the industry, that the film was in danger of being shelved. Though Edelman and Netflix retained final cut, Belloni reported, the estate had managed to hold up the project because of a clause in its original contract with Netflix, which stipulates that the film be no more than six hours in length. According to Belloni, Edelman was not willing to truncate it.

The company’s role in all this remains murky. It’s well known in the industry that Netflix executives keep close tabs on their filmmakers, giving ample notes throughout the process, with particular attention to structure. Edelman, so far as I could tell, was encouraged to work on a large canvas, as he did so successfully with his O.J. Simpson film. Given the precision with which he always works, I called Edelman to ask whether the deal he entered into with Netflix specified that the film be limited to six hours; he said he was not at liberty to discuss it. When I put the question to Netflix, the company declined to answer. I had asked an executive who doesn’t work at Netflix but oversees major documentary negotiations how this dispute over length could have happened. The person wondered, “Was there something in the initial negotiation that wasn’t fully communicated to the filmmaking team?”

Cutting a film to six hours from nine hours is not impossible, but it would involve essentially starting the editing process, which took four years, from scratch. Having seen the documentary in its current form, I can say that its length is part of its majesty and fundamental to the claim Edelman is making about Prince’s importance. The novelist Danzy Senna, a friend of Edelman’s who saw the film, told me how moved she was by the length of it. “The bigness of it: Black genius doesn’t get that treatment. We would treat Mozart this way. And this is the kind of mind we’re dealing with — very unusual once-in-a-century kind of brilliant.” Steve James, the director of “Hoop Dreams” and many other award-winning documentaries, also saw the film and extolled its length. “As a viewer, you are asked to grapple in the same way the filmmaker does — with all the complexity of who this guy was. The good, the bad and the ugly. That’s the integrity of the filmmaker, and the completeness of it,” he told me. “You know that what you’re watching is indisputable.”

As word of the project’s dissolution began to spread, a number of executives and filmmakers I spoke with (most of whom requested to remain anonymous, to preserve relationships in the industry) saw Netflix’s failure to protect Edelman’s film as symbolic of discouraging changes in the documentary field. Netflix, which is still the biggest platform for documentaries, has, in recent years, moved away from the kind of prestigious, provocative films that helped make the company’s reputation, toward content that is inexpensive to make and appeals to a global audience. Many people pointed to the platform’s increased appetite for gauzy, entertaining celebrity documentaries — of, for example, Beyoncé, David Beckham, Taylor Swift, Jennifer Lopez, all of whom were intimately involved in their creation.

When asked to respond to a list of questions about how the project came apart, a Netflix representative offered the following statement: “This documentary project has proved every bit as complex as Prince himself. We have meticulously archived Prince’s life and worked hard to support Ezra’s series. But there are still meaningful contractual issues with the estate that are holding up a documentary release.” I wrote back to ask if it was possible that Edelman’s film could still come out at some point or whether — as some sources speculated to me could happen — another director might be hired to cut it down to make a version more pleasing to the estate. Netflix declined to comment.

Even as its prospects for release dimmed, Edelman had continued tinkering with the film, refining the score, changing transitions. The people around him often spoke about his maniacal precision and drive, and several of them compared him to Prince. Edelman, too, once told me about the ways he related to his subject. They were each demanding, obsessed with work, insistent on doing things their own way — but at least Prince brought joy to millions of people, Edelman said ruefully. Sometimes Prince’s life appeared to Edelman as a warning. At moments he disliked him intensely, only to find himself moved by Prince’s humanity.

Prince’s sharp angles softened somewhat as he grew older. He had taken on the mantle of elder — championing younger musicians, especially women, whose work he sometimes discovered online. On tour, he became a living, breathing archive of a century’s worth of Black music, which he would play with joyous mastery. At the urging of his friend Cornel West, the academic and activist (and a lively presence in the film), he addressed politics and injustice more directly than he ever had. In the film, we see footage of a concert Prince gave in Baltimore in 2015 after the police killing of Michael Brown and the death of Freddie Gray, where he tells the grieving crowd: “I am your servant this evening. I am your housemaid, and I love each and every one of you.”

In the last months of his life, Prince did a series of lo-fi concerts he called his Piano and a Microphone tour, footage from which forms the spine of the film’s final hours. Prince wears a sparkling purple jumpsuit, his natural hair in a large Afro, the way he wore it when he was first starting out. He sits at the piano, accompanying himself without a band, singing epic ballads like “Sometimes It Snows in April” and “Anna Stesia.” His pyrotechnic performance style has given way to a cindery, gentle one. He speaks to the audience as he never did in his big arena shows, mentioning the loss of old friends, the pain of his childhood, his loneliness. Occasionally, as Scottie Baldwin, his live sound engineer at the time, told Edelman, Prince would leave the stage to cry, drink some tea and go on again. All those years of devotion to performance seem to have peeled something back in him.

In one sequence in the film’s last hour, Prince sings “Free,” a song that he wrote in his 20s, addressed to someone who is having trouble facing the day. “Don’t sleep until the sunrise, listen to the falling rain,” he sings in his caressing falsetto. “Don’t worry ’bout tomorrow, don’t worry about your pain/don’t cry unless you’re happy, don’t smile unless you’re blue/never let that lonely monster take control of you.” It’s another moment in which Edelman stitches a song together with images from earlier in Prince’s life: Here he is falling to his knees during a performance, doing a victory jig in a powder-blue jumpsuit on the basketball court, kissing Wendy Melvoin onstage, bowing to Mayte Garcia, blowing a big pink bubble and grinning. By now, we know him well: his torment, his competitiveness, his longing for communion and his failure to achieve it. Edelman shows us how deeply all this lives inside this song. “Be glad that you are free,” he cries out in the chorus, “free to change your mind. Free to go most anywhere anytime.”

The purity and virtuosity that Prince reached in these late performances is contrasted with the increasing disorder of his private life. Chronic pain dogged him. Decades of wild, athletic performance — sequences of leaps and twirls and full splits in four-inch high-heeled boots — took their toll. A chorus of voices in the film — Garcia, Wendy Melvoin, Hayes, sound engineers, bodyguards, assistants — testify to his decades-long dependence on pain medication, how it warped his body and his mind, how he quit and relapsed, how it finally killed him.

We see images from Paisley Park taken by investigators after Prince died: his makeup table strewn with spilled bottles, piles of food left to rot in corners, pills scattered on bedspreads, a makeshift bed on the floor of a small internal bedroom — a disturbing echo of his early trauma at the hands of his stepfather. When he died on that elevator, in a box within the box of Paisley Park, he was sealed in, completely alone.

I thought about whether seeing these images amounted to a desecration. Does the whole world need to know about the very private, ugly torments of this genius? But then I registered the dominant sensation the film produced, which was awe. Whatever chaos was unfolding in the corners of Paisley Park, in public Prince alchemized it into singing that was majestic and generative and leapt over walls. The film shows, more movingly and convincingly than almost anything I’ve seen, how life can illuminate art, and yet how separate the two things really are. The bruises and mess of experience are transfigured by the artist into something coherent and whole: a perfect offering.

At the end of his life, several people who knew him told me, Prince was more open, more willing to acknowledge his shortcomings and share aspects of his pain. But he couldn’t get all the way there — couldn’t admit the extent of his dependency on pain pills, couldn’t allow old friends to see him in his suffering, couldn’t make a plan for his legacy. Edelman’s film restores to Prince some of the things he could never achieve for himself. It’s an act of witness and a kind of accompaniment for a lonely musical genius. But through some grim cosmic poetry, it, too, remains locked in the vault.

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springpiety · 2 months

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MORTAL KOMBAT VERSE: REAPER OF THE NETHERREALM (PLAYLIST)

Name: Kore

Age: 2,000 years old

Creator: Demeter

Mentors: Raiden, Kharon

Birth Place: Greece (Earth Realm)

Alignment: Neutral Good / Chaotic Neutral

Aliases: Persephone (Bringer Of Death), Grim Reaper, Goddess Of Spring, Dual God.

Representative: Damien Wright

Manager: Helena Watson

Occupation: Elder God of Spring, Reaper of The Netherrealm, Kombat Contestant

Original Timeline: MK 11 - Earth B-32

Current Timeline: MK 1 - Earth D-67

THE BIRTH OF KORE: GODDESS OF SPRING

In the realm of pure creation, a being of immense love and beauty crafted Kore from the essence of a million perfect roses. Her mother, driven by a profound desire to bring life and vitality into existence, conjured Kore through her will alone. This act of creation was a testament to her boundless affection. Kore was born imbued with the power of spring, a symbol of rebirth and growth. Kore’s spring powers were remarkable. Her touch could coax flowers from barren soil, make trees flourish with verdant leaves, and summon gentle rains to nourish the earth. She had the ability to communicate with plants and command them, drawing vibrant life from the natural world. Most uniquely, Kore could manifest nymphs from the flowers she nurtured. These nymphs, ethereal and enchanting, acted as her companions and guardians, weaving through the flora she created.

DIVINE BLESSINGS: THE CURSE OF WRATH

Unbeknownst to her mother, an ancient being of discord and chaos took an interest in Kore’s pure, radiant nature. This entity saw an opportunity to inject turmoil into her existence. Under the guise of a blessing, the being imparted the curse of wrath upon Kore. This malevolent gift lay dormant until a critical moment would awaken it, turning Kore's life upside down.

The curse was a cruel twist of fate, imbuing Kore with a destructive force that would manifest when she was most vulnerable. Her mother, focused solely on the beauty and potential of her creation, could not foresee the dark implications of this curse.

THE DEATH OF SPRING: A DIVINE ACT

One fateful day, Kore witnessed a group of mortals uprooting her precious flowers, killing her beloved nymphs in the process. The act of desecration triggered an overwhelming surge of wrath within her. A cataclysmic scream erupted from her, shaking the earth and splitting the sky. Nature itself seemed to revolt as the ground cracked open, swallowing the culprits and decimating the land around her.

As the dust settled, the surviving mortals, in sheer terror, screamed out her name: "Persephone, Bringer of Death." The title resonated through the chaos she had wrought, marking her as a force of unimaginable power and destruction. Her heart ached as she stood amidst the devastation, the weight of her actions crashing down on her.

THE TRIAL: JUDGEMENT OF THE ELDER GODS

The devastation caused by Kore did not go unnoticed. The elder gods convened a trial to address the disturbance. Kore, her innocence overshadowed by the magnitude of her wrath, stood accused. Her mother, heartbroken and distraught, was present, struggling to accept the reality of her daughter’s situation.

Raiden, the guardian of Earthrealm, pleaded Kore’s case with a fervent conviction. “She is but a child who has been burdened with powers she cannot fully comprehend. Her actions, though catastrophic, were driven by a grief she could not control,” he argued. The elder gods, including Cetrion, the goddess of life, and Shinnok, the ruler of the Netherrealm, were inclined towards severe punishment, perceiving Kore as a significant threat to the balance of the realms.

A SECOND CHANCE: GUIDANCE FROM RAIDEN

Raiden, recognizing the potential within Kore, intervened with a plea for guidance rather than punishment. “She must be given a chance to learn and control her powers. To condemn her now would be to destroy the very essence of what she could become,” Raiden urged. The elder gods, though reluctant, agreed to a period of exile and training under Raiden’s guidance.

A NEW PATH: REAPER OF THE NETHERREALM

Under Raiden’s mentorship, Kore began to understand the duality of her powers. As she matured, she was introduced to Kharon, a seasoned guide of death, who taught her about the balance between life and decay. Kharon provided Kore with a magical ring that allowed her to summon familiars and weapons as needed.

Kore’s newfound skills included manipulating decay, channeling death energy, and commanding spirits. Her scythe, an extension of her will, became a symbol of her role as the Netherrealm's Grim Reaper. Kharon’s teachings helped her master these abilities, transforming her into a formidable, yet compassionate, figure.

A BITTERSWEET REUNION: A MOTHER'S SORROW

After years of training and growth, Kore visited her mother, whose home had remained untouched by the chaos. The reunion was both heartwarming and sorrowful. Her mother was initially overjoyed to see her daughter but struggled to accept the reality of Kore’s duties. “Stay with us,” her mother pleaded. “You belong here, with those who love you.”

Kore, with a heavy heart, gently refused. “My place is with Raiden, who has guided me and helped me grow. I must continue my work,” she explained. As Kore turned to leave, her mother’s tears fell freely. The sight of her mother sobbing as she departed left Kore with a profound sense of loss and resolve.

AN IMPENDING DOOM: THE TIME KEEPER'S DESTRUCTION

The tranquility of Kore’s existence was shattered when Kronika, the timekeeper, launched an assault on her universe.

Kore stood amid the ruin of her once-flourishing realm, now a chaotic tableau of destruction. The sky above was a tumultuous whirlpool of dark, shifting colors as Kronika’s malevolent power tore through the fabric of reality. Her once-lush landscapes, vibrant with the life she had nurtured, were crumbling into voids of nothingness. Forests disintegrated into barren wastelands, and meadows of blooming flowers withered into skeletal remains.

The land fractured and splintered, time itself unraveling erratically. Kore struggled to maintain her balance as the very essence of her world twisted into disarray. Her magical ring, a treasured gift from Kharon, glowed erratically, its energy responding to the chaos around her. Despite her efforts to harness her power, she was overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the destruction and her own roiling emotions.

Kronika materialized amid the chaos, her form a swirling vortex of temporal energy and dark intent. With a cold, calculating gaze, she prepared to deliver the final blow, her power aimed directly at Kore. The timekeeper’s presence was a palpable force of entropy, and her attack was both relentless and devastating.

Desperate and disoriented, Kore engaged Kronika with every ounce of strength she could muster. Her scythe, now a symbol of her inner conflict between spring's renewal and the wrath she had struggled to control, was wielded with fierce determination. Each swing was an act of defiance against the encroaching darkness that sought to obliterate her universe.

Amidst the struggle, Raiden arrived, his presence bringing a glimmer of hope. He understood the gravity of the situation and knew that the destruction of Kore’s universe was only a part of Kronika’s larger scheme to unravel the multiverse. Raiden’s intervention was crucial, but he had a plan of his own.

A HEROIC ACT: RAIDEN'S SACRIFICE

He told Kore that they needed to escape, that her survival was vital to the fight against Kronika. As the battle intensified, Raiden revealed his true intention—sending Kore through a vortex to an alternate universe, while he faced Kronika himself. This sacrifice was necessary to ensure that at least one of them could continue the fight against the timekeeper’s apocalyptic designs.

With a heavy heart, Kore was pushed into the vortex. She watched in anguish as her world continued to disintegrate, the remnants of her universe falling away as she was propelled through the swirling energy. The sight of Raiden’s confrontation with Kronika and the destruction of everything she had known left her deeply shaken and filled with a devastating sorrow.

A NEW UNIVERSE: A NEW HOME TO DEFEND

Emerging from the vortex, Kore found herself in an unfamiliar universe. The transition was jarring, and the weight of her loss was immense. With the knowledge that her universe had been destroyed and Raiden had sacrificed himself, Kore felt an unyielding determination to stop Kronika from causing further devastation.

In this new realm, Kore began to prepare herself for the challenges ahead. She was driven by a deep resolve to confront the timekeeper and prevent any more destruction. The fight against Kronika was now not only a battle for survival but also a quest for justice and retribution for her lost world. As she faced the uncertainties of this new universe, Kore’s resolve hardened—she would be ready to challenge the timekeeper and protect what remained.

THE TIMELINE: MK 1 - Earth D-67

In this universe, the Elder Gods have evolved to reflect the diverse and complex nature of the realms they govern. Among them, an ancient deity thrives on the violence and bloodshed of the tournaments, a relic of times when sacrifices were the norm. This god's presence is felt strongly during the Kombat tournaments, where the blood of the defeated nourishes their power.

Kombat tournaments have become a grand tradition, with contestants from all across the realms participating in these brutal trials. Each realm brings its unique culture and combat styles, adding to the rich tapestry of the competition. While Earthrealm has adapted the tournaments into a commercial spectacle, complete with sponsorships and representatives, other realms continue to view Kombat as a sacred and honorable tradition.

Amidst the glitz and glamour of the tournaments, a darker narrative unfolds behind the scenes. Political machinations, assassinations, and civil wars simmer beneath the surface, making the off-camera actions just as critical as the fights in the arena. These clandestine activities can alter the course of the tournaments, turning the tide in unexpected ways.

Kore, having escaped the destruction of her timeline by Kronika, has found refuge in this universe. She secured a sponsorship with Damien, a shrewd and influential representative, allowing her to participate in the upcoming tournament. As representatives and fighters prepare for the next event, both seasoned veterans and new challengers enter the fray, each with their own motivations and secrets.

Kore, now acclimating to this new reality, understands that the true struggle lies not only in the arena but also in the complex web of alliances, betrayals, and power plays that define the realms. As the tournament draws near, she steels herself for the challenges ahead, knowing that every move she makes could tip the balance of power.

#mortal kombat verse

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ronanwolff · 3 years

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Loki, god of Mischief

Content Warning- 18+ smut, swearing, submissive Loki, oral(f), fluff

Summary: Short story. Enemies to lovers arc- You’ve always wanted to prove that you were not just some stray Frigga took in as a child and now, your chance has come. You’ve been given a mission, one that will prove you are the powerful witch you claim to be, but it seems there is someone to disrupt the plan, and we know how much he loves to cause mischief.

Months. I had gone over the plan and trained for months, and it had all been for nothing because of him. I strode through the halls with angry purpose as I thought of all the ways I would make him suffer, and when I heard his voice—that familiar chuckle, the anger in me morphed into fury. I marched up to him and removed the rein on my anger as I pushed him. Loki’s green eyes twinkled with amusement as he regarded me, and I could almost hear the words that were about to leave his parted lips.

Why so upset little princess?

And so, I stopped him. I made sure I didn’t hear those words that would soften me, those words that would leave my mouth dry and leave other parts of me wet to my annoyance and denial.

“You traitorous bastard!” I snapped at him. “Blithering idiot.” My chest heaved underneath my armour as I tried to get my breath out. “That was my mission and you ruined it. My chance to prove my worth to Odin and Frigga.” I continued, and I felt the magic brewing in me and wanting to be let out. My skin bristled and the rage within me began to tear at the well-kept seams.

“It sounds like you’re angry with me, but you know me, I like causing mischief…dare I say you need some of it.” He said to me in a low tone as he watched me, sensing just how tense I was. He leaned forward and I caught his eyes briefly fall below my nose and land on my lips. I inwardly cursed whoever among the gods had decided to burden me with the man who stood proudly before me. It had to be a curse because no matter what he did, my true feelings would never change. I tried to hide the bobbing of my throat as I swallowed and without thinking, I raised my hand and struck him across the face. I panted again and stepped back, awaiting his reaction but I was surprised when Loki turned his face to me with a mischievous smile. It was that smile that was all knowing, especially towards my feelings. It’s like he knew how he made me feel. His jaw tensed as he moved closer. “Did that make you feel good?”

“Go to Hel Loki” I hissed as I begun to walk away, he grabbed my arm and suddenly his lips were on mine. I was ashamed to admit that I had been dreaming of this moment for a while and now that it had become a reality, it did not disappoint. I felt the flush in my skin and the feeling of loosening in my limbs. Every bit of tension seeped away as his lips melded into mine. Rage turned into passion and unbridled emotion seemed to escape from me. It was only when I moaned that I remembered where I was and what I was doing. I pulled back sharply and slapped him again, but once again it didn’t have the desired affect because he only chuckled at me and gave me that same smile before pulling me closer. His eyes seemingly glowed underneath the light of the fires around us and mine glowed back in response. A light blue glow that I saw in his own eyes.

“I want you.” I finally breathed in a tone that had never escaped my lips. It was breathy and needy, and the vulnerability seemed to take him aback; it took me by surprise, and yet, he drew a breath and looked at me intently. His hand moved from my arm to my face.

“I’m yours.”

I didn’t let him say anymore, I only crashed my lips back into his, tasting the sweetness of the words he had just said. In fact, I had tasted no sweeter fruit than that of his lips and I knew in the moment his hands held my face and pulled me closer to him, I would want no other thing but him. We moved until my back was against the pillar and I grunted as the impact took my breath away. I had forgotten the injuries I had sustained, and I was sure that bruises would have started to mark my skin. “Are you alright?” Loki asked with concern. His kisses had stolen my breath and I could only nod at him. He stared at me, his eyes studying every inch of exposed skin on my body, but I lifted his chin and made him look at me.

“I’m fine, just kiss me.” I ordered and the grin returned to his face. That beautiful face. Loki Laufeyson, god of mischief was the most beautiful god I had ever seen.

“Yes. Always yes.” He panted as he returned to my lips. His hands surveyed my body, feeling and tracing every curve as he wrapped my legs around his hips. I didn’t know what to do with my own hands, but they seemed to take on a mind of their own as they worked their way through the dark mirth of his hair. My moan echoed in the halls around us and so did his hiss as he inhaled my scent. His face was buried in my neck, nipping at my skin painfully but it was fuelling me until a loud clang sounded around us. The gates.

“LOKI!”

Thor’s booming voice was unmistakable. I had no doubt he had questions for his brother over the failed mission or me. I hoped it was the former. I couldn’t stand before the All father and the council, not like this.

“Gods,” I sighed, trying to ignore the burning heat of my body but it would not dissipate. I wanted more of him, and I could tell he felt the same away as he quietly cursed. He turned his body towards the voice, but I held him close to me. “No. I’m not done with you yet Loki Laufeyson.” I pictured our destination and within a few seconds we were there. My chambers. I ignored the feeling of strain through my body at the use of my magic and I looked at the man who stood before me and for a moment, I didn’t know what to do or say.

“Tell me what you want.” He whispered and like that, a bolt of Odin’s lightning seemingly hit me. I had heard things about what he liked when it came to being intimate, but I had never thought it was true. He had always seemed so…sure, a master of control and yet here he was, staring at me like I was the brightest star in the sky, and he was waiting for me.

“Take off your clothes.”

He gave an amused huff at my command, but he obeyed, unclipping the daggers slowly from his waist before moving on to his gauntlets, and he was purposeful and slow in the movements of his long fingers. I swallowed as the gauntlets fell to the floor, leaving his hands and forearms bare and he then moved to his chest, unclipping the fastening of the leather of his armour and I gasped as he peeled it off his body and exposed his chest.

“Do you want me to continue?” He asked in that low husky tone that made me forget who I was and where I was. I shook my head after a moment and tried to find my words.

“Kneel.” Was all I said. It was the first word that came to me because it was the first word that returned to my mind, and it was also the first word he had said to me when we first met. I remembered it clearly as he held the sceptre under my chin as he made me look at him. He smirked as if he too was reminded of that exact moment. He then slowly sank to his knees, keeping his eyes on me as he straightened his back and laid his hands flat on his covered thighs. His muscles flexed as he positioned himself.

I didn’t need words to know what he was doing. He was submitting to me. Me, who was less than him, lower than him. I had grown up in Asgard knowing my place until Loki came along and made me question everything, I thought I knew. I was not a god and yet, here he was treating me like I was. I did the same as him. I slowly moved my fingers over my gauntlets, undoing them and then I moved to the protective armour on my chest. Once that was over with, I was left only in my corset and undergarments. I shook away that all familiar feeling of my power being loosed as the conduit of my armour fell away— something Frigga had constructed for me, and while I would be eternally thankful to her for such a creation, it was a breath of relief when my power was free to snake and coil within me.

Before I could reach behind, there was a spark of green in the corner of my eye and then hands that touched the bare skin of my shoulders and trailed their way to the ties of my corset. Loki remained still in front of me, but there was a playful smile on his lips. I gasped at the phantom touch as he unwound the ties whilst placing kisses on my skin and soon enough, I was bare in front of him, and I had never felt more glorious. The hunger in his eyes turned the usual green of his irises to almost black as he bit his bottom lip. I had never seen someone filled with wanting and so I took cautious steps until I was close enough to feel his breath on my skin. I could feel his eyes like fingers trailing up my body until he reached my eyes, and he was almost panting. His eyes were big and filled with need as he waited on my next command and a part of me loved seeing him hang onto my every word and instruction.

“Kiss me.” I finally said and I expected a quick and fast approach, but he surprised me. He moved slowly towards me, and he kept his eyes on mine as he kissed the skin of my stomach, and the feeling almost broke me. It seemed he had inherited his adoptive father’s abilities because I could have sworn, I felt lightning pass through my body. My head fell back, and I let out a breathless gasp as he continued his relentless assault of my lower body, placing kisses everywhere but that part of me that craved it the most. I let my legs fall open slightly to give him a hint, but he didn’t oblige me. “Please.” I gasped as I clutched his hair.

“You have to tell me exactly what you want.”

I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. I had never been nervous around men, and yet, he almost brought me to my knees. His eyes caught the shaking of my hands and he brought them to his lips, kissing away the tremble of them.

“I want you to kiss me…there.” I told him with more confidence, and he thankfully granted me my wish as he put his lips to the core of me. My knees buckled with every flick of his tongue and my hands held his own which he rested on my waist. I tried to bite back my moan, but when he moved his hand to cup my breast, I failed, gasping loudly. I was about to fall off the cliff of euphoria when he pulled away. I looked down at him. “Don’t stop.” I told him and he chuckled in response. His eye twinkled as he winked at me.

“I want to savour every moment of this, princess. I want when you moan, for all the nine realms to hear you praise my name.”

“You are so vain.” I said breathlessly, but I couldn’t help the smile that appeared on my face as I looked down at him. He was beautiful. I touched his face, memorising the angles of his jaw and the feel of his black hair. The green of his eyes. “That is what you like is it not? Seeing a god on his knees for you. Worshipping at the temple that is your body. Admit it, you like having control just as much as I like relinquishing it.” He whispered before he kissed me again. I whimpered under his lips. “You are my only god, the only one I will go to my knees for. Do you understand?”

I nodded absentmindedly and suddenly I was in his arms, but not for long because he laid me gently on the bed. He trailed kisses up the skin of my leg, biting when he could and his eyes remained solely on me, seemingly also memorising my every reaction. His normally neat black hair was now frazzled from my hands. I pulled his face to mine impatiently and kissed him while my hand wondered his lean body. I made quick work of his trousers pushing them halfway and my hands fondled the skin of his backside whilst his lips marked every bit of skin that surrounded my chest. I mumbled my approval as my body settled into his touch. He pulled away from me and I had to resist the urge to groan in impatience, but from the way he looked at me, with his green eyes so earnest and sincere. The gaze made me pause.

“You don’t have to prove your worth to me.”

The words hit me in a way that almost surpassed what he had been doing to me thus far. He used his fingers to caress my lips before kissing me again and I didn’t realise there were tears in my eyes until I felt them spill over my skin and without breaking the connection of his lips to mine, he wiped the tears away.

“I want you. I need you.” I panted and he swallowed my words with a deep kiss before biting my lip and pulling it. My eyes caught a brief glimpse of what lay in wait for me between his legs and I took a sharp breath in. I had seen all manner of men, but none were compared to the god before me and as my eyes dropped back down again, I joked to myself. I guess he is part giant

Loki smiled as he followed my eyeline and the smile morphed into a small laugh, it was almost as if he had read my mind. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks as I turned away from him, but he brought my face back and leaned forward, except it wasn’t to kiss me. I felt his breath tickle the skin of my ear, a feeling which sent a shiver through my naked body. “I will be gentle, I promise.”

I pulled him towards me and knowing what I wanted, he granted my request as he pushed into me, gently. My head lulled back as I got used to him. The feeling was alien at first but as I started to move against him, I began to crave more of him. He moved over me, and I relished every feeling and movement. I had watched him train several times, even fought him, and he was incredibly skilled; skills which went beyond combat it seemed. Every movement he made was poised and graceful, purposeful, and steering. It was almost like a dance, his body firm and yet fluid beneath the feel of my hands. He knew when to take the lead and when to step back. His lips never left mine or my skin and his hands held me, grabbed me, and soothed me.

It’s like I wasn’t in control of my body when I turned him over so that I was on top of him. I gave him a smile as I put his hands behind his head and kissed him. I wanted to worship him just as he worshipped me, he deserved venerate adoration. I slowly sank onto him and just remained still even as he fumbled for movement. It only took for me to shake my head and he stilled underneath me. I was in control and the feeling of it was magnificent. As I gave him a nod, he thrust into me and groaned in pleasure, and I heard the slightest whisper of my name. I let go of his hands, but before he could move, I replaced my hands with my magic, binding his wrists above him with blue energy. I rested my hands on his chest and closed my eyes, enjoying the combined feeling of him inside me, and the feeling of my unrestrained power, which burst forth from me in gratitude for having released it—having used it fully even if it was for decadent purposes. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me please myself and I could sense the smile of satisfaction.

“I need to touch you.” He said hoarsely and I only nodded, loosening my magic and he reacted immediately, sitting up and holding me closer to him. I gasped at the difference in feeling, and the presence of his hand on my throat. He kissed me deeply, using his teeth on the sensitive skin of my neck and shoulder. I circled my hands around his neck and then made my way to his back, while his hand reached between my legs. I choked at the intensity of the feeling and for a moment, I just looked at him. I loved this man. I wouldn’t be able to say those words out loud, but I loved him despite his flaws and deception and his affinity to push me towards murderous tendencies, I had come to know the man behind the god, the lost and misplaced boy who just wanted to belong to something...or someone. I wanted that too, and as he carried on moving again, I could swear I was about explode into stars.

“Loki.” I gasped as I finally fell off that cliff. I dragged my nails across his skin causing him to hiss, but he brought my lips to his again. I felt endless, not just stars, but a whole universe of galaxies and realms. When sensation returned to me, I could still feel him moving within me, building up to his own finish. I felt guilty for not doing more than planting lazy kisses on the skin of his face, but as I gave into the feeling of sensitivity where he continued to move, I moaned his name once more. He grunted as he held me close to him. His teeth bit into the skin of my shoulder once more as he gasped, shielding my body before giving me back the breath I had lost.

I watched him as he slept, he seemed more at peace with his eyes closed and the small rise and fall of his chest. He seemed more vulnerable. I pushed a strand of his hair away and smiled at him before controlling myself.

He’s a god, a prince, a son of Odin and you’re…nothing. A simple warrior. I thought as I got up gently, trying not to wake him up. I quickly got dressed, fastening my gauntlets and guards before looking at him once more. I moved closer to him and kissed him softly once.

“I love you.” I whispered, before leaving the room.

#loki #loki layfeyson x reader #loki fanfic #loki fandom #god of mischief #loki imagine #loki smut #loki fluff #loki series #marvel #loki of asgard

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moonlitmeeks · 3 years

Text

do you wanna build a snowman? - wylan van eck

summary: wylan van eck: demolotions expert, resident flute player, and snowman extraordinaire

warnings: none

words: 494

a/n: i luv wylan so the fact its the first time writing something for him makes me :D i'm not the biggest fan of this, im aware it ends so abruptly, but i hope you like it<33

winter was a time for simple, innocent fun in your eyes. gone were the burdens of adult responsibilities, thrown aside to make room for overly sugary drinks and childish games in the name of festive cheer.

even kaz brekker couldn't justify performing elaborate heists over the holiday season, allowing you all a few weeks off to do whatever you desired. he claimed he could use the scheming time, anyhow.

it was the prospect of some childlike fun, of which you were deprived of in your younger years in ketterdam, that had convinced wylan to join you out in the cold, snowy courtyard, hidden away from the rest of the barrel. it was a sight, the two of you bundled in numerous colourful layers, paired with fabrikator made gloves to prevent your fingertips from turning to icicles.

the pair of you worked quickly, wylan’s cheeks ruddy with exertion as you both laboured over the large ball of snow intended to act as the first ‘layer’ of your creation.. it was an impressive size, coming to around your mid-thigh, and you would have liked to make it bigger had it not become too heavy to roll comfortably.

as you moved to begin the next snowball, wylan held up a hand.

“give me a second,” he panted faintly, placing his hands on his knees as he allowed himself a brief moment of rest.“i need to get my energy back.”

you rolled your eyes good-naturedly, but didn’t deny his request being relatively tired yourself. it was ironic; fast-paced heists were no problem to either of you, but building a snowman apparently proved too strenuous. you’d like to blame the cold, but you’d be lying.

“okay, i’m fine, let’s go.”

at his words, you both sprung into action, combining your efforts to create a lump of snow just a little smaller than the first. with a lot of cursing and struggling, you finally managed to place the ball on top of the first, then produce another final ball to function as a head.

hands on hips, you stood back and marvelled at your triumph, exchanging over compensated compliments of just how brilliantly the other had worked.

a trio of small, black stones were pushed into the snowman’s torso, the deep colour intensified by the stark white snow, whilst several more made up a wonky face. jesper had managed to steal a knitted hat for you to place atop the snowman’s head, yet failed to find you a pair of gloves.

“could’ve stolen kaz’s gloves.” you remarked, eliciting a spirited laugh from the boy next to you.

“oh definitely, certainly wouldn’t have any negative repercussions for us.”

"mm, maybe if you or inej were the ones to take them." you mused.

wylan raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"inej, you mean. anyone else and he'd have their head."

you murmured in agreement, nudging his shoulder playfully with a grin.

"c'mon then. we need to hunt for some twig arms yet."

like i say, it's short but sweet, but since wylan is my fav crow, i needed to write something for him

wylan van eck taglist; @wlfstxr @lxncelot @ms-heartbreak-queen @teen-years-suck

december drabbles taglist; @just-cass @wrathspoet

six of crows masterlist !

december drabbles masterlist !

#becca's december drabbles!#becca's writing <3 #wylan van eck #wylan van eck x reader #wylan van eck fluff #wylan van eck imagine #wylan van eck x you #six of crows

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linkspooky · 4 years

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Who in you’re opinion are the 5 best written characters in jjk?

1. Suguru Geto

Geto is the type of character I refer to as an "empathy monster", his genuine feelings of empathy for other people just make him all the more monstrous. Empathy isn't a positive or negative trait, it's just one personality trait that makes a person. It's just the ability to inuit other people's emotions naturally. It's not some magical trait that makes you a good guy. Suguru starts out his story as someone who strives to be good, but in a "self righteous" way. He's trying to assure himself that he's a good person, that his beliefs are the right ones.

Geto and Gojo work so well as character foils, because they are essentially the same person. They're both "the strongest" and that makes them see themselves as apart from normal people. Geto at first believes it's his duty to help weak people, but that still comes from a place of looking down on them.

Then Geto is put through something no normal teenager should have gone through, he gets close to a girl, only to watch her die right in front of him when he promised to be the one to save her and fall away from his best friend shortly after, because when Satoru became the strongest it seemed like he didn't need him anymore.

Geto sees himself above normal people, but it's actually him genuinely connecting to someone he and Gojo would have dismissed as a normal person before in Riko Amanai, and seeing her desire to live in this world the same as everyone else, only for it to be taken away that breaks Geto. Geto feels this empathy deeper and stronger than everything else, and because he cares the loss absolutely devestates him and the only way for him to go forward is to just cut off that empathy. He starts seeing everyone, except for the sorcers closest to him as being human. He disqualifies them.

Geto works so well as a character, because it's his good qualities that drive him to tragedy not his faults. He shows how uncaring the world of sorcerers is, if trying to be a genuinely caring person can be a fault that drives you off the edge.

2. Satoru Gojo.

Gojo's writing is well done because it's balanced, the entire character is built around the idea of being "the strongest" but instead of it being a power fantasy, Gojou's character revolves more around how much it sucks to be him.

Gojo can win any fight alone, but it doesn't get him what he wants. He can't use his strength to solve every problem. There are several things he can't do, he can't teach that well, understand or relate to other people, play politics with others.

What Gojo wants is a better world, and comrades that can stay by his side without getting left behind, but he can't have those things. Gojo actually has an insecurity around being the strongest, because he thinks it's all that defines him. He sees his strength as insufficient ultimately because there is so much he failed to do. He has strength, but he couldn't save Geto. Gojo is the strongest man in the whole world and still he fails, he makes mistakes like any other human. Just like his character profile says, Gojo can do almost anything, but there's nothing he particularly wants to do and when he does find something it slips out of his fingers.

3. Okkotsu Yuta.

Jujutsu Kaisen writes main characters well, and it does this by not allowing them to be "the main characters' of their stories. In most stories the world revolves around the viewpoint of the protagonists. However, in the case of both Yuji and Yuta every time they try to view themselves as the heroes, or act self-centered in their viewpoints, they get slapped in the face and reminded that they're not the only ones fighting here.

Yuta is a well thought out version of the "nakama" trope, in that Yuta's entire problem is how codependent he is. He can't function without people around him. He was so afraid of losing Rika when he was young, that he cursed her and bound her to him for years after her death which inevitably made her suffer.

Yuta's passivity is also a serious flaw. Maki calls him out for "playing the victim" as an excuse to avoid responsibility. If he lets others push him around, then he doesn't ever have to make decisions for his actions because he's "not at fault." Yuta's arc in Zero is forcing him to grow up and take responsibility, otherwise he'll keep hurting the people around him like he did Rika, and I hope we can see the conintuation of that arc.

4. Kokichi Muta.

Kokichi is a perfectly executed tragic character. His circumstances aren't his own fault, but he still makes bad choices in those circumstances.

Kokichi's desire is to be together with everyone else. However, Kokichi is so afraid of his friends hating him, because of how worthless he believes his own body to be that he can't let them close. Kokichi has internalized the idea that he's weak, so he takes all the burdens on his own shoulders in an attempt to prove he's strong.

That, is what leads him to try to challenge Mahito all on his own. He wants to be closer to the others, but he can't bring himself to rely on them. It leads to one of the saddest scenes in the manga, and expresses the tragedy that's repeated again and again in the jujutsu world, that these are all just kids that want to be friends, and have the normal lives everyone else have. I want to be together with everyone. That's what Riko said. That's what Kokichi said. That's what Yuji tried to promise to Junpei. We want the characters we like to be happy, but to the ones with unhappy endings their story still matters.

Kokichi couldn't leave his room in the end, but even so there was still someone who loved him in Miwa, there's still someone who will remember him - and there's a power in someone who tried their hardest to live and love even if they failed in the end.

5. Mahito.

Anyway, now I'm going to praise the asshole that killed my other favorite.

Mahito is a frankenstein's monster like Dabi, he's just a little uglier. Mahito serves as an embodiment, a walking, breathing, id of human selfishness and desire. What's so interesting about his character are all his nasty traits are perfectly human ones. Human pettiness. Human jealousy. Human fickleness. The things that Mahito does are all things other humans do with each other. A confrontation with him is like an acknowledgement of just how terrible people can be to each other.

However, there's more to him than that Mahito is basically an infant, he is frankenstein's monster, a creation of humanity but distinctly not human and unaware of what he truly is. What I'm invested in is the potential of a character like Mahito. His starting point si the absolute worst of humanity, but humans are ore than just their bad traits. Just looking at the bad parts of people you're not looking at the whole truth. I'm interested in what kind of character that Mahito can grow into as he gains a wider view of the world around him, because he is a curious learning thing.

I actually hope we see him come back in canon after being eaten by Getwo, because there's a lot more that could be done with a character with so much potential as him.

#Anonymous #spooky speaks #jjk meta #kokichi muta #metasks #mechamaru #okkotsu yuta #satoru gojo #suguru geto #mahito

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boldlyanxious · 3 years

Text

Cursed Soul Bond

Jasonette July prompt 11: enemy mine

July masterlist

All fic masterlist

Marinette screamed in pain as Chat Noir turned her earrings over to Hawkmoth, promising her that everything would be okay. She could do nothing but freeze in agony as he removed his own ring and handed it over as well. Now before her, was her soulmate, Adrien Agreste. He had clearly figured out who she was without her ever knowing. She turned and watched his father, now revealed as Hawkmoth. Gabriel Agreste had taken off his broach in preparation for making the wish. He didn’t want to risk the other miraculous when he made his wish. It had to be the mix of the creation and the destruction to grant him his desire.

Marinette struggled and dropped fighting the grasp of her soulmate. She didn’t know how they could have worked together for so long and she never knew that her partner was her soulmate. But she couldn’t think of that now. She had to stop the man before he caused irreparable harm. A miraculous wish could not be undone. Nor could the effects. There would always be a price to pay. Adrien grabbed her again but he wouldn’t listen to what she was trying to tell him about what would happen. He was talking about his mother and how happy they would all be. He thought he had all the information so her warnings were all ignored.

Gabriel wasted no time waiting to see how the young couple handled the reveal or the betrayal. He donned the ring and the earrings and spoke the words. Time froze for a brief interlude as he made his wish. Marinette was aware that everything froze but she was unable to do anything else but know, trapped in her mind, as Gabriel controlled the ultimate power and was bestowed with one wish with no concern for the consequences.

When she returned, her soul mark burned on her arm. A searing pain that felt like it was ripping her away. Adrien looked stunned, watching as it flashed bright. His own brightened at the same time but he appeared to feel nothing. When the light faded, his mark did as well, leaving a patch of skin that looked untouched, no longer bearing any mark. He watched his former soulmate still in agony as the light went from shining to dark black. It was not reflective, it seemed to suck in all light.

Marinette dropped to the floor in failure. They had lost. She had lost. She had been betrayed by her soulmate and she had felt the bond tear away from her. It seemed to pull from every part of her body at once and left her weak. Adrien watched in shock, holding her until the agony ended. He seemed to feel nothing as his mark simply faded away. She could feel his arms lift her off the cold floor. She tried to pull away but her muscles didn’t cooperate. Everything felt so strange. Even being carried in his arms to the nearest fancy couch in the Agreste mansion felt numb.

He pushed her hair back from her face, it was matted to her sweaty skin. She was aware of shuffling nearby and was cognizant of Nathalie approaching with a cold cloth. She looked so worried as Adrien applied the cool cloth to her head. His hands felt so hot, like she was burning again. She shifted away from him. Her breath started coming in rapidly and she struggled to get away. She was so weak.

Adrien had backed away from her. He didn’t know how to react to her struggling against him and the sudden signs of sickness. Every few minutes he would place a straw near her mouth. The only feeling that helped at all was the cool water in her mouth and down her throat. She could not hear and could not speak. Her ears were filled with buzzing. She had no concept of time but suspected it had been an hour or so before her very worried parents showed up. As her dad carried her to a car driven by the Agrestes’ bodyguard, Adrien's hand held hers one last time as he passed her the peacock and butterfly miraculi as well as the jewelry that formerly held the powers for the kwamis of creation and destruction. They were now just symbols of her failure.

No one else seemed to know or remember about the threat of Hawkmoth. Gabriel had changed Paris and the world. Adrien said it was for the best. Now he had his mother and they still had each other. Marinette disagreed even though he begged and pleaded with her to reconsider. She would not even let him take her hand. She never wanted to see him again. Plagg and Tikki were the only ones she wanted to be with. Plagg felt responsible, and Marinette partially agreed with his assessment. He knew Adrien had a tendency to jump in with no consideration for the consequences and he had done nothing to temper that trait. Adrien didn’t know there would be a cost to the use of the wish because Plagg hadn’t mentioned it him when he already had so many other burdens in his life. That is why he didn’t feel the soul bond destroyed as she had. He didn’t know what he was doing was a betrayal even as it destroyed Marinette.

---

Nearly ten years had passed since Marinette had her soul bond destroyed. She had finished out her remaining school years in a small private school. She couldn’t connect with the others in her class anymore. She had been through too many things that they had no memory of. It was even a struggle to connect to her parents but they were loving and supportive even if they didn’t understand her sudden change. She suspected they thought Adrien or his father had done something to her. She couldn’t explain what had happened. So they harbored an anger towards the Agrestes thinking that there was some deeply personal incident but Marinette couldn’t explain that it was all of Paris and maybe the world who had been wronged.

The change of school helped her escape Adrien’s insistence that they could still be in love. For him it was as if the soul bond had never existed. He was still in love with her but she felt sick even remembering him. She could not stand to be near him. It took a long time for her to realize the twinge she would get in her dark soul mark was because when the bond had severed from Adrien it had attached to another soul. From what Plagg and Tikki could tell her it was a soul touched with dark magic. Cursed magic that only became possible as a consequence of the wish that now bound her soul to another.

She knew that it was her responsibility as a guardian and the only one who knew of the connection to fix this cursed bond. She would have to in order to finish binding Tikki and Plagg to new miraculous jewelry. They would fade otherwise and time was running out. It took her time to figure out where the other side of the bond was tethered. She wasn’t sure if that was because the other soul was moving or because she was still unskilled in this version of magic. Miraculous magic was natural for her but other forms of magic took a lot of training and drained her quickly.

She knew when she stepped off the plane that she had found the right place. She could feel the bond activate. Rather than absorbing all light, the outline of her mark reflected a bit of red back to her. Tikki’s color. She took that to mean she was in the right place. She only had the carry on with her and rolled it along behind her. She had some clothes and the miracle box. She needed nothing else. She would never return to Paris.

---

Jason rarely felt the pits anymore. Occasionally he would get the rage but it didn’t feel like he was doing anything different. It was almost as if for a brief moment something else was controlling what was happening. His wrist was often covered by a sleeve or glove but one night as the feeling of the pits drained back out of him he noticed a reflective bit on his wrist. It wasn’t just the UV mark from the club but it reflected the UV light flashing around just the same. He had a soulmark when he died as a teen, but it had disappeared. He assumed because he died. Now he wondered if the Lazarus Pit could change a soul mark.

He didn’t really have anyone he could ask about it so he started quietly looking for more information about soul marks. The basics of how to identify your soul mark and find your soulmate was readily available, but it did not interest him. Most people were able to find out that on their own. The information he needed was far more obscure and might not even exist. Chances are that his soul mate had felt his original death and had moved on with their life. It was hard for many at first but not impossible.

---

Marinette wasn’t very concerned with what job she had but she did have to find a job. Her interest in fashion had not gone but she had no interest in pursuing it as a career because she didn’t want the inevitable interaction with Gabriel brand. She severed every connection to that family and had no interest in interacting with anyone from her former life, even her parents as much as she loved them. She could not get past the memories of betrayal and her failure. She didn’t have to move forward, but she couldn’t look back.

She ended up running a used book shop that had a large number of very old looking texts that were almost never looked at. People came and went buying and selling their textbooks, classics and current best sellers. Marinette always had an eager smile to help them, but once they had gone she would be back perusing the books that seemed to call to her.

They were not listed in the computer at all. She had even tried to look some of them up and found no information on them, but they were exactly the kind of information she was looking for. Not all of them were useful to her but all were full of various sorts of magic she was previously unfamiliar with. It seemed that it was possible soul bonds were originally created or discovered by mixing different forms of magic. The book that mentioned it did not specify but she suspected that miraculous magic would have been involved based on her knowledge and what had happened with her own bond.

She started keeping careful records of all she had read and labeling the books so they could be found again rather than the haphazard pile the owner of the shop kept them in. He was rarely there and did very little to check up on her. She had originally gone to him about an ad for a place to live. He was a little surprised. He said the sign had been there quite a while and that no one even seemed to notice. He then asked if she needed a job and offered the position at the shop to her. She tried to remember if she had even given her name at this point. She was fairly certain she had not and that he had accepted her living in and running his shop knowing nothing about her.

---

Jason was getting a little frustrated in his search. He never seemed to have the time to do much and he couldn’t really delegate this task. Being a crime lord had its perks but down time was not one of them if he really intended to keep Gotham safe. There was a line of shops that his militia couldn’t seem to enter to recommend their services for protection. Every time they reported their income they seemed to even forget the buildings existed. One claimed that he had been there to the shop, but when he entered the door moved and he was no longer inside.

The rest of the crew was far more amused by the tale than Jason was. He sent them all out and decided he would have to pay the shops a visit himself. The first one was a small second hand shop. They didn’t seem to have much of value and little business. Jason learned that they did what sales they could but mostly the money went right back out. They gave away most of the clothes and served food in the evenings. They didn’t get much foot traffic so it was mostly internet sales from the donations.

He didn’t want to ask for protection money. He felt at peace when he entered. Except for a tug. He flipped the book of figures closed and walked over to the jewelry case. There were hair clips with blood red rubies inside that he felt drawn to. He had the old woman show it to him. He flipped it over and then lifted it to the light. He didn’t even think it was particularly valuable. The woman confirmed. She said that it was very lovely but she couldn’t sell it.

“You seem like such a nice young man. Why don’t you just take that one with you. Maybe you’ll find yourself a nice young lady to give it to.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Jason could feel the soul mark warm on his skin at her words. She didn’t seem to notice his distraction. She walked away from the counter and towards the back of the store with her ledger. She didn’t return. When Jason walked out of the shop, he remembered his purpose in going. He turned to go back inside, but the door was no longer where he had exited.

---

Marinette was tired after work today. She hadn’t even had much of a chance to organize the old books today. She needed to get out of the shop. She rarely ventured away except to replenish groceries. She lived and worked in the shop and spent all her free time reading and cataloging the volumes of magic. She followed her gut and went out into the town. She wandered around for several hours, drew in a park appreciating the fresh air and checked out a few shops. She was almost home when she was drawn to a shop a couple doors down from where she lived and worked. She knew there were shops along the same building she worked in but she had never paid much attention to them. She entered the shop to find a second hand store.

She walked through the shop, trying to recreate the feeling that drew her in. Nothing really popped out at her. She glanced through the racks but there was nothing that really interested her. She tended to make most of her own clothing, occasionally getting fresh ideas or a few signature pieces to give her original designs a pop. Nothing here really even inspired her. She turned to wave at the older lady carefully cleaning the counter before she left through the door she entered but she paused.

There was an ankle bangle that drew her attention. It was a simple design, black with a small emerald cat attached. Usually she avoided black and green as reminders of her past betrayal but she felt a light pressure in her soul mark. It flashed in her eyes for just a second before fading to barely visible. The lady at the counter had not spoken but Marinette startled when she handed her a small package. She hadn’t realized she had lost herself in thought. The ankle bangle was missing so she assumed it was in the box.

“For you Dear, it isn’t doing anyone any good in here.”

The lady walked off with her cleaning rag and did not return. Marinette exited the shop but when she turned back to look at the building the door was no longer visible where it had been.

---

Jason was still frustrated with himself for how his visit in the shop had been. He actually was not interested in demanding payment from the shop. He had a soft spot for the places that fed those who needed it. He had used them a lot when he was very young and food was scarce. He even funneled money towards a few that were more reputable and not connected to Wayne Enterprises. He hid his involvement but it was essential to keep people fed to help with the crime. Every bit he controlled made all of Gotham safer. He wanted the children to grow up with enough food and options so they did not need to resort to crime and drugs. He would consider himself a success if he was able to put himself out of business as a crime lord.

He looked down at the hair clips from the woman at the shop. He didn’t know what it was about the rubies gleaming up from them. He was drawn to them as if he were looking into the eyes of the most intoxicating person. He picked them up to look closer but still they seemed entirely ordinary aside from his unnatural fascination. He slipped them in his pocket and headed out the door. He chose to go as Jason to check out the other shops before making an appearance as Red Hood. When he got to the location he felt a tug towards one door. He headed there first before he had even realized he had made a decision.

---

Marinette heard the little tinkle of the bell on the door while she was just about literally buried in a pile of the magical books. She had been switching back and forth feeling like she was on the verge of understanding something big so of course someone was in to buy a copy or Eat Pray Love or Alan Watts just to pull her away from her possible discovery. She tried to holler that she was on the way at the same time as she extricated herself from the pile but it didn’t quite work. She tumbled over into the pile of musty, dusty books. She groaned. There was nothing magical about the number of bruises she felt developing on her side and back. She halfway pulled herself out as she heard firm boot steps headed her way. She looked up at the man towering over her. He looked only briefly before he reached down and hauled her up by her arm. He dropped it like it burned him and she pulled away from him and the tingling spot where his hand had touched her. They both felt it at the same time and they had a matching glow from the soul marks on their arms. The glow flashed bright for a moment connecting them with a beam of light and then it went into the skin leaving the mark silver and lightly reflective.

“So, I guess you are my soulmate? I’m Jason.” he said.

“I’m Marinette, and If that is what you call your warped necromancy binding to my severed soul bond to you, then that is exactly what I am.”

“You had a soulmate before? I thought mine would have been lost when I died?”

“My original soul mate betrayed me and caused a rift that detached the bond. Your dark magic attached the bond to you.”

He just stared at her for a moment.

“It is only a matter of time before I figure out how to work around your warped magic.”

“Hey, I did not do dark magic. I was murdered and brought back as a child. None of whatever you are pushing off on me is my doing. Maybe I could help you. I have been looking for answers since the mark reappeared.”

“If you say so.”

She turned and walked away. He took that as a dismissal and decided to leave and come back later. She didn’t seem very interested in him leaving any sort of contact information so he decided to head home and return later. He didn’t make it all the way. He pushed on the door and the little bell jingled but the door did not open. He checked the lock and it wasn’t locked so he tried pushing again.

It stayed sealed so he looked back to see what she was doing. Maybe she had magic she had figured out how to use against him. He noticed the glow from his pocket when he turned back. He pulled out the hair clips and looked down at them. The red gems were shining brightly against his hand. He looked back at her and she seemed to be having a similar issue with a bangle with a dangling emerald charm. It was glowing brightly like the hair clips.

Their eyes met and a dark mist fell over them inside the shop. Marinette knew what this was. She worked her way through the mist to find the books she needed and her miraculous grimoire. She motioned for him to sit and she placed the bangle on the table. She tried to connect with Tikki and Plagg in her mind. It had become increasingly difficult but she hoped the mist would guide her thoughts so she wouldn’t have to take the time to do the full ritual. The mist swirled around with the red and green auras appearing and then forming together in the air before settling over the table with the jewels. Marinette used the book she had to read out a few unfamiliar phrases after the mist settled.

Jason was confused but he felt warm and comfortable rather than uneasy so he followed her lead. He didn’t know what was happening but his soulmark was glowing and putting out a green beam of light that went across the table to twist with the red glow coming from Marinette’s soulmark. He couldn’t help himself when he reached out and picked up the bangle she had set on the table. He watched her move almost at the same moment to pick up the hair clips he had brought. The red and green in the air swirled together to make one small cloud of red and one of green as the black mist faded. The small clouds became an almost definite shape, like fairies. The black filled in around until they were creatures with eyes and mouths. The black went into each of them making them no longer solid colors but the red appeared similarly colored to a ladybug and the green appeared as a black cat with bright green eyes.

Marinette lifted the clips to the ladybug fairy and the creature pulled it inside itself. Her hand was empty. He did the same with the bangle with the cat fairy. He still had no idea what he was doing, but it all felt right. When the bangle connected with the cat fairy he felt it lift the bangle out of his hand as it pulled and it disappeared inside the form. The soul bond was tugging him. He followed the pull and ended up right in front of Marinette. Her eyes were full of hurt and concern but she allowed him to pull her to him. All at once exhaustion rolled over him. He dropped onto the cushioned armchair near him and Marinette sat right there with him.

Continued below

Taglist

#maribat #jasonette july 2021 #soulmates #jasonette #boldlyanxious

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ecrivant · 4 years

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a castle and the devil within | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

the night of the ambush on utgard castle; the air, pregnant with the impeding deaths of his comrades. reiner, plagued by guilt, ruminates on the idea of loss and culpability, and with you shares a moment that will undoubtedly come to haunt him.

a.n. – canon divergent in assuming the warriors knew of zeke’s plan to attack the castle.

word count: 3.5k

The group moved in the swathe of night like some serpentine unity towards an unknown. The moon, incandescent and looming high above the earth, enfolded the terrain in a ghostly haze which of all it touched made apparitions. In the air, a disconcerting quietude, silent all but for Equus footfalls dampened by sogged pasture and sniveling muzzles and the cracks and pops of low-burning torches. The topography, undulating, and from it emerged towering palisades of spruce which sectioned the land and curtailed the interminable and verdant hills. Clouds, by lunar glow illuminated and resembling exhalations in cold air arrested, roved the sky and overhung land so primeval Nyx herself present for its creation. Nocturne was refuge from the diurnal beasts who within them harbored a taste for humanity, but the cerement of pitch did little to lessen the unrest among the riders—in this world, serenity, erroneous.

At the horizonal marge of sky and land laid twin towers seemingly erected from the earth itself. Spires traced in moonlight. As the group rode forward, exhausted and pace lagging, drawing with their path the outline of the sloping land and leaving a trail of muddled footmarks in their wake, the castle entire materialized. Surrounding the towers, a crumbling stone bulwark, at once a product of precise masonry now by worldly destruction ruined—the fortress’ impotent aegis. This manmade edifice so alien in its surroundings, as if a misplaced afterthought meant for another milieu but forgotten and left for this bucolic landscape.

The group, looking strange and scarcely manlike, finally was before this decrepit palace—its courtyard, barricaded on three sides, was rife with debris, and vegetation grew over and between the laid stones which once formed the yard’s floor. The horses staggered on the unevenness. Each rider, form sore and tender, dismounted and tied their horses to what he or she could find and uncomfortably shifted between feet, readapting to bipedalism all but forgotten in the wake of such journeying. In this momentary recuperation, his eyes drifted to you—in no worse shape than the rest of the group, situated towards the back of their shapeless unit. Your back to him, slouched as if incurring an immense weight, and shoulders rolling beneath clothes.

Within the castle, a campfire, amber alight. Pitch dispelled as if a demon exorcised. Deep shadows in visages’ creases, casted in the fiery glow. The group here indistinguishable from fatigued miscreants of past and future.

He knew outside Zeke haunted the landscape, both specter and wraith, poised to strike. He knew this verily, just as he knew you rested, a stride away, in wary repose. His guilt, corrosive. You may die tonight, and he, delirious and consumed by misguided pathos, could only wait for this terrible inevitability. And perhaps one day he would make peace with his complicity in it and see your death as one of many needed to secure Eldian posterity, but he at this moment knew better. He knew your death would in fact eviscerate him, and he knew he would never be absolved, and for it he knew, upon his own final moments, he would be driven to perdition under the weight of his transgressions against you.

Your face, with delicacy, painted in light and complexion made orange by fire’s illumination. Aura beguiling, no less so than the first encounter. If, in your voice, the proposition to forsake his life’s purpose was made to him, he would fain relinquish it. And he would invariably sacrifice his life in exchange for yours, though perhaps not in the noble light the act was so habitually painted—it was not a gesture of loving sacrifice but rather the embodiment of an abject selfishness by which he was possessed. He knew he would not be able to bear the burden of your death, regardless of whether or not by his hand delivered, and would rather himself meet this inevitable and fatal eternity than ever live to see your end.

These terrible and penetrative thoughts of demise—a ghastly, mental seepage—were debilitating. He, as a warrior, as a member of the Survey Corps, was so well-acquainted with death yet had never acclimated to it and knew the last death to which he would bear witness would be no less harrowing than the first. And as he uncomfortably ruminated on these thoughts, he came to realize he, his presence, his mission, was the scent of death which hung over his comrades, the one which they so desperately tried to evade. Perhaps it was some unarticulated curse which followed inheritors of the titans. As misfortune and pain had fallen on his predecessors—the same who now inhabited him as ghostly memories and feelings—these miseries now fell on him, as if he was not a blank slate but rather a prewritten history destined to recount and repeat itself. Did he have any choice in what he had done or come to be? Or was the first inheritor as culpable as he in the terrible fates he wrote for those around him?

Even with his stoic form, highly controlled and for years constructed, he could not assuage the tremor in his hands or the accumulating bile which at once burned his stomach and throat.

He thought at one point he had distanced himself from you—an act of self-preservation—but you, aura infectious and penetrative, always remained. There in presence and in spirit, beside him always as if a phantasmal servant.

Beside him you rose and waited for a moment then moved to ascend the stairs of the tower in which the group found shelter. Someone called out for you, voice indistinguishable in the muted silence; a call less words articulated and more akin to a spectral exhalation of a once-present form. Your voice in response, a quiet assurance of your safety—you simply needed a moment alone. Yet against your wishes, he erected himself and moved to accompany you, informing you of his presence rather than asking permission.

“My knight in shining armor.”

Voice coy. A slight smile.

Yet, over him, horror settled, and he, overcome by unspeakable sickness, fought against the bile which threatened to spill forth. His knees trembled, and the stairs swayed and moved below him, and within him burgeoned a caustic remorse which eroded his conscience, creating from once plane morality a chasmic and unnavigable wasteland. In this moment, he wished he had returned to Marley after Marcel’s death. For his titan, and his responsibility and mission and resolve, would have been inherited by another—his entire being reduced to pitiable memories in the mind of his successor. And he would never have come to know you, or your strong resolve, or your aching concern, or your voice, velveteen, the sumptuous way you articulated his name. Or your laugh which swept past him with airy carelessness and within him bred a distant and warm and melancholic feeling, like a far-removed recollection, a memory of déjà vu. Or your quiet and unassuming history once marked by genial tranquility which was so violently uprooted by his own actions.

He stumbled as his body anticipated a stair which was not there. Your grip on his arm, strong, steadying. His eyes met yours, and in your gaze, that stupidly sincere concern, and in his, unspoken gratitude. At the top of the tower, contained in the interstice between the outside overlook and the end of the staircase, you seated yourself against the wall and he, beside you. He tried not to think of Annie or Bertolt or Zeke or Marley or his mother who within him placed her hope entire, and instead focused on the way you smelled of campfire and cold air, and the way, among the silence, the sound of your breathing stilled his heart. With a vacant mind, he simply sat and tried to match his breath to yours.

Still trembling, he inched his hand along the stone floor until he found your touch, and he twined his fingers with yours, and aside from a slight and barely-there hesitation, you did not react. Your hand cold and his clammy, and in teenage and involuntary reaction, he felt embarrassed.

The last time he desired you so blatantly came in ambush. He could not recall the situation, or even the moment before or after, but you were together, and in movement you had drifted past him, and as his eyes followed your hallowed form, the idea of kissing you abruptly and wholly engulfed him. He often yearned for you under the shroud of night or in the aurora of dawn, in response to a smile or a laugh, in the wake of a day spent together or a moment exchanged, but never after such inaction. He had supposed it made sense: for a space, moment, to become consecrated, you merely had to occupy it, and perhaps the moments where he did not crave you, though few in number, did not truly exist and were instead simply obfuscated by your very presence.

He rued each and every time previous he had not set aside his fear and held you. This touch, for the first time, in such a chaste and quiet way, and perhaps on the eve of your demise, felt vile. Your shared intimacy, perverse.

But the constricting grip of your hand on his, tightened and loosened as a tide ebbs and flows in conjoined action, brought him back from his negative ruminations. As if you sensed his need to be grounded.

And the look of your face in the barely-there starlight was enough for him to press his lips to yours, a loving movement made shy by hesitance. The kiss, ephemeral and dissolving in the night as suddenly as it came to be. He pulled away, face hot at your nonreaction, but you followed his mouth as if now linked and did not let him go. Is this what it felt like to be wanted, needed? In a second, you returned to your seated position and he to his, resting in silence as if previous exchange forgotten. Or, perhaps, never having existed. He suddenly saw your mutilated corpse before him and could no longer luxuriate in the aftermath of this intimacy exchanged, the grip on his hand and the closeness of your shoulder and his own breathlessness and palpitations now feeling like heresy.

He felt in the air your hesitation, the quietude preceding the break of a storm, before you spoke, words uttered in tone eerie as if invoked then manifested from the night itself:

“Do you trust me, Reiner?”

In few moments was he struck as speechless as this. His implicit answer was one of affirmation—he knew amply of how you so presently and continually heeded him—yet he, dazed and aphonic, spoke not. Perhaps fearful of a forthcoming dialogue in which you would state your misplaced trust on him conferred. He preemptively contemned you for saying such things, though it was scorn quickly and rightly turned on himself. You trusted him under the same pretenses he did you, and no reassurances, no matter how constant, could convince him he did not for you experience true and attested concern. It was not a matter of you falling for his acutely maintained artifice but rather one where he had, simply and unequivocally, fallen for you.

Your gaze bore into him. Patiently waiting for his answer and seemingly unfazed by his hesitance. He swallowed and shook his head yes and spoke to substantiate this claim:

“Of course I do.”

You nodded your head as if satisfied and looked up to the ceiling in musing and spoke again after a shared and pregnant pause:

“I trust you. More than anything.”

You began another phrase, but it trailed off, lost in the night’s permeant sombre.

And he did not hear it, instead intent on edifice around him crumbling, and conscience, crushing and destructive, under which he collapsed, and ire which burned him like flame, and dread which gored him and spilled forth his viscera, black and befouled from deceit. Intent on his blood now bile, and complexion now rotted flesh. And the eldritch bawl, suffused with ruefulness and agony and lamentation unmatched by even the most repentous sinners, which nigh spewed from his gut but instead caught in his throat in a choked sob. And intent on the manner in which he violently ripped away from you, suddenly and acutely aware of the way his hand twined in yours was the quintessence of sinful hypocrisy—what one should be made to embrace the sadistic numen who in its hands held his or her ultimate fate? And intent on the countless bodies of victims, past and future, coalescing in a single, fleshed mass of sanguine gore and tortured and malformed faces whose expressions more resembled demons than humans, each and all prostrate before him, supine in some perverted reverence like an agonous congregation in worship.

“I feel you bear my burdens for me.”

Spoken with a quiet and slumberous quality, as if your first words after waking. His mind prayed for your silence, a wish, unarticulated, as he could only hold his head in his hands and rock forward and back with mouth open in a wordless scream. And the emotions with which he was suddenly inundated did not result in tears, and instead he sat beside you, breathing hard and in shock and doing nothing, as if struck dumb. Your hand on his shoulder, a touch which in it held such comfort and concern, which he cowered under and tore away from as if beast threatened and made prey. And upon this reaction, the space seemed too small and your presence, repugnant. The crucifix proffered before the devil.

He himself, cursed, and now he cursed you.

The trapdoor above, wood weathered and water-logged and laying heavy and flush against the stone ceiling, burst open with a tempest gale’s force, and one of the veterans plummeted from the tower’s crown towards the floor and paid no mind to your pair and instead rushed down the stairs and called for the rest of the group. And just as suddenly as he had fallen under the yoke of his own fervor, he repressed all thought and set his jaw and ascended the final steps of the tower to emerge in the night. You beside him.

From above, the terrain a banished landscape. The trees which once towered towards firmament’s ceiling now sat in small and sparse clusters littered over the land’s spanning hummocks. And the moon, now at arc’s crest, bewashed the purgatory below in that same haze from before, the one which made all things wraithlike and seemingly ephemeral. And within that courtyard on three sides barricaded by the crumbling bulwark and rife with lapidarius debris and vegetation made bluish by the night which encroached upon the yard’s stone foundation posed dozens of those unclad leviathans, climbing over architectural remains or coming forth from arboreal cells or clawing at the tower’s base with hands all but human and much more vehement. Monstrous and aberrant pilgrims converging on their infernal holy land.

Knowledge of Zeke’s intentions made the sight no less grim.

In the moments before the veterans descended upon the beasts below in instinctual response, they were struck still, shock and fear in their eyes clear. And for some reason wholly unknown to him, the reaction, so involuntary and raw and basally human, impressed upon his mind and burrowed deep within him. His body shuddering. The nightmarish air, pregnant with the threat of impending carnage, and in it, unspoken fear.

Under blade the brutes fell silently and with their impacts shook the earth. Even with the dexterous hands with which the veterans fought, the tower’s entrance—a large and wooden and rotting door—was breached. Authoritative calls, tinged with desperation and fear and sounding more like cries, ordered the group’s remainder to secure the edifice. To fight to their final breath.

He could not bring himself to look at you, yet he still felt your presence, the air around you leaden and viscous and suffused with dread.

As he ran down the stairs, leading the charge to secure the entrance breached, he pondered his intentions. Atypical of his carefully crafted persona, and perhaps his true self, to waver in the face of danger and at the chance to protect his friends, or rather those who he had acutely deceived and convinced of his friendship, he resolved that his actions were integral to the role of Reiner—the protective and stoic hero who, out of fraternal love, laid down his life for those around him. A role with which he had no qualms assuming. Even if it was one through Paradisian Eldian’s eyes seen—he cared more about the perception than those who perceived him. But as he heard your voice with unprecedented fear call out, his name from your mouth a desperate invocation, all notions preconceived wiped away. He did not fight for the longevity of his own ego, nor even for Marley, or Bertolt or Annie or his mother, home in Liberio. In this moment, he fought for you.

Upon reaching the staircase’s base, and beyond the open door, he found himself before a titan with stretched grin and ravenous gaze, all humanity absent. In torchlight, the beast’s grimace, devilish. And he slammed the door and threw against it his weight entire and called out an indecipherable—perhaps an order, perhaps a cry for help—to the ones descending the stairs behind him. A sudden plosion of splintering wood beside his head, and through the hole created shot a fleshy and steaming appendage, furiously and blindly reaching for him. He felt shame as he realized he had already consigned to dying, and in the seconds before this infernal arm enveloped him, he thought of Marcel. And of Marcel’s scream—his final and desperate expression of abject fear—halted at its climax and then punctuated by the ferric and sour smell of fresh blood and the sound of bone crushed and brains liquified.

No, he was not to die here.

His movements, automated—his body, propelled away from the door and brushing against the arm which all but had him; Bertolt beside him and pushing a spear into the goliath; his form responding to a warning call, diving out of the path of the unloaded canon which flew down the stairs and as a bludgeon crushed the titan.

His consciousness divorced from corporeal form, only united again as the agony of teeth sinking into his arm suffused him with an unknowable pain. He was made sick thinking this was the feeling which marked Marcel’s final moments.

—

Trembling hands struggling with makeshift gauze. Punctuating, shaky breaths. Though you tried to hide it, eyes focused on dressing his wounds in silence, he could see you were thoroughly harrowed by the moments prior. While he was plagued by thoughts of your death, were you by his? As much as it would cause you great suffering, he would still rather die before you—in his selfishness, he would rather have you alive and obliterated by grief than he. He was reluctant to believe true love was this selfish. Though, when one says they would die for their lover, is it a product of selflessness or self-preservation in the face of grief? Perhaps in a world different from this one, selflessness possible.

You finished your work on his arm and sat back. He looked at you for the first time since you last spoke and found he could barely hold your gaze.

“I promise that if I die, I will be with you. Always. Just look for me.”

Were these his words or yours? There was no distinction in this place, voices and bodies and human and beast all made one primeval unity in this cold dark.

He wished for you to hold him.

And when this wish remained unanswered, and the group was called to the towers peak again, and he quickly and silently ascended the stairs next to you, he became aware of a painful and agonous truth: he would never know your touch again, nor he did not deserve it, for the hours and days that followed held admittance of his duplicity; a look in your eyes which so clearly reflected how he violated you; between you, an establishment of mistrust and enmity. And he would perhaps know your touch again, but it was touch imbued with lethal intent, hateful, your vitriol unspoken but not absent, as you, with all your resolve, tried to wholly annihilate him.

And yet, in an ironic turn where you, in your hands, suddenly held his fate in a way not dissimilar to the way he did yours, he still wished for his own death to come first, for he would not and could not resolve to live a life devoid of you.

—

ah hi there! was this one week’s worth of work? perhaps no. but i hope everyone enjoyed it regardless! thank you so much for reading and thank you to the anon who sent in a request for this fic! i loved your idea, and i hope you enjoyed the piece!

all the recent support means the world, and feedback and all that is always so appreciated. have many requests on the way, so look forward to more stuff coming soon!

request: ok so there's this scenario that's been itching my brain in the wrong place 😭😭 reiner and reader in the castle ruins? before the armored titan reveal? possibly the reader "confesses" to reiner by saying that out of everyone in the corps they trust him the most. and later on he just... does that. spare me some angst please

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird, @sakusas-whore

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagine #aot imagines #aot x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun imagine #reiner x reader #writing!

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gigantic-spider · 4 years

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The Frozen Heart (Day 14 of Magic Item March, a 31-day series of homebrewed magic items)

(Image source: Open for me your ice heart... by Yosia82; image description: A pale woman with white hair robed in a dark cloak holds a small heart made of ice in her hand. She crouches in front of a tombstone covered in ice while a snowstorm blows around her.)

Wondrous item, legendary (requires attunement by a spellcaster)

You are immune to cold damage while you hold the Frozen Heart.

You may use the Frozen Heart as a focus for any spells that you cast. You have +2 to spell attack and damage rolls for spells that deal cold damage, and the DC for spells you cast that deal cold damage is also increased by 2. Any cold damage dealt by spells you cast or magic items you possess ignores cold resistance and deals half damage to creatures with cold immunity (effectively piercing the immunity). Spells that deal cold damage are treated as though they were cast with a spell slot 1 level higher than the one expended to cast them.

Once per long rest, you can use a reaction after being hit by an attack to encase yourself in ice and gain immunity to all damage for 1 minute. While encased in ice, you are incapacitated.

Curse. The Frozen Heart is cursed, a fact that is revealed only when an identify spell is cast on the item or you attune to it. Attuning to the Frozen Heart curses you until you are targeted by a remove curse spell of at least 6th level or you spend an entire year without casting any spells that deal cold damage. While cursed, your heart is as cold as ice and you have an intense difficulty connecting to other creatures, which has the following effects: you automatically fail Charisma-based and Wisdom (Insight) ability checks; if you are a good- or evil-aligned creature your alignment changes from good to neutral; if you are a chaotic-aligned creature, your alignment changes from chaotic to neutral; you lose any Bonds while you are cursed; and you gain the following flaw - “Emotions are irrelevant. I am glad that mine no longer burden me.”

Background

When speaking of the Frostmaiden, everyone knows of her icy demeanor and her cruelty towards mortals, but no one alive knows the truth behind the frigid facade. Long ago, when the universe was young, Auril was the goddess of all seasons: bright spring, fiery summer, cool autumn, and icy winter. Her passions were wild and unpredictable, but whatever she felt she always felt deeply. In the youth of the universe, she created a mortal race to cavort with her across the Material Plane, but she soon tired of them and turned her attention to whatever her next fascination was. Her children cried out to her to protect them from the elements, but she could not or would not hear them. Soon their requests turned to demands, and their demands turned to resentment, and their resentment turned to hatred. “Why does our creator ignore us?” they said. “Perhaps we should pay homage to gods who will listen.” And so they did, turning to more stable and attentive deities. When Auril returned to the world she discovered their betrayal and felt the cold poison of jealousy flood her veins. In a fit of pique she destroyed her creations and created a new race of mortals to entertain herself. She abandoned these in short order, and the cycle began again. Each time Auril would destroy her creations, the icy grip of jealousy and resentment settled deeper in her heart until it was all she could feel. Eventually she was unable to access the warmer powers of the other seasons, and as her heart froze over completely she tore it out of her chest and shattered it into pieces so that it could never hurt her again. These pieces of Auril’s heart are now highly coveted items among frost mages, though they come with a deadening of emotions and a desire to withdraw from the world. Some see this as a price worth paying for the power it conveys.

Story Hooks

A former angel of Auril believes that Frozen Hearts contain the secret to healing her. She attempts to guide mortals toward their locations, hoping that they might find a way to thaw them. Thus far she has been disappointed every time, but she holds out hope that some stalwart adventurer might resist the lure of its icy power and heal her wayward mistress.

Frozen Hearts are a great prize, and none love these prizes more than white dragons. One such dragon, Noveron, took such a liking to its frozen treasure that it consumed it in order to protect it from potential thieves. As a result, it has gained dominion over a legion of frigid minions and marches on the southern lands to extend its desolate domain across the land.

#dnd 5e #dnd #dnd 5e homebrew #dnd homebrew #dungeons and dragons #dungeons and dragons 5e #icewind dale #magic item #magic item march #frozen heart #Auril #rime of the frostmaiden #5e

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queenofnohr · 4 years

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Shi Huangdi Interlude - The Arbiter’s Melancholy

This........ may have been the hardest Interlude I’ve translated to date just because of all the techno-fantasy magic terms + Lostbelt lore + Emperor’s speech patterns, haha.

There aren’t too many variable dialogue options, but it may be easier to read on Dreamwidth.

This was a commission for none other than @tainbocuailnge c:

The shape destruction takes is not uniform. That was the hypothesis We arrived at. Just as there is no fixed standard to how a dream ends…… When the Tree of Emptiness is pruned, what form will the vanishing of that degenerated fiction — that Lostbelt — take? The particulars of each world will surely differ. Will its end come suddenly, like a candle being blown out……? Or will heaven rend and the earth be torn asunder as the agonizing cries of hell ring out…...?

In Our Eternal Qin Dynasty, what first forcibly opened Our eyes was the lack of observant people. Forests, wilderness, unexplored mountains and rivers — one by one, they became naught but pockets of nothingness. An implacable darkness covered them, and they were lost to the world.

Yet the people did not notice. They were people satisfied with living peaceful lives within their homes, with no interest in the outside world. Another uneventful day passes, and they go to sleep again.

Eventually, in the middle of the night while everyone slept, a certain village was swallowed whole by that nothingness. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary, and while they slept, they returned to nothingness. In that way, one-by-one, the radius of the peoples’ existence disappeared.

Those who were able to awake to another peaceful morning had forgotten that there was a neighboring village in the first place. They had no questions at all about it. That was the destiny of the people. That was the way they were raised. We are the only ones who ascertain all with Our own eyes. Only We, who stand upon this earth as an ordinary person, know the end of this pruned dream. The one watching the crumbling world is the sole person who watches over everything.

How fortunate— Indeed, rather than postponement, the best thing one can hope for is the end. We estimate the time We have left. It will be around three months until Our Qin Dynasty disappears completely—

Zhenren Shi Huangdi: How does progress look, Our Hun*? Steel Shi Huangdi: Unsatisfactory, Our Po. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Hmm, We wonder if it’s possible to mobilize all computing resources to Epang Palace…... Steel Shi Huangdi: It is unsatisfactory, but it is not stagnant. Although it moves at a snail’s pace, steady progress is being made. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Hurry. We don’t have much time left. Steel Shi Huangdi: It is unnecessary to tell Us. After all, the authority of analysis is the responsibility of Our Hun. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: Yes, and Our Po is at a loss for what to do. We are vexedー Steel Shi Huangdi: No, Our Po. There are some things that can only be done by one who has attained human form. Soothe Our people as much as possible. Be with them until the last moment, as one who stands on their same earth. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: That’s right. That, too, is the duty of the emperor. It cannot be neglected. However, sooner or later everything will return to nothingness…… Steel Shi Huangdi: Indeed. Our Po has received the next most important role. With a body that is a perfect imitation of those ethereal beings, We should be able to once again step into that enchanted land. That Mystery, at the end of it there must be a path to pan-human history. Zhenren Shi Huangdi: It won’t be a long journey. The preparations should be enough, but…… Steel Shi Huangdi: Then, We do what We can, and the rest is in fate’s hands. Because We are the sole being under heaven, in all creation……

[in Chaldea]

Shi Huangdi: There’s a Singularity! Reyshift is a go-go! Fou: Foufou!? Mash: Um, Shi Huangdi......? You just said there was a Singularity, but...... is that true? Da Vinci: Oh, Guda? Sorry to interrupt your break. A very excited Servant might pay you a visit soon……

> They’re raving all about it as we speak

Da Vinci: Oh, I see. Nonetheless…… Please come to the control room for a detailed briefing on the situation.

> Roger that > I’ll be there shortly

[in the control room]

Shi Huangdi: It’s Xianyang, right? 210 years before the founding of Christianity, right? That should be around the time We reached a dead end in Our quest for immortality, no? Indeed, We shall declare it. It was Our complete failure. Da Vinci: That’s some declaration…… Shi Huangdi: Well, let’s see, the Us of that time was so impatient, such a quest made Us completely lose Our mind. The reason for extending Our life, what the meaning of having a country and emperor were — We lost sight of it completely. Sion: ……*sigh*. It’s true that it’s hard to think of that behavior coming from Your Majesty, who is wise— and furthermore, an ultra-high powered supercomputer. You know that you’re the one causing the Singularity, but you’re talking as if it’s someone else. Shi Huangdi: But you know, We will be 2276 this year. Yet when We died, We hadn’t even reached 50. For comparison, for you all it would be like watching a toddler. They have to grab onto something else to stand on their own two feet, and fall all over themselves. In that case, isn’t criticism much too petty? Da Vinci: I suppose so, but. Setting that very emperor-like fallacious argument for a second— what’s with you? You’re way more pushy than usual. Was Your Majesty always this type of character? Fou: Fou. Fofou. (Translation: More-or-less) Shi Huangdi: Well, it’s a dark past We don’t really want to recall. Let Us hide Our embarrassment, at least a little. Da Vinci: ……Ooookay. I don’t really think this counts as “hiding your embarrassment,” but whatever…… In any case, the one who will accompany you on your Reyshift to the Singularity will also be our strategy officer taking responsibility for operations therein…… Right now, I’m currently covering Goredolf’s position so, Guda, your judgment on this matter is of utmost importance. Do you really intend to bring Emperor “How Interesting!” along with you on this expedition?

> Well, with our destination being what it is…... > Aren’t they qualified?

Shi Huangdi: Indeed! An appropriate judgment. Just what We expected from the protector of humanity! Sion: ………… If that’s what Guda concludes, I have no objections. However, I’ll also be accompanying you this time as Novum Chaldea’s Weapons Development Advisor. Mash: Huh? You’re going to Reyshift, Sion? Sion: Don’t worry about my aptitude. There haven’t been and won’t be any problems, because I deal with them all flawlessly. Shi Huangdi: Oh ho? You are aware that as We are Guda’s Servant, We shall only concern Ourselves with Guda’s safety, yes? Sion: That doesn’t matter. I have no desire to stand on the frontlines, and I’m more than equipped to see to my personal self-defense. You’ll come to see that both martial arts and marksmanship are my forte. After all, I am a genius of the Atlas Institute. Shi Huangdi: Hm. So long as you prove not to be a burden, We have no objections. I’m sure Guda is of the same mind?

> It’ll be encouraging to have you along. > Welcome aboard!

Da Vinci: Well, it’s fine if Sion comes along with you, but, well…… Sion, didn’t you say you didn’t want to do Spiriton Hacking? Sion: That was then, and it’s only sometimes in some cases! This is a rare opportunity, so it’d be a waste not to experiment! Da Vinci: ……*sigh*. It’s fine. Well then, head into the Coffins, everyone. The Singularity coordinates have been inputted, and I’ve made the necessary adjustments to accurately monitor your proof of existence. Sion: Please be scrupulous in your surveillance, Da Vinci. Don’t overlook even the slightest anomaly. Da Vinci: Yes, leave it to me. I’ll use the utmost care.

[we Reyshift]

Mash: Reyshift successful. However, this is…… Shi Huangdi: Oh my, how cruel this is. Our beautiful Xianyang, reduced to this sad sight, feels like some terrible joke. And what is this miasma? Mash: It's a magical energy thick with curses that permeates the air. If it’s this bad with the protection of a Mystic Code, an ordinary person in this environment would…… Shi Huangdi: Indeed. It is unlikely that any of the residents have survived. Even if they were alive, they would surely no longer be Our subjects, but something else entirely. Sion: Even if this is a Singularity, what the hell could’ve happened to result in such a dramatic change? Just what was the Shi Huangdi of this point in time planning? Shi Huangdi: Well, corrupted as We were, We expect that We underrated the degree of destruction We would invite. Speaking of Ourselves at that time, Our disposition was that if something were to be done, it should be done to its completion. Nevertheless, it seems We persisted in such folly…… Of all things, We devoured Xianyang completely. Sion: Devoured it……!? You mean you used that complete monopolization of resources arbitrarily!? I know your quest for immortality escalated, but did you really start a biohazard level calamity? Shi Huangdi: Um, well, it’s embarrassing to say, but We cannot assert that it would be completely outside the realm of possibility for Us. One would simply have to scrape together banned techniques from every corner of China, as well as every conceivable foreign system…… Thinking back on it now, that’s probably why Xu Fu ran off.

> Xu Fu?

Mash: Xu Fu was a court sorcerer who served at the time of the Qin Dynasty. It’s said that Shi Huangdi ordered him to search for immortality, and he traveled to the east with many researchers, but…… Sion: He never reached that enchanted land, nor did he return to Qin. According to one theory, he reached Japan and became a king there.

> So mercury was only the beginning……

Shi Huangdi: It got to the point that We tried invoking the homeopathic magic of Western Europe. No, it was because of its eternal, everlasting beauty— but thinking about it now, using it as medicine was truly the height of recklessness…… But We would like to tell Ourselves to drink a barrel of mercury if relying on curses is the alternative. This is truly pathetic!

[Mash looks surprised then puts her headset on]

Mash: ! Master, I’ve received a warning from Sheba! Hostiles incoming! Shi Huangdi: Mm, indeed, now is not the time to be in low spirits over a weak-mindedness that both is and is not Our own. On Our honor as a Servant, We shall serve as your guard. And here, to this fallen city, We shall demonstrate the law as the true emperor!

[fight]

(Node 2)

Shi Huangdi: …… Sion: ……That was difficult, wasn’t it. Even as you are now, at the apex of mankind, does your heart still ache? Shi Huangdi: Our spilt blood is not enough for the end of Our people. Moreover, the root of all this evil is the person We used to be. Mash: ……This is a Singularity. It was a different Shi Huangdi that made the wrong decision…… Shi Huangdi: No, because that person is still Us. We know where the end of that person’s delusional convictions lie. After all, it was none other than Us that had a glimpse into that regime. Guda, this is where the root of Our anxiety toward the human species stems from. No matter how noble the ideals you laud are, fate is much too cruel. The fear of ruination and making mistakes can all too easily mislead even those who seek to venture down the correct path. It is impossible for ten out of ten people to reach enlightenment even after a lifetime of devoting themselves to their studies. Yet if even one person falls to heresy, the remaining nine will be consumed.

> Do you think it’s impossible for mankind to improve?

Shi Huangdi: A person cannot resist fear and despair. So long as they are unable to surpass death and become Zhenren, they will be inadequate. And so, the duty of traversing the wasteland of humanity should be borne by one person alone…… In the end, even We, who were enthused by the prospect, met the bitterness of a pruned Lostbelt. Now, the right to challenge that cruel future lies in the hands of those that would inhabit that future. But do not forget. Even if you acknowledge the potential of mankind, an evil exists in this world. The same evil that you see here, that led Us to expose the depths of Our depravity— and it will appear time and time again.

> I know, but > We have no choice but to improve

Shi Huangdi: Heh. No matter how We might mean to intimidate you, a glance at your admirable and precious gaze and the words die on Our tongue. Well, shall We leave this trivial matter be? Then let us go to exterminate the source of these delusional convictions.

[inside Epang Palace]

Vengeful Spirit: You…… Shi Huangdi: Ah, We are truly painful to look at. Indeed, We had steeled Ourselves, but…… Looking at Ourselves again is so repulsive it nauseates Us. Vengeful Spirit: Oho…… That form…… We never thought We would reach it. Shi Huangdi: We were truly foolish in Our youth. It isn’t as though We do not understand the extent of that anguish, but such a downfall is unpardonable. Spreading enough curses about to hail a miasma— shouldn’t that have been beyond consideration? The capital was the price paid in exchange for prolonging Our life! Vengeful Spirit: *sigh*…… If the law of death is imposed upon the whole world, then it can also be considered a cure. Under the care of this first emperor, Shi Huangdi, China has finally realized eternal rest. Sion: (“This” first emperor...?) Hold on a second. Stop talking. I have my own personal opinions on using inhumane acts to achieve immortality, but doing it for political measures is outrageous. Even without being soft, there’s no reason to go to these excessive lengths. Just look here. After all, this is a successful emperor that freed themselves completely and achieved what you could not by taking a different path. Shi Huangdi: Ah, no, this isn’t the type of opponent you should instigate…… Vengeful Spirit: And so they are a saint? That’s the height of absurdity! That one is the fool who would reap the future of the world in exchange for their own future! Sion: ー! Shi Huangdi: ……Oho? This is the first time one has seen into Our origin. Well, We suppose that even corrupted, you were still Us. Then, your verdict is that the apex of unsightliness, this city of death, is preferable to the history We had woven? Vengeful Spirit: Aye. We, the Qin Dynasty, will continue beyond death. We shall reign until its destruction! This will become true eternity! Shi Huangdi: We have decided! Both pity and consideration are wasted on you. You are no longer a heavenly being nor emperor. All that remains is simply carrion. That throne is not a place for the dead to dream. We shall return you to your rightful place thusly. After all, isn’t that what this mausoleum was built for?

[fight]

Vengeful Spirit: Guh…… Why do you stop Us? Why do you prune Us? This time, for sure, the Eternal Qin…… Our peaceful reign…… Even though We could finally see the signs…... Shi Huangdi: Coming from Us, whose life can no longer cross into the realm of death, any advice is useless. Even so, let’s see. Do not be angry. Do not lament. For even if you alone will not bear its burden, humanity itself may somehow manage yet, surprising though it may be. Vengeful Spirit: What foolishness…… There is only Us…… Only the emperor, the Alpha and Omega…… is able to carry the fate of this world…...

[it disappears]

Shi Huangdi: Ah, how tiresome. That was like coming across someone doing a dramatic reading of Our entire dark history. Well, We did what We had to do. Let us return quickly. We cannot stand the air in this corrupted palace for another minuteー no, not even another second. Sion: You did what had to be done…… I wonder. Is that all you have to say about this? Shi Huangdi: More or less? Were you expecting something else? Sion: ……No. You were able to resolve this Singularity pretty reasonably. Good work as a Servant. You too, Guda, good job. Then, let’s head back.

[we Reyshift back]

Da Vinci: Yes, yes, bang up job this time, too. Well done! Now then, go take a shower and rest up. You can report back later. Mash: Huh? This isn’t standard protocol…… Da Vinci: Well, some stuff came up. I gotta adjust the machinery and such, ya’know. Oh, Shi Huangdi, could you stay a little longer? There’s something I’d like your help with. Shi Huangdi: Hm?

> Well then, I’ll take you up on your offer > Please excuse me

[we go; scene is still the control room]

Holmes: With this I trust all the details of the case have been disclosed? Then, all that remains is to solve the mystery. Shi Huangdi: Oh my, out with Guda and in with the detective makes for a truly detestable atmosphere. Ah, that reminds me, We do believe We had promised to have some dim sum with Shuwen. What an unfortunate time to forget. Then, if you’ll excuse me…… Holmes: Stop with the transparent lies. Why don’t we start talking. Da Vinci: We’ve already observed numerous Singularities, both large and small. Combining that with the data received from my previous incarnation, I have enough samples to be able to classify everything depending on trends observed. Therefore, I can draw this conclusion. This Singularity was not a natural occurrence. The pattern corresponds to the construction being from that of intentional outside interference. Shi Huangdi: And you suspect We are responsible? No, you overestimate Us completely. Certainly, Our form is that which is expected of Us as a Servant in this world, though as a supreme ultimate being it is the implementation of a modern human frame. Looking at it from another perspective, We are nothing more than an individual with nothing to Us, supreme only in name. We could not possibly reach the authority We once had in Our sacred mechanical body that once controlled all the world. Da Vinci: Thank you for being so eloquent, and for making your excuse as long-winded as physically possible. It’s true that as a Servant, Guda has the means to control you with a Command Spell. However…… it’s a different story if you were to regain the power you once had in your Lostbelt. Shi Huangdi: Well, We intended for you to forget your vigilance in your awe. Is it even possible that the feat of creating Singularities would be available as We are now? Actually, in the first place, it was an artificial Singularity. Is that possible? Da Vinci: In theory. However, it would require a Reyshift or some other equivalent means. Shi Huangdi: In other words, the machinery here has been used fraudulently by someone? Sion: Even if you want to ridicule it as a security system riddled with holes, I’ll reject that notion. As a hacker myself, I won’t say anything about a “perfect security system,” but if we’re talking about Novum Chaldea’s equipment, I can affirm that it’s impossible to operate the system without leaving a trace. Holmes: Rather, we should consider the possibility of someone other than ourselves implementing a Reyshift system. Shi Huangdi: If we’re talking about “possibilities,” then they’re endless. Especially considering that it might be a common technology in the future? Holmes: Finding the suspect ー in this case, the one who implemented the system ー is possible, even without jumping to such extreme leaps in logic. One would simply have to acquire the Animusphere’s theories, the Laplace software, and have a means of computing comparable to Trismegistus…… if we consider who can satisfy all those requirements, the conclusion is nearly at hand. Da Vinci: Well, this was borne from my own carelessness, but Shadow Border, at the time of entering the Chinese Lostbelt, contained backup data from Antarctic Chaldea that had been evacuated just in case. I never imagined that the entire vehicle might be captured and analyzed. Sion: Furthermore, your other form on-site was that of a supercomputer that ruled over and controlled the planet. It really is a shame I wasn’t able to see it directly. And there was no chance to know the details of what happened afterward. Holmes: Indeed. After we left, the Chinese Lostbelt as an externally observable object disappeared promptly. However, it is impossible to know how much time passed within the Lostbelt itself. If there wasn’t a sudden collapse, but instead a grace period in which the data obtained from Shadow Border could be fully analyzed…… Sion: And, the most damning evidence was a statement made by the other emperor who was out of control in that Singularity. You were able to detect the pruning event with a single shot. At the time, it was a skillful deception, but logically it was impossible. The only possibility is…… Holmes: The Shi Huangdi of that Singularity had already been in contact with you once, in regards to the pruning event. The culprit who made the Singularity is not the Shi Huangdi who serves as a Servant of Chaldea, but the Shi Huangdi who was a Lostbelt King…… Am I wrong? Shi Huangdi: Hmmm…… However, after the pruning event is confirmed, what use would it be to Reyshift? A Reyshift cannot grant the falsification of history. At best, it would produce a Singularityー nothing more than a stagnation in space-time. Da Vinci: You’re right. It’s impossible to change the outcome once the pruning event occurs. But if you went back to the past, regardless of a pruning event, there was certainly a time when you rode the waves of history, adding onto itー “compiling” it. Holmes: That answer seems to be why you stuck to Xianyang as the Singularity. The Lostbelt Shi Huangdi established multiple Singularities in stages, trying to see which of them would be detected by Chaldea, right? And that particularity would need an accompliceー a role played by “Servant Shi Huangdi” …… Shi Huangdi: …… Da Vinci: Establishing a Singularity from a Lostbelt, if we assume that there was a Singularity Response that could be observed from pan-human history, it would be from their shared past, and then that point becomes the crossroads between pruning and compiling history. And from there, establishing a Singularity in the past can become a means of interfering with pan-human history. Just like the trap devised by the King of Mages, Goetia. Sion: I thought they might have intended to do something during the last Reyshift, so I accompanied them, but there was nothing at all out of place. Since that was the case, it was reasonable to believe that there was another prime culprit. Of the traps set, which had been set to target this side of human history……? My aim was to verify that. Or, rather, was your purpose for answering Chaldea’s summons for that purpose? Shi Huangdi: Ah, good grief. Humanity so used to conflict really is lacking in charm. Da Vinci: There’s no way we could have this conversation in front of Guda. We’re doing it this way because we must confirm your true intentions. Shi Huangdi: Well. In the event that you would accuse Us, We would think that Guda, equipped as they are with Command Spells, would be essential to have present. It’s quite a sweet sentiment especially compared to the sharpness of your deductions. We have misgivings about the future of pan-human history. In any case, We have warned Guda time and time again. That should the mankind of pan-human history prove themselves to be unpardonably hideous beings, We will revive the Qin once more. Da Vinci: Then…… Shi Huangdi: Oops, wait three seconds before you get truly angry. We do not mean to say We will implement that plan immediately. We have no intention of hindering Guda’s efforts. We came to your pan-human history to see with Our own eyes your struggle, and should you fall into trouble, We shall spare no effort to lend Our assistance. After all, We have already abdicated Our throne in favor of a virtuous successor. Holmes: ……Then why the shady behavior? Shi Huangdi: It is Our belief that hope for the future will be pioneered by Guda, and you allー the “people.” However, faith and trust are two different things. After all, We are a politician. We do not engage in gambling. Should Guda shrink from their duty as a human inhabiting this world at the unprecedented crisis known as the bleaching of humanity …… At that time, We will become responsible for humanity again. “A humanity according to esteemed people.” Da Vinci: ………… Sion: ーRejected. That’s a contract built on the premise of defeat. Is there any other name for that than betrayal? Shi Huangdi: There certainly exist Heroic Spirits that dedicate themselves to Guda under pretense of friendship and conviction. However. Would it be okay if a world that could not be saved by “goodness” met its complete ruinationー We are different than those that cannot overlook disarray. Our bond with Guda is righteous. But to defeat the “Alien God” is an even greater justice. Should there come a time wherein these two ideals need be weighed against each other…… We shall choose the heavier one, without hesitation. Such is the duty of an arbiter. Sion: …… In short, you assert that this is a means to resist the bleaching of humanity? Shi Huangdi: It’s insurance, so to speak. We are a heavenly being that rules over the world of man. An invasion of earth by something inhuman is something We cannot forgive. In the event of Guda’s complete victory over the “Alien God,” We shall forget Our precautions as a needless anxiety. With the dismissal of all Singularities, We shall celebrate this victory of the people. Of course, that was the plan all along. Sion: Good grief. All this talk is hard to believe after seeing another Shi Huangdi who fell into the depths of their delusions at the end of their ambition just a little while ago. (Agh, I really can’t recognize this person as Their Majesty The Emperor) Shi Huangdi: That is why We keep repeating it. Here We are, living, 2200 years after Our death. Our viewpoint has since changed, and Our worldly desires have perished. You shouldn’t look down on the mental state sainthood achieves. ……In addition. Considering whether or not this insurance can go as smoothly as We had originally thought, We now possess a smidgeon of anxiety. In the first place, the arrangements for Reyshifting are in no way…… There is another matter that is displeasing. There is a faint smell of heresy. Da Vinci: Heresy? Like what? Shi Huangdi: From the beginning, you all easily saw through Us…… There is no reason why the other Crypters could not do the same thing. Holmes: I’ll tell you in advance that your caution is worthy of recognition. Since it doesn’t seem that you’ll resort to acting rashly. Shi Huangdi: If Guda and everyone else follows Our plan, everything will advance with a rock-solid formation~. Da Vinci: Ahaha. It’s impossible, so just give up. No matter what the reason is, strategies hinging on sacrifices won’t be approved. That goes doubly in Novum Chaldea. Otherwise such a victory would have no meaning. Holmes: ーHm. Although I do agree with some of Your Majesty’s thoughts…… As a matter of practicality, first and foremost must come the felling of the remaining Trees of Emptiness. So long as we have the invader, the “Alien God,” as a common enemy, I do hope our alliance will be maintained. Da Vinci: Yes, it’s safe to say that they bear no malicious intent toward Guda. However, Shi Huangdiー do not forget that we are keeping careful watch over your movements. If you do anything to make that child sad, I won’t forgive you, okay? Shi Huangdi: Then We shall say this. Heroic Spirits. That person is likely the next generation of mankind. We will surely be victorious, no matter what the cost. We shall not need to be roused again.

[in My Room]

Fou: Fou? Fooou! Mash: A- Are you okay, senpai? Did you get sick?

> No, I’m fine > For some strange reason, I got chills……

Mash: ……Okay. You don’t seem to be running a fever. Perhaps someone was talking about you, senpai.

> I hope they’re not saying anything weird…… > Hmm, it’s like I’m carrying a weight on my shoulders……

T/N:

* EDIT: Shoutout to an anon for being the real MVP and alerting me that, aside from being a compound in Japanese, the kanji Shi Huangdi uses here are in reference to soul-types in Chinese philosophy. The concepts refer to two different souls that exist within the self, representing yin and yang, but I... don’t really want to turn this into a lesson, nor am I an expert (obviously. since I didn’t catch it while translating) so I’d recommend looking into it if curious/wanting to know more about our emperor!

#my translations #fgo #fgo translations #fgo interlude #long post

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