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angellayercake · 11 months

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face down in décolletage - chapter 1

Papa Emeritus IV x Fem Reader | NSFW | AO3

Disclaimer: Copia talking about being face down in tits has all the feminism leaving my body. I am sorry but he can leer at my boobs any day and I would thank him. So TW for Copia being a fucking perv and kind of degrading but if you are into that we are golden!

For @ghostchems for being feral with me 💜💜 love you!

With a dramatic puff you try to blow the hair sticking to your face away. It was so damn hot today you would rather be anywhere but at work but here you are. Another day, another show. You glance down at your clipboard, Ghost. You think you have heard of them, some kind of religious band from a church. When you had first started working at the venue you used to enjoy excitedly researching all the bands that passed through but now you just looked forward to getting through the night. As you scan down your clipboard you notice your top has ridden down again. You glance around quickly and yank it back up hoping that none of the guys noticed the blue frills of your bra peeking out the top.

Maybe if you had got up earlier you would have had time to pick a different outfit or even check the weather forecast but as you had rolled out of bed and straight into the only clean clothes you had left you were stuck wearing your most revealing vest top with your most ridiculous push up bra. You had to live with the consequences of your lack of organisation combined with the stifling heat wave that had you sweating in even the little you were wearing. You just had to deal with it.

The sounds of the buses pulling in draws your attention from your wardrobe woes and back to the job at hand, which for you is making sure the band stay happy for the duration of their stay at the venue. Their rider had been prepared and set up for them and you would be on hand to help them with anything else they needed. You hoped these guys weren’t dicks, there had been a run of assholes recently that had the stupidest demands but that was the job. You watch them pile out onto the forecourt all dressed in black and wearing helmets? Masks? You can’t quite see but they all huddle together just off to the side not approaching the manager who had stepped up to greet them.

A commotion from the bus draws everyone's eyes from the group of strangely dressed musicians and you see the frontman of this band for the first time. He was wearing a burgundy tracksuit, a fake designer shirt and leather brogues. And he had just dropped an armful of juice boxes as he tripped out the bus. He knelt down scrambling to pick them all up, fumbling with the broken packaging until one of the masked people must have taken pity on him, letting him pile them up in their arms. He looks up only now taking notice of all the eyes trained on him. As he straightens up he offers an awkward wave and a forced smile until the venue manager steps forward and introduces themselves.

After a brief conversation you notice them making their way down the line of staff, which although not unheard of was unusual. The band manager would usually meet with venue staff not the talent but he must have insisted on being introduced to everyone. He shakes people's hands and gestures to the musicians behind him. You glance down at your clipboard as you wait your turn. Papa Emeritus IV and the eight Nameless Ghouls. He was the frontman and leader of the band and the Nameless Ghouls were instrumentalists. Your attention snaps back up when they reach the person beside you and you get your first proper look at him.

He’s not much taller than you and it’s hard to see much of his body under the baggy tracksuit but his face. He was oddly handsome, perfectly proportioned with strong features and carefully slicked back salt and pepper hair. The face paint he wore only accentuated his unusual mismatched eyes. But as he approaches you notice his gaze doesn’t land anywhere near your face. No he is looking directly at your boobs, with his mouth hanging open no less. You know they are very visible today but this middle aged man is gawping at you like a teenager seeing a porn mag for the first time. You clear your throat offering him your hand and he looks up at your face at last. Realising he had been caught a fetching blush grows across his cheeks that you find slightly adorable in spite of his leering. He takes your hand but as you attempt to shake it he tries to bring it up to his face. The back of your hand ends up squashed against his nose and you can feel his lip paint smudging on you. He drops your hand so quickly the momentum swings it away from you and his face is almost as red as his tracksuit when he moves on. What an odd man.

You don’t see him much for the rest of the day, you are kept so busy keeping the ‘Nameless Ghouls’ in line. They are a fun bunch, quite mischievous but polite in spite of it all. The few times you do see him you can feel his eyes all over you and you find your annoyance building. What was with this guy? You had since discovered that he was the leader of not only this very satanic rock band but also the associated religious organisation, he was well into his fifties and while he was attractive you had to admit he was really quite odd. You shrug it off though. There was only an hour left until the show and although your manager would help you if you complained, something, you weren’t sure what, was stopping you.

By the time the supporting act had finished it was all hands on deck to get the transition completed smoothly. Your arms are full of the discarded outfits of the supporting band so you can get them to the laundry when you pass by his dressing room but you are so consumed with your thoughts you fail to notice when the door opens and he steps out in front of you. You collide into him with a bump dropping everything that was piled in your arms at his feet.

‘Papa Emeritus! I’m so sorry.’ It is not lost on you that you are now taking your turn to fumble around on the floor in front of him or that where he is standing above you gives him a perfect view down your top. Your arms full once again you kneel slowly, noticing all the differences about him as you go. The scuffed brogues are gone, replaced with perfectly shined expensive looking boots. His slim calves were covered in tight denim which clung all the way up his legs. His thighs were covered in ripped fabric that did nothing to hide the shape of them. It’s lucky your hands are full because just as he seemed unable to not look at your tits you might not be able to resist running your hands up his thighs and... Your mouth goes dry when you notice the lace up fly on his trousers but you stop that thought short.

His jacket, while interesting, as distressed as his trousers with dramatic gold detailing and epaulettes, it's his face that captures your attention. He reaches down helping you back to your feet and as you stand you just stare taking in all the details of his stark black and white face paint. He is transformed, not just in how he looks although his painted face and sharp clothes differ so much from earlier. No, his whole demeanour has shifted. His nervous smile is replaced by an easy confident smirk when you meet his eyes, clearly having noticed your appraisal of him.

‘You better be coming to watch the show cara mia.’ he says as he begins to walk away from you. Occasionally you do find time to catch the performances more often you are busy all evening but the way he says it feels like an order more than a request

‘I will try after I have finished my …’ he spins back round fixing you with a demanding look.

‘No you will. I am not asking.’ He steps towards you, close to boxing you in against the closed door of his dressing room. ‘Your job is to make me happy, no? And what will make me happy is you watching the show from the side where I tell you.’ His proximity and commanding tone broker no argument so you just nod in agreement but he doesn’t give you room, just raises his eyebrows as if to communicate he is still waiting.

‘Yes Papa.’ you breath hoping that was the answer he was waiting for.

‘Bene, I will look for you cara, do not disappoint me.’ Only then does he stalk off with only a few minutes to spare.

With the threat of his disappointment hanging over you you rush through the last of your tasks before making your way to the stage. He is waiting to the side as the last checks are completed. You don’t approach him as he seems to be deep in his preparations but he spots you as he paces, nodding and pointing to an out of the way area where you still have a good view. You can hear the crowd cheering in anticipation and in only a few minutes the lights go down and the music starts to swell. He has kept up his pacing back and forth, occasionally jogging on the spot as he waits for his cue. Your attention is drawn to the stage as the pyrotechnics soar and the guitars kick in and then running up to the centre of the stage in the midst of it all is him.

The show could only be described as mesmerising. Both Papa and the Ghouls had the crowd in the palm of their hand as they performed song after song. The costume changes and confetti, the smoke and the sparks, you couldn’t look away. You almost wished you were down in the audience so you could experience it properly. However there was one particular benefit to your position and that was having a clear view of Papa’s wardrobe. Everytime he hurried back for a new outfit or prop you received a smile or a wink and as time went on more and more heated looks. You weren’t entirely sure why he had wanted you there but you got the feeling you would enjoy whatever it was.

He had announced their last song to cries of despair from the crowd but that only seemed to spur them on giving a rousing performance and he left the stage to a roar of appreciation. The ghouls continued playing as he ducked into the wardrobe for the last time, shrugging off the black jacket he was currently wearing in exchange for a dazzling blue sequined one. It reflected the light even in the dark corner of the stage you were both in. Instead of running back on stage though, this time he approached you.

‘Now there is something I need your help with cara mia, please follow me.’ He takes your hand and pulls you with him towards the narrow backstage corridor. It is very rarely used now but it was originally for performers to get from one side of the stage to the other with no hindrance but what he could need your help with here you had no idea. About halfway down he stops suddenly manoeuvring you between him and the wall in the narrow corridor

‘You hear them all screaming for me cara mia?’ He asks with a smirk. He knows full well you can hear the screaming that's why you have your ear protectors slung around your neck. His arm rests on the wall above your head bringing him so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and smell the spicy scent of his cologne and his exertion. He’s taller than earlier, his fancy boots giving him a boost so although he is far from towering over you, this close you need to make an effort to look up at him as you speak.

‘You must be happy, knowing that all those thousands of people enjoyed your show.’ It is quite obvious where this conversation is headed but you are curious to see how exactly he plans to proposition you when the memory of him fumbling his juice boxes is so fresh in your memory.

‘Si that should make me happy but really there is only one person I want to hear screaming tonight.’ His piercing mismatched eyes burn into yours and you know he is talking about you. You almost can’t breathe from the intensity and you wonder how this could be the same man as earlier. The only real similarity is the way his eyes trail down from your face all the way to your cleavage. Forcing yourself to finally take a deep breath you watch his eyes follow the rise and fall of your chest and you feel an unexpected heat rising within you. You weren’t a stranger to men staring at your boobs, it kind of came with the territory and usually someone staring this blatantly would earn a slap, but you enjoyed his eyes on you and it only made you want more, as it had all day. He leans in until he is close enough to whisper directly in your ear.

‘Would you like this? A little after party just for us?’ His voice is low and seductive and you are only really able to hear him because he is so close you are almost touching. ‘For me to give you your own private performance, show you all my best moves then make you scream for me?’ Without saying much of anything at all he paints such a vivid picture and you want all of it. You could feel his painted lips brushing your ear ever so slightly as you leaned in and you knew what your answer was going to be.

‘I … yes. Please.’ You feel his mouth pull into a grin as he steps even closer, his body flush with yours. You expect him to move to do something but he just continues to look at you, eyes burning into your already flushed and overheated skin. The leer he is giving you as he looks down your top shouldn’t be making you feel this way and yet you find yourself somehow desperate for the touches that look threatens.

‘Thank you, cara,’ he pinches your chin tilting it up to just the right angle so that he can slot his mouth against yours, except he doesn’t. No he locks you in with his gaze, keeping you hypnotised and still as he ghosts his lips across your cheek and down your neck and as his lips finally make contact at the juncture of your neck and collar bone do you realise that he was just positioning you to get unhindered access to your chest. But as he settles his hands on your waist and begins to gently suck your sensitive skin you can’t even bring yourself to be annoyed.

You lean your head back against the wall behind you and let your eyes drop closed so you can just concentrate on the feeling of his mouth on you. He nibbles along your collarbone soothing the marks with his tongue as he goes before dipping lower. He moans as his lips meet the curve of your breast and he stops, sucking a deep mark right in the centre before sinking his teeth into your soft flesh. It’s not deep and he doesn’t seem intent on inflicting pain on you, just feeling your body give way to him. You find your fingers woven in his hair not sure whether your intention was to push him away or pull him further in but you do neither and just let him take what he wishes. As he finishes marking you he licks a trail following the curve down into your cleavage and back up to the other side, peppering kisses everywhere he can reach.

‘Mmmm,’ he moans as if he was eating his favourite meal. ‘So good cara mia, so perfect.’ He slides his hands up from your waist until they are cupping your breasts, spreading them apart so there is just enough room to bury his face between them. His moans are muffled in his new position but that doesn’t stop you noticing him getting louder. His hands start a slow massaging squeeze that has you moaning, turning into a whine when he stops, hooking his fingers into the top of your bra and pulling back to look at you. The heat and his touches have turned your brain to mush so it takes you a moment to realise he is asking you a question and a moment longer to register what it is.

‘May I?’ he asks, starting to pull at your already revealing neckline. You can feel his knuckles brushing your nipples and you can only imagine how much better it will feel if you allow him full access. He is watching you intently so he catches your slight nod and slowly reveals them to his hungry eyes letting your top and bra bunch up just underneath like he doesn’t have the patience to wait to remove them properly. You watch his eyes light up as he sees your pierced nipples, the small gems glinting as you move even in the harsh light of the corridor.

‘Così bella mia cara,’ he whispers as he ghosts his mouth over you, the tip of his tongue flicking at one nipple then the other. He grins up at you as you gasp, his teasing touch feeling almost too much already. You think back to a moment ago when you compared him to all the other men that you caught gawping at your cleavage. You had been so wrong. Never had you had such attention lavished on you, turning you to putty in his hands just from this. He sealed his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth and toying with the piercing with his tongue and the other he rolled between his fingers twisting and pulling and pinching. Your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him closer. He pulls off your nipple with a pop, kissing and licking across until his whole face is between them finally relinquishing your other nipple so he can push them together while shaking his head back and forth.

‘Papa?,’ another voice intrudes into your consciousness and you all of a sudden remember where you are and who you are with and the thousands of people waiting for an encore. You try to jump away from him but you are so securely pinned between him and the wall. He pulls away just as the footsteps get closer tucking you back into your top. His face paints are surprisingly intact although there are grey smudges all over you there is no hiding what was being done to you. ‘Papa,’ the stage assistant says as they round the corner and find you. ‘They are all still here calling for more.’

‘Excuse my cara. I am needed,’ he winks at you, gesturing for the assistant to go on ahead. He steps towards you pining you back in place tilting your chin up to force you to look at him once again. ‘But if you want to continue this, be in my dressing room at the end of the show.’ He turns on his heel heading in the same direction only to pause before he rounds the corner. ‘And I want you undressed.’ You are surprised your knees hadn’t buckled yet you were so worked up, the possibilities of what would happen if you followed his instructions buzzing in your mind.

The crescendo of screams as he walks back on the stage breaks you from your reverie, and forces you into action. You don’t even need to think, the decision already made by your racing heart and your wet pussy. You push off the wall knowing you only have three songs to follow his instructions but you don’t need to rush just yet as you can still hear him addressing the crowd. Exiting the corridor on the other side of the stage you listen for a moment. He hushes their screams so he can banter with them for a moment.

‘I was already at the after show party,’ He says gesturing behind him to the fictional afterparty. You laugh to yourself starting to head towards the dressing room so you can get ready for what you are sure is going to be a memorable night. But the next words out of his mouth freeze you on the spot. ‘You know I had my face down in some decolletage and someone said that they are still all here.’ A laugh barks out of you in disbelief. That smug sexy bastard!

#papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing

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voiidlizrd · 7 months

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“Just a Sign, Lord, Anything”

(Nightbringer! Simeon x GN! Reader)

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Disclaimer(s): religious imagery, mentions of God, Celestial War spoilers, longing Simeon, religious doubt, blasphemy(?), angst, lots of angst, hints of poly MC, mentions of Lilith, slight Nightbringer spoilers for lessons 10-12 (I believe)

(A/N): I was scrolling through Twitter when I saw an entry of Aziraphale’s diary from Good Omens and thought of Simeon with Demon MC in Nightbringer. I’ll put a picture of the entry at the end of the fic, but if I am hurting, I will share with the masses so I won’t be alone.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Simeon is an archangel of God, mighty and powerful, yet so gentle and warm, embracing all and protecting every soul to guide them to Fathers Holy Light. Simeon, the archangel, who felt his heart shatter when he was forced to battle his Brothers, especially Lucifer, the one who he loved the most. He wept for days after their fall, the halls of Heaven were so much more colder after they left. Micheal couldn’t even comfort him, no matter how hard he tried. Heaven was warm, still, but quiet after the War. But Simeon had to move on, he knew.

But then he had the visitation from Diavolo to join the student transfer program to unite the realms. His heart clenched, stomach twisting in knots as he looked down at the letter clutched in his hands, he was close to shaking. In the Devildom, there would be demons, and with the demons, there would be the Brothers, but no Lilith.

He was fearful, even more fearful since that day.

Simeon was scared to go, but he had to. A part of him wanted to see this unification project through. He wanted to see the Brothers again, to be able to talk to Asmodeus, to drink coffee with Lucifer, to try and convince Mammon to stray away from his little pranks on his poor big brother.

Oh to have those mornings with them again, but he had to move on from the past. They would not be the same since the fall, especially now that they are slowly adapting to the Devildom. Maybe he was being a bit hopeful; delusion? But he could only wonder and question; have they been well? Are they okay? Are the demons welcoming them? Is Diavolo taking caring of them? Where are they living? Where would he live? Would he be with them?

His mind raced and he couldn’t pick a single one to fix himself to, for now, all he could do was pack his bags and be off with Luke.

When he arrived, was met with the expected reluctance, the heavy tension still lingering in the air, and the stiff presence of Lucifer who hung around him, protectively guarding his brothers.

But what he wasn’t expecting was you.

“Hello, you must be Simeon, right? My name is MC, the demon that is watching over the brothers during their stay of the Devildom!” You smiled at him so warmly, a warmth that he would expect to see from a fellow angel, as you held out your hand for him to take.

He felt his heart catch his throat when he looked into your eyes, a glitter in them that made him feel oddly nostalgic. His heart pounded, his knees felt weak, his skin was tingly as he grasped your hand, shaking it firmly. It was an odd feeling, a feeling he couldn’t quite explain when he met your eyes. They were so inviting, comforting, something he did not expect to see from any demon, like looking into the eyes of an old love.

Simeon shook himself out of his strange moment of vulnerability, silently, his guard was up. You were a demon. He could smell it on you, could feel the aura of your magic pulsing around you, sending a shiver down your spine. With the feeling alone, he felt it could take a single snap of your fingers and all realms could crumble.

But those eyes spoke otherwise.

“Ah, it’s good to know that Lucifer and the others are being taken care of.” Simeon smiled gently to you, retracting his hand, the tingle of your touch on his palm.

“Psh, it ain’t like we need the help. But Diavolo insisted.” Mammon crossed his arms, unconsciously leaning close to your side.

Simeon noticed this.

He only smiled while he watched you interact with the brothers for days after he arrived. The way you comforted Asmodeus and immediately noticed something was wrong, even if the facade he put up was practically perfect. The way you could calm Satan down. The way you brightened Mammons day, bring a smile and confidence to Leviathan, know exactly when Beelzebub was hungry and have everything on you immediately, carry Belphegor whenever he was sleepy and find a place for him to nap, and most of all, you’d always take care of Lucifer. Bring him coffee, make him food and snacks, convince him to sleep at odd hours.

You were more than he expected. It made his heart flutter at these acts of kindness, to see you beam with pride whenever you did these acts with nothing to gain in return, to see you be the safe haven for the brothers when they are ostracized by the demons of the Devildom, even despite their status. You were the arms of heaven that they couldn’t reach anymore, you were the home they deserved, the love they needed, and he saw it.

Lucifer looked at you with such softness, even when his words would even feel like nails against the skin, even to Simeon.

Mammon was greedy, constantly wanting your attention and words of praise, melting into your touch and wanting nothing more than to hold you.

Leviathan was a bit confident whenever he spoke to you, being proud to speak little by little about his interests, finding his home in your arms much like his brother.

Asmodeus admitted to wanting to stare at you for hours, and there are days where he finds Asmodeus staring at his phone, looking at pictures of you and him together with a smile on his face and cheeks pink.

Satan is… A hard on for Simeon to read, but the only noticeable thing Simeon can see is the anger vanish as soon as you enter the room or come near him, leaning in close to you to melt into your touch.

Beelzebub shared his food with you always, making sure you take the first bite and watch you as you eat. Seeing you eat, he could tell, brought him joy knowing you enjoyed it as much as he did.

Belphegor was a demanding one, the youngest of the seven, the one who is spoiled the most aside from Mammon. He would always come to you and lay himself on you when you were sitting, or sit in your lap, promptly falling asleep on you happily.

Simeon noticed all of those, his heart clenching whenever he saw these little things. He wasn’t expecting to feel so much love inside the home, to see it for himself, to see that a demon is the one causing the House of Lamentations to feel so… Welcoming, so much like home.

And he wasn’t even going to start with Solomon, the human with hundreds of pacts and as powerful as you. The way he acted like a newlywed husband was clear in how he held you. It was even more strange to see the brothers get quickly jealous over Solomon, especially knowing you’d have to leave and go back to your home, where you live, with him.

The looks of admiration were even clear on Diavolo’s face! And even his butler!

It baffled Simeon.

It bugged him to no end. A demon like you had the whole Devildom wrapped around your finger. You could easily crush it under your thumb, bring the entire realm to its knees, yet you cradled it in your hands like it was home, feeling yourself only a resident living your life.

Everytime he saw this, everytime he saw you whenever you showed up to HOL, his heart fluttered and he barely knew how to speak, finding himself trapped in those eyes again, close to drowning in them again, submitting to the love that you emitted everywhere you went, so much love you wanted to give. He found himself envious, just like the brothers would be whenever Solomon showed off his relationship with you. Craving you. Desiring you.

It was wrong.

He knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. It was wrong.

So he resisted you while being kind, promising himself that he wouldn’t fall into the arms of your warmth. He promised himself to Heaven, and Heaven alone, to his Father and Their love.

But then it was that day he found out that it would be more difficult than he anticipated.

Simeon and Luke were in the kitchen together, attempting to bake whatever they could to gather experience with Devildom’s strange ingredients. Simeon had his back turned for only a moment, failing to see Luke attempting to climb the counter to grab the flour that was on the top shelf, when he found himself tumbling backwards with the flour coming down as well. Simeon turned around to grab Luke when he heard the little Angel yelp out, when you suddenly appeared and grabbed Luke into your arms, the flour hitting your head and spraying all over you and onto the floor. Luke looked up at you horrified as you coughed and clutched your eyes close tightly, sputtering to get the bland, thick flour out of your mouth.

“Well… This was unexpected.” You coughed out.

“MC!?” Luke gaped at you, the look on his face was of pure guilt but also embarrassment with you holding him. “P-Put me down!… Please?”

He figured saying please was the least he could do to the person holding him and the one who saved him from having to suffer a huge bump on the back of his head, even if his savior was a demon. He plopped himself on the ground and looked about at the flour, flushing with embarrassment.

“Are you okay Luke?” You asked, wiping the flour off your face.

His face darkened with red and looked down, nodding silently, and then running off to grab something to clean up the flour.

That left you and Simeon alone.

His heart was already thumping hard as he looked at you. You were so beautiful even with flour all over you, that smile running across your face as you looked at him, that sheepish grin that set his heart ablaze.

“Sorry about that Simeon. You didn’t get any flour on you, did you?”

He shook his head. Heart trapped in his throat as he swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“That’s good! I actually came here to ask if you wanted to see the stars with me tonight before, uh, you know…” you gestured to the flour and chuckled a little. “But, do you wanna see the stars with me tonight? You don’t have to if you’re busy, I just wanted to know if you’d like to see the Devildom constellations with me. Belphegor is grounded after cursing Lucifer’s ties again.”

He couldn’t. This was dangerous, he can’t say yes to you. This feeling would only worsen. Saying yes would mean burying himself further into the possibility of giving into the temptation.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

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The stars were beautiful, especially reflected in the color of your eyes, lighting them up as you stared up at the glass of the observatory, the stars lighting up the dark room as the two of you laid out on the ground with a blanket beneath you to make the two of you comfortable.

The stars were so beautiful, but you were more than the stars themselves, you were greater than the light above and he believed it deep down, even if he were to try and deny it. He understood what the brothers saw when they looked at you, the feeling inside of them that swelled inside, so close to bursting whenever he was near you. It was so unbearable, but he couldn’t get enough. It was a sin to be as greedy as this. The guilt followed him whenever this feeling occurred, but the overwhelming love would cloud over it, making it easier to bear, just a little.

“And that one, it looks similar to the one back in the human realm. It’s called the Libra, I think. But I’m not exactly sure.”

“You know a lot about the human realm and their stars, but not of the Devildom’s?”

“Ahh yeah… Is it wrong to say I was more interested in the stars of the other realms than in the Devildom?” You gave him that sheepish grin again, a small bit of sweat going down your brow.

He could tell you were lying. But said nothing. The lie went straight over his head because the smile you wore shrouded any doubt or concern he had. And that was wrong for an Angel to do, wasn’t it?

“No, no… Not at all.”

Then the silence. It left him alone with you and his thoughts, the feeling of you nearby made him warm inside. The more you inched closer, the more it grew, a fire inside of him growing hotter and hotter, the craving of greed to have and to hold you beginning to form, but he beat those thoughts down. They wavered the moment your hands touched, just a little.

“I hope to get to know you more, Simeon.” You whispered, his name on your lips sounding oh so sweet, sweeter than any cake or pastry, oh so sickening.

“And I, too, MC.” Your name flowed off his tongue, as if he were exhaling it just like he breathed it, your very existence hanging off your name on his tongue, burying itself inside of his chest and filling him. He wanted nothing more than to speak your name over and over, to call onto you every second of the day, to try and quell the desire that bubbled inside of him, but at the same time, wanting nothing more than to let this feeling simmer inside of him. He never wanted a moment to get enough of you.

But it was wrong to put something above the Divine.

The time passed and you were asleep right beside him, head lulled to the side and close to his shoulder, the feeling of your hair tickling against his skin.

He stared up at the stars, the simmering of his desire and his guilt fulling growing inside of him like a tight knot only growing tighter and tighter.

The thoughts of craving your touch, of wanting to feel your lips pressed against his skin, his lips, his face. To feel nothing more than your back pressed against his chest while in the kitchen, baking sweets and sharing a moment of being domestic like you’d be with Solomon.

Father, I don’t ask You for much, it’s not my place to ask and Angels don’t pray.

As he stared up at the stars he couldn’t help but feel his lower lip tremble and fists clench when you shifted yourself closer to him unconsciously, nuzzling yourself further into him, a small smile on your face.

But if you could give me a hint. Just a little one. Anything really.

He unclenched his fists, chest so much heavier than it was previously, fingers twitching as your hand was so much closer to his, the warmth of your body radiating onto him as you cuddled into his side while he laid there stiffly.

Is this a test?

“Simeon, as the brothers attendant and yours, I’d like to offer my help anyway I can. You are welcome here as far as I’m concerned. Any issue you have, let me know.” That smile again… Oh that smile and those eyes, those imperfections that came with that only added to your complexion, that only added to you.

I’m sure I’m being foolish. You’re far too busy to waste Your valuable time with a lowly angel like me.

But is it?

“Thank you for taking care of the brothers while I was in my coma, Simeon… I cant thank you enough and I truly can’t thank you enough…” You brought him into a hug, the warmth of your body much like how you’re cuddling him. “Even though I don’t regret what I did, I’m glad you were around for them when I couldn’t.”

Is MC my apple?

I’ve said no to them so many times… Yet they keep coming back everytime…

“Please, MC, I don’t need you to tell me how to handle my… ‘problems’ that I might have with the brothers. I appreciate your help, but I don’t need a demon to tell me how to deal with my problems.”

He doesn’t mean that. He needs your help desperately. He needs to know how he can make himself more approachable to the brothers, more close to them as he was before.

“That’s just fine. If you ever need me, Ill always be around for you.”

When everything else is uncertain, they are there.

I don’t want to disappoint You, Father, I don’t want to fail You. Everyday we grow closer, and everyday…

He brings his hand close to yours.

Simeon turns his head, your head close to his, his forehead touched yours. He turned his body to where he mirrored your position, his forehead still touching yours and he exhaled lightly, a shaky breath leaving him, tears close to escaping his eyes as his lip trembled, holding your hand in his tightly, feeling the warmth as if it would be for but a fleeting moment, the guilt only worsening but he couldn’t bare to find himself pull away from your warmth. The rise and fall of your chest hypnotizing to him, you looking so peaceful, even when you were just a demon. Your lips were so close to his with how his forehead was pressed against yours, so delectable and looking so soft and sweet.

I don’t know if my resolve can last much longer…

Please, Father, just a sign. Anything.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Here is the picture I found on Twitter, I’m currently sobbing and will need to recover.

#x reader #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #fluff #obey me angst #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x y/n #obey me poly #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me Beelzebub #obey me belphegor #ansgt

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holybibly · 5 months

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Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 10.1k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣ Chapter 1: Memento Mori ❣

Have you ever thought about death?

How many times have you asked yourself, “What will happen to us next?” “Is there something on the other side?” “Will we see the shining light at the end of the tunnel and the white-winged angels, or is it just darkness waiting for us?”

We constantly reflect on this, sitting in the noisy company of friends, frozen for a moment in cold numbness; late at night, when there is no sleep and gloomy thoughts creep into your head; on the subway, bus, or taxi returning home from work or school, desperately understanding the desperation of their situation; recurring days in endless solitude.

We should stop doing that. When the time comes, we will ask ourselves other, more important questions.

Nevertheless, we tirelessly continue to be interested in it. Again and again, until our clock stops.

Sometimes I think all we have after we die are flowers and regrets. In our soul, heart, and mind, every second, there are many events that do not obey any rules of formal logic. All that we lose at death. There is no longer the privilege of choice that we had in life; now we have to settle for small, choking on despair and memories, staring into our own reflection on a silver epitaph.

“Our love will stay with her forever.” It would sound like a dream if it weren’t such a dirty lie.

I don’t think love exists. It’s like a sweetener: we feel sweetness, but the brain realizes it's fake, sending out red signals warning of deception. But we still desperately crave this feeling, however painful it may be.

And yet, after death, our lives go on, and in some special cases, we find ourselves more alive than ever before.

It's our time to watch as the new story unfolds, and the usual roles are played by other actors. New names appear on the waiting list, and celebratory ribbons are given to the new queens. See how fake diamonds sparkle in their luxurious crowns. Despite that, you’re the star of this show. Your name is in the news, in the bold headlines on the front pages of newspapers, and every casual passer-by claims to have known you personally while you still existed in a small, closed time period called life.

So what does it feel like to be the only spectator in the front row? The main subject of general regret.

In our cooled consciousness, a sharp conviction of our own uselessness is born and settles. Friends we used to call the best put your stuff in boxes with ribbons of tape. A family that tears the remnants of your life apart, erasing your name from the family register with a sickeningly straight line of black ink. Acquaintances and colleagues, always smiling with an astringent sweetness that glues their teeth, easily remove your number from the contact list and open their palms in a welcoming gesture to those who came to take your place.

All of them, all these people close to us, express their false regrets about your untimely departure, putting a tick in front of the memorized phrase: “Ah, we are so sorry. She was young and beautiful.” Is that what they usually say?

That’s all; our race for popularity is over. The rules of good manners and standards of appearance no longer matter. Your thoughts, actions, and preferences belong only to you, and at this very moment, we feel freedom. Short time, but still freedom.

It is only a short moment until the lid of the coffin closes completely over us. And here we are, face to face with our past, alone.

As hard as it may be for us to admit it, it's true. All that remains for us after death is regret.

Each of us has our own. Someone feels regret for the love that he could not protect and the loved ones that he has lost forever. We regret the things we’ve done and the words we haven’t said, but most of all, we regret the time we’ll never get back.

The dead mourn more than the living.

Besides regrets, we’re taking flowers with us. Yes, these beautiful creatures are leaving with us to one day wrap around our bones, sever the grayish subtlety of our skin, and grow again above the ground, eating us like a parasite.

The flowers also symbolize the grand finale of our celebration. When the music dies down and the curtain falls, they will be the only ones who will stay side by side while the guests leave the lavishly decorated hall one by one.

Have you noticed how many bouquets are brought to cemeteries?

I like to think of it as a peculiar payment for our rest. Maybe death is as in love with these deliciously fragile things as we are, and that’s why they’re leaving with us. Silent companions who hold our hand as we go into the darkness.

The path to the origins of the great Sanzu River is paved with bloody lycoris and mournful lilies. Truly a magnificent sight. Ugly and beautiful are two sides of the same coin.

When I was little, Mina told me many different stories. Some warmed my cheeks and stretched my lips in a happy smile; others were gray, like days with incessant downpours. I wrapped myself in blankets and warmed my palms with warm cups of herbal tea, but there were other stories that I didn't want to remember until now.

They were sinister, like a spider hovering on a web waiting to be sacrificed. The words were sharp; they pierced the skin, leaving long, stinging wounds. Meaning has always been terrible; like a blade in the tongue, it could not be swallowed and understood. I was afraid. I was scared to death. I could not sleep in the light of a bright day or in the mist of a starry night; in the coziness of the blankets, there was no warmth or protection, and the mocking laughter of Mina made it worse.

My grandmother scolded her and assured me that all this was nonsense, empty words, and legends formed from idleness, but I knew better. There was truth in Mina's stories, and the realization of this only made them scarier.

The most terrible of them was the story of a young man in black silk robes. Beneath the black veil was a sensual smile, and the fox's heterochromic eyes were alluring and sparkling like stars.

Was he a nine-tailed kumiho? A black reaper holding death itself on a leash? He may have been a vampire, desperate and thirsty, but personally, I was sure he was a ghost. A past woven into a single canvas, thread by thread, stitch by stitch. I think I saw him once, during the Lunar Festival. He was the center of my little universe, the otherworldly and inexplicable, his long black clothes flowing to the ground like a waterfall, and the diffused light of the treacherous moon embraced his silhouette like a caring mother’s embrace.

I thought the world was dancing around him. The children were running around laughing and circling like butterflies in the round dance; the couple were whispering nicely, their palms intertwined tightly, as if it would save them from the inevitable parting; and the others were simply enjoying the festival time, waiting for the sheaves of colorful fireworks to explode in the sky.

His eyes pierced my figure so greedily and sharply. I saw hunger in them. A thirst. A goal.

And then I screamed. So loud and disgusting in a childish way. With a shrill screech, I rushed into the crowd, hoping to find Mina. The colorful ribbons in my hair rushed into the air, and the wind bore me the echoes of his sweet laughter.

He was mocking me. I could have run, but he could have caught me in a second if he wanted to. For a moment, I looked back to make sure that he was still standing there, covered with moonlight and a myriad of stars, but the long, flowing silk of his black robes melted like a mist in the night without leaving a trace.

Mina laughed mockingly as I clung to the lush skirts of her violaceous hanbok, sobbing, choking with tears, and pointing my finger in the direction where I saw the young man with the fox’s eyes.

After that incident, I didn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat, and was afraid of every noise.

From that night on, I began to believe in ghosts. They are among us. We can see them, reach them, and hear their whispering voices. Science cannot explain them; they are not subject to it. They are mistakenly called fictions, twisted forms of memories that acquire real outlines and are indistinguishable from the real world.

Science calls it imagination; I call it another form of life. Ghosts exist. They’re always there.

The line between the dead and the living is thin and fragile. If you push it a little harder, it’ll shatter.

It’s true—life after death exists.

I was told once that death is like being submerged in water. First, the lungs start to burn from a lack of oxygen; the body gets heavier; the eyes are baking, but we’re still conscious; and the brain continues to function. Then comes the next step. Our body desperately clings to life, continuing to contract the heart muscle. Bam, bam, bam. Deaf blows on the rib. If you start acting now, there is little hope of salvation. No more than a minute. And then, after that, there’s the final stage. Clinical death. Smooth stripe on the monitor.

Our sinking is over. We have reached the bottom. We have met eternity in the muddy depths, blended with the muddy sand and pearls.

That may be true, but for me, death is no more than a moment—until the last flowers on the grave fade.

I never thought about dying. Until it happens to Mina.

The first time I met death, it was with my first breath. I was born with silence—too small, too fragile, and painfully quiet.

Then there were the piercing sounds of medical devices and the screams of doctors and assistants. I was taken away instantly and carried far into the sterile, transparent box. Death retreated, but it didn’t go away.

I was only three when my parents died. Mina was squeezing my hands and talking about a long journey. Grandma took us to her old country house, where secrets were hidden and hyacinths blossomed. At the time, the very concept of grief was not clear and tangible to me; rather, the feeling was like frostbite, when the skin was already dead, but the pain was absent.

So I knew death before I even knew it.

My grandmother died suddenly. Her life was cut short in an instant, like a thread brought to the flame. I knew it; it seemed long before it happened. That summer, I was going to be at a ballet camp, and Mina was the star of the school, and she was planning on spending time with her cheerleading friends. Just one call changed all our plans. Short skirts and ballet points replaced chrysanthemums and black ribbons. Mina was grieving, taking condolences, while I watched from the sidelines. Grandma's leaving seemed like a dull pain from an old injury rather than a sharp cut, and it was easier to deal with than I thought.

This was the third time I'd known death.

And then Mina happened.

The passionate, bloody, grandiose Mina's death. By closing my eyes, I could see her face again. White, sun-drenched, and blood roses, her long fluttering eyelashes, and scattered carmine strands of hair.

She was not at all afraid to die, as if this scenario had been memorized by her. Isn't it an innate instinct, a fear of the unknown, of death? We are frightened by monsters under the bed and horrors lurking in dark corners. We must be afraid of death. We are obliged to do this from the very moment we are born.

Mina was not afraid. She was never afraid of anything, unlike me.

Spiders, darkness, roses…

The list goes on.

When she died, I realized two things: one, nothing lasts forever, and two, I wanted to know what happened to my sister and what became her trigger. Big red button. At my request, an autopsy was conducted to rule out a drug-induced hypothesis that could have caused mental and emotional distress. Forensics found nothing in her lungs except rose petals. Mina literally breathed flowers. It sounded almost fantastical to me. Even her death was beautiful. Forever the first violin in the orchestra.

The case of her mysterious disappearance was closed. There was no point in looking for someone who was already dead. I asked the detectives to continue the investigation, but despite my desperate pleas, the police were adamant. My sister’s once-radiant life was packaged in a pair of cardboard boxes with a large-scale signature in black marker. “An Mina, case 117”. With each passing day, everything about Mina sank into darkness, but the mysteries and secrets around her only grew larger.

Once upon a time, I could call Mina an open book. It was easy to read—all the emotions, character traits, and habits—everything in it was exaggerated; there was no middle. Her love was never a simple hobby; it was always sharp, risky, and passionate.

Perhaps that is why she so easily fell into an obsession with roses; her feelings took a dangerous path.

I wanted to know who gave her these fabulous roses, who sent her candy and little sweet notes. There was something wrong with all of this, and not just the fact that the lush pink buds didn’t fade. No. It was a feeling, something very ominous, like a calm before a hurricane. A frightening, unnatural silence when all is silent and the air is gathering in front of the thunder's stunning storms.

There’s a long, unrequited tranquility on the other side of the phone line.

In the Japanese language, there is the expression “koi no yokan,” which literally means the feeling of inevitable love for the person you first met. This is not love at first sight, but a premonition of future love. So it was with these roses; they were not evil as such, but they were the inevitable omen of his coming.

True evil does not come in the form of a little red man with sharp horns and a long tail. Evil is beautiful—almost religiously magnificent. His appearance is divine and seductive, attracting the sweetness of the forbidden. Of course, the Devil himself was once an angel. And not just anyone; he was God’s favorite.

So are these flowers. I’ve never heard of people falling in love with soft petals and spiny stems. No one ever sings strange prayers for roses and dedicates his life to them without a trace. Those roses were bigger than they looked.

I think that Mina’s death was not accidental; it wasn’t suicide. Something broke her, violated her mind, and eventually destroyed her. Whether they were roses or people who gave them, that was my question. It was a secret hidden in the white folds of her lace dress, the dreamy smiles, and the names she spoke with such awe.

During Mina's funeral, I was approached by one of the lawyers who handled her legal affairs. I had to sort out the property rights and the lots of pages with numbers, dates, and places. Mina left me not only secrets but also a great legacy. As it turned out, in addition to our common apartment, she had several other assets in her possession, including her grandmother's mansion, which at one time she received as a sole inheritance, shares in various companies, and investments abroad.

I am now the sole owner of all this.

I had no idea where to start looking for answers or where to find the keys to the secret locks. Maybe I can find something in her files between the lines and the capital letters, or maybe it’s all dry formalities. So, going to the lawyer sounded like a good start to me.

How many can hide from those who command our last will?

Even so, I didn't want to be alone with Mina's secrets if I could find something in her belongings. I decided to call Soomin, who was once Mina’s best friend, the closest, to be exact. She was always there, having fun and crying with Mina, supporting and comforting when needed. Soomin was an integral part of her life. My life.

After the incident with the roses, they split up, not on the best of terms. Their conversation completely ended, but I still continued to spend time with her, and we often went to brunch at various gourmet cafés that Soomin loved so much. She was an elite restaurateur and had great taste, not only in the interior but also in food.

In a way, she completely replaced my sister. Soomin always told me, “No orgasm can ever match a stunningly cooked fondant au chocolat”. Yeah, I could totally agree with her on that.

After dialing her number, I waited for an answer. The wait was not too long, and after the second tone, I heard the melodic voice of Soomin on the other side. “Hello” “Soomin, I'm sorry to distract you from work; can you give me a few minutes?

“Sarang? I can’t believe you finally called me. How are you feeling, honey? I’ve been really worried about you, you haven’t spoken to any of us all this time.” In her voice, there was a sincere concern that resembled a mother's.

Soo has always been so caring and gentle. In her was the same fascinating brightness that Mina possessed, which brought them very close and became the strong foundation of their friendship, but unlike Mina, who resembled a raging forest fire, Soomin was a comforting flame of home. One was ready to destroy everything around her; the other collected ashes in beautiful vases and kept them as precious memories.

After Mina died, she was there for me when I especially needed support.

“Sorry, Soomin, I’m still trying to get over it." I sounded exhausted, even to myself. The days spent in voluntary isolation completely drained me emotionally and physically. I was the alarm of danger light for my friends. “You know, when she went missing, it was hard for me, but I was still hoping she’d come back. I convinced myself that Mina was fine and that she was enjoying life surrounded by her favorite roses.” It was the first time I had spoken openly about my feelings since Mina’s death. “I never imagined that my sister would slit her throat in front of me. I still have nightmares, Soomin, but I’m calling you for another reason, I have a little favor to ask you.”

“Sarang, you should feel like this; it’s okay. What happened to Mina traumatized you; damn it, it would have traumatized anyone if they were you. We agreed to give you time to get over it at your own pace, but when you didn’t answer our messages and calls, we started to worry. Eun Jung even offered to come to you several times; you know how she is.” She was anxious, and I understood why. “I’ll help with everything I need; just tell me how I can do it.”

“You agree too quickly, Soo.”

“Sarang, please stop. The only thing I can offer you now is my help. I can’t imagine how you’re handling all this, and if you need my help, I’ll be there for you. So stop denying me and tell me what you wanted to ask.”

“Do you remember Mina’s lawyer who approached me at the funeral? I think it’s time I met him. It’s all about inheritance and property, but there’s something else.” I started off insecure. “I want to find out who sent her those stupid roses.”

“Why?” in her voice sounded like sincere surprise. “If you were me, would you want to know how it all started?”

“Probably, but aren't you afraid? Judging by how it turned out for Mina,” she stammered for a second. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“No, you’re right. Absolutely. I’m scared, and if things weren’t so messed up, maybe I would have done something different, but listen, Soomin, I have a strong feeling that I’m always missing something, and it’s bothering me.” “People don't change so dramatically, and certainly not because of the roses. You've been friends with her for so long, so you know her as well as I do, and we both understand that it's crazy to give up everything in your life for roses like that. Especially for Mina.” When I spoke my thoughts out loud, I was even more convinced that I needed answers. It really was crazy. “ She left so many secrets that I want to find a clue. I haven't told anyone, but the roses are still being sent. I received a call from the cemetery administration saying that her grave was littered with flowers, and they needed to figure out what to do with them. Not only that, but I also received several bouquets.” There was no point in hiding it anymore. If I want Soomin to help me, she needs to know about those roses that were sent to me.

“My God, Sarang, you should have told me right away. Did you talk to JiHo? This is an abnormal situation. What if you’re being chased, Sarang? I don’t know, it’s all so scary.”

“You have no idea, but I don’t think we should talk about stalking.”

“Why? Maybe it’s a stalker or serial killer; you should be careful. Please tell me JiHo is living with you now.” “First, I don’t think anyone in their right mind is going to come after me, and second, JiHo and I took a pause.”

“Did you break up?” she asked with an incredulous echo.

“I'm not sure if you can call it a breakup.”

“God, the bastard left you. I always told you he was a rare asshole and would run away at the first opportunity.”

“Soomin, let’s not talk about it, but if you want to hear it, yeah, you were right about him.” The memories of our conversation with my ex were still fresh and festering in my mind like a ball of worms.

It’s very convenient to hide behind phrases like “let’s take a break,” “you need time to figure things out,” “emotional vacation,” etcetera. No one wants to be a part of your grief. At this party, the cake belongs entirely to you.

“Okay, let’s close the JiHo thing. Tell me, do you know anything about who sent the roses? Any ideas?”

“Absolutely nothing; I’m stuck. There’s nothing that can help. No address, no sender’s name, Maybe we can find something in her files or stuff; I don’t know.”

“Yes, it’s possible. When do you want to go to a lawyer?”

“This Friday, if you’re free?”

“Give me a minute,” the papers rustled on the other side, Soomin clearly trying to find the day she needed in her diary. Knowing the nature of Soo, it was difficult to make out anything there; her records were always chaotic, and careful planning was not her forte. In this, too, she was similar to Mina.

“I’m totally free. How about going to brunch first and then to the lawyer?

You could use some fun, and I’ve always wanted to go to this new trending place. I hear they serve incredible fondant au chocolate, and the owner looks like God cut him out. How does that sound? “First, tell me, are we going there for the fondant or the owner?”

“You can’t judge me; everyone’s talking about how attractive this man is; I just want to see.” Soo softly dissipated.

“Have you betrayed your love of chocolate for a man? Kim Soomin is something new. Anyway, everything sounds great. Let’s go and see if those rumors are true, but if I were going there solely for the chocolate,” I smiled at that thought. I’ve really been lacking in communication lately. We should start coming back to the real world. “Do you know the address?” “Sure, I’ll pick you up at 11:00. Please wear something prettier than a black dress.” “It’s a classic, and thank you again, Soo.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Sarang. Finally, I can call you like that, you know, Rosa, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll see you Friday, baby.”

“I think so, too. Until Friday.” I put the phone aside, taking a deep breath. The long stems of white roses had folded in half in the cramped bin. A luxurious wrapping in a rare shade of Solferino and embroidered topaz ribbons lay next to the bulky pile, and a small note was shrunk into a perfect ball that was also lying in the trash.

Whoever sent those flowers should have stopped doing that. I’m not Mina. I don’t like roses.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

How quickly does the waiting time pass? We count the days, the hours, and the minutes until the exciting event we’re expecting, circled by a thick red line in the calendar, but is it really worth our time, which life has measured for us?

It's so strange; the days are like bottles of sand thrown by a restless ocean onto a flickering glass bank. I remember this one, crystal blue—it smells like strawberry cheesecake and summer heat. And this one, made of gloss and pearls, is full to the brim with grave earth and chrysanthemum petals. I like the one that sparkles with diamonds from the royal frosted glass; it smells like a lover’s pillow, and there are memories of the first love. There is another, very ordinary, and therefore the most precious—empty and at the same time full. If you open it, you can hear the gentle wind whispering your name.

My life is all about memories now. I’m just trying to keep what’s left.

The rest of the week passed unnoticed by me. Time, like the rapid trains at the station, rushed by, and I kept waiting to see the stop I needed in this incessant turmoil.

Existing in space is very simple when it belongs only to you. I did actions that were memorized to the finest detail, simple mechanisms that gradually brought me back to my normal state. Feed the neighbor’s cat. Do the cleaning. Go for a walk. Check the mail. Cook dinner. Ordinary things to take your mind off the colorful bottles on the shelves of consciousness and the endless cycle of nightmares.

And I also noticed that at night, time flows more slowly. Second by second, replace the glowing dial until dawn. And so on until the ruthless rays of the sun insidiously penetrate between the tightly woven threads of heavy boudoir curtains, and the golden shadow spills over the pampered skin like boiling water.

I think I'm allergic to the sun and, therefore, to the stars.

Maybe the whole world.

Today I woke up earlier than usual. Somewhere below the horizon, the sun splashed in the golden ichor of the predawn twilight. Yoru stretched out at the foot of the bed, warmed by tiny drops of warm light that seeped into the room through the window. Last night, she refused to leave, stubbornly ignoring my presence and my tender pleas to return home to her mistress.

Yoru was my neighbor’s cat, perfectly embodying all its best features: a slightly aggressive, capricious, and having a little bit of arrogance. Despite this, she had a strange affection for me and often stayed at my house if she was in the mood.

Other tenants avoided Yoru, considering her a bad omen, and it was not only the polished glossiness of her black fur; she always appeared where death later came. I didn't care; I've always loved cats, and having one of them in my house was a bit of comfort. I wasn't alone.

Sensing my awakening, her almond-shaped eyes flashed with the sharp color of precious stones in the slits of the eyelids—a thick amber glow, not yet warmed by curiosity or playfulness. Yoru tossed and turned, clearly unhappy that someone had disturbed her sleep, arched her back and closed her eyes again.

We could lie like this all day long, in silence and some strange harmonization. I’m sure she’ll get close to me a little bit later, calculating her every move, until he presses on his heart with a peaceful, relaxed purr. Unfortunately, today was not the day I could afford it. Soomin will soon be here, and I need to get a little tidy.

Shower. Food. Simple things. Jars of creams and neatly arranged lipsticks Are there certain rules of appearance when you go to a lawyer? What dress should I wear—a deep neckline or open legs? How decent?

Should I still look mournful? Should I wear a veil? Two months have passed; are other colors acceptable? What will he think of me?

So many questions were spinning in my head while I was going, and it seems to me that whatever I choose, it will still be inappropriate. The story of Mina was not a passing affair; probably everyone in the city had fleetingly heard about her death. One of my friends told me she was called “Queen of Roses” because of the flowers in her hair, and I saw the headlines of the “exquisite death” articles.

The black color dripped venomously to the floor with the long hems of the dresses in my wardrobe; the gray, like a mist, settled in the loops of cardigans and oversized sweaters; and the ghostly white terrified me with thin transparent lace and ruffles, just like on Mina's dress. The choice was not too large.

A jacket dress on a naked body made of thick matte silk, a little pearl, and a high choker collar with long falling threads, It was one of the old jewels I bought in a small antique shop. Vintage trinket in the style of Queen Marie-Antoinette. I had a whole collection of such chokers—some studded with precious stones made of expensive jewelry metals, others woven with the finest threads, like a skillfully woven web. Hard made of steel and leather, and soft, like angelic kisses, made of organza and velour. JiHo once said I had a choke kink if I liked things like that; maybe I did, but my ex was too “vanilla” to close his hands around my neck.

After getting dressed and styling my hair, I sat down on the couch and waited for Soomin to arrive. What should I do now? I was lost. Turn on the TV or read a book? Look at the news feed on Instagram; be sure to look at JiHo's profile to see his new photo. Does he miss me or not? Is someone else warming up his bed now that I'm not around? Is JiHo still wearing the same perfume as before, or has he found something different?

Anyway, I never liked his perfume; it was salty like tears and distant ocean breezes and rancid like decaying wood in the dense Amazon. He called them gourmet; I could only agree if they were worn by someone else, say someone more dominant and powerful. Maybe I would even find this strange, gloomy mixture of aromas attractive, inhaling it from someone else's hot skin and feeling with the touch of my lips a steadily beating pulse in the swollen veins on a strong neck.

How long does love last? Three years or more? For me, it's a moment; for others, it's an eternity. I loved him. It's true. Very strong and very long ago. My love did not resemble the indomitable elements or the explosions of colored fireworks; rather, it was the fragrant bloom of wildflowers and the scattering of stars in the sky. She was comforting, not passionate, and I wanted to see someone like me, someone who could comfort my heart and give me tenderness.

Tenderness and comfort alone were enough for me, but deep inside, I wanted something dangerous, something forbidden. I was devout, one of those people who are called “good girls,” but was it really me or the role that Mina gave me?

Maybe in the far corners of my mind, my thoughts weren’t as good and right as they should be. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, but sometimes when I woke up from another nightmare, I was glad she was dead. Dark, reckless emotions made their way through my cracks; they were moments of despair as my anger lifted its ugly head and oozed poison and blood. My cruelty and hatred had the color of roses and smelled like chocolate. She had fox eyes and a seductive smile; desire flowed in her veins, and strangled thirst was heard in her voice.

In my nightmares, I saw not only Mina and bloody roses; sometimes there was a young man in long silk robes and a veil hiding his face. He's just a ghost; I met mine years ago, but somehow he seems more real to me night by night when he comes into my dreams without permission. He crept into them like a serpent-tempter into the Garden of Eden, slipping away at dawn like the shadow of two moons, hiding behind a door I could never open.

Unreal in my reality.

I felt the arrival of Soomin even before her long nails methodically began to knock on my door. It was as if the spell had been removed and all the sounds of the world had rained down on me in an instant. Yoru shook off her sleep and whirled around at the front door, waiting for an unknown guest. The clatter of high heels echoed in my apartment, slipping through the cracks of the door locks, and the thick smell of ambergris and blooming jasmine at night walked ahead of her, warning every one of her approaches. If I didn’t know better, I could easily have mistaken her for Mina. That was my sister once.

The whole world was just a part of her life; she was not part of the world. To be ordinary—what a bad form!

“Sarang! Sarang, open up. I’m here.” and in fact, her long nails caught on the dark wood of my front door, causing Yoru to bristle and hiss.

I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t get along.

“Are you awfully loud? Someone told you this, Soo?” I opened the front door wide, smiling softly. “I missed you, Soomin.”

“Don’t tell me about it; I missed that pretty face.” She hugged me, which made Yoru hiss again, attracting Soo’s attention. “When did you get a cat?”

“That’s not my, Yoru cat, my neighbor from apartment 1366, that door.” I waved my hand to the far end of the corridor, where Mrs. Lee’s apartment was located. “I like her; I don’t mind having the baby stay with me sometimes.”

“I see.” There was an awkward pause between us until Soo broke it. “You want to talk about… you know what.” She was worried about this topic; I could see it from the way she shifted from foot to foot, or was it from high heels? In the light of the electric lamps, the steel studs glittered like sharpened spindles from the tale of The Sleeping Beauty.

“Not now. Better tell me about this restaurant we’re going to.” Soomin was easily distracted if you changed the topic of conversation in the direction of a subject of interest to her.

I walked out of the house, taking one last look at Yoru. The cat didn't even think about leaving my space; he was already ensconced in a pile of pillows on the sofa in the living room. If she wasn't going to leave, I wouldn't force her.

“Don’t you need to return the cat to the mistress? She looks expensive.” asked Soo

“She’s a purebred Persian cat, and no, Mrs. Lee won’t worry about it; Yoru can stay with me for weeks before she comes home. This has happened before.”

“All right, if you say so.”

I shut the front door and turned the key, permanently cutting off my escape routes. Today. I have to do this today or my resolve will wear thin, and I will once again voluntarily isolate myself in the comfort of blankets and tightly closed curtains.

"And so, the restaurant..." This was the beginning of a long story that interested no more than random passersby in a faceless crowd.

“You’re going to love this place, I promise. Everything I’ve seen on their Instagram profile is so fascinating, but you know what makes this place really attractive? It’s the owner. Eun Jung was there last week, and she couldn’t shut up about…”

For the next 30 minutes, I heard about this trending establishment. “ Angels' Share” is the most requested boutique café in the last 3 months on all search engines. A luxurious café with exquisite dishes and a magnificent concept.

But most importantly, it is, of course, divine, and Soomin, the owner, was absolutely sure of this. Hundreds of girls lined up in endless lines from dawn to dusk, hoping to see him, at least for a moment.

On your first visit, the owner of “Angels' Share” personally serves you throughout your interruption there. Your name is inscribed in the book of exclusive customers in gold ink. Their main specialty is gourmet desserts, and if you are not seduced by the angelic face of the magnificent man who runs this place, then the sweets melting on your lips will do it instantly.

Full berries of scarlet strawberries in white Belgian chocolate. Mille-feuille with fresh wild berries. The devil's food is the most chocolate of all chocolate cakes, and, of course, the angel cake has the most delicate silk cream of exotic fruits.

As Soomin told me about it, she was clearly having an emotional orgasm. Her arousal was obvious, but I could not understand what she craved more: exquisite desserts or the sweet kiss of the owner.

“I think he's a real angel,” Soo finished her rant after giving a fiery speech about the unique beauty of a man she had never met in her life.

“I'm not sure if it's all true, Soomin, but you'll be able to see for yourself when we get there. You should not trust everything they say. You're too impressionable and trusting.”

We spent the rest of the journey in peaceful silence. This is the type of silence when there are a lot of questions in the air, but each side is not sure when to start asking them. I know she wanted to ask me a lot of things, and in response, I wanted to finally share my experiences and feelings that I had been desperately hiding for the past two months. Nevertheless, each of us remained silent, as if afraid to destroy fragile comfort with uncomfortable words.

When the car stopped, Soomin smiled approvingly at me, as if to say, “Go ahead, my girl!” She was good at it because she was also a cheerleader like Mina.

“Angels' Share” was impressive at first sight, and not only because of the long line of girls lined up in a perfect line and dressed in intricate clothes like collectible dolls on the shelf.

A myriad of flowers, lace, and feathers, pastel shades, and delicate ruffles—all of them looked like animated sugar fantasies. Their cheeks were dusted with pink blush, and their inflated lips were accentuated by a thick layer of transparent sticky gloss with a fine sprinkle of glitter.

Perfectly well-groomed hair is arranged in children’s cute curls or intricate hairstyles with hundreds of sparkling hairpins and velvet bows. The variety of their images was amazing, as was the height of their heels. This place was definitely something special if the girls were willing to sacrifice their comfort for a couple of desserts.

Or it wasn’t about desserts.

At such moments, I especially understood how much we needed someone else's approval. The list of items seems endless: he likes cute girls, girls with an athletic figure, pale skin, and big eyes; she should not be boring; my friends like her; she has long legs and a thin waist; and she is a certain height. I wonder if he'll use a ruler to measure me. Big boobs or a nice ass—which turns him on more? What will our first date be like? That's right; should I call him Oppa or not? Tell me what you want, and I will fulfill whatever you want. I will fulfill every one of your fantasies. Tell me about your desires.

Seduce me. Surprise me. Love me!

I don’t want to live like this. I want to be who I really am, with all my flaws and imperfections. I want to be sharp and rude; I want to be cruel and honest; I want to look as I want, without colorful tinsel and layers of makeup, with cellulite, stretch marks, and a little overweight. That may be so, but it will be me. Just me.

The voice of Soomin ripped me out of my mind.

“I told you so,” said Soo smugly, purposefully heading for the entrance, circumventing a string of discharged girls. She was a lioness on a hunt, while they were stranded in colorful piles like scared rabbits.

If you do not pay attention to the girls, the exterior is fascinating. Gold, flowers, and crystal resembled the frame of a precious box. “Angels' Share” was positioned in such a way that the sun flooded it from all sides, creating around it a mysterious golden haze of sunlight and a dazzling iridescent play of crystals.

Everything was so beautiful, I won't deny it, but didn't the gingerbread house beckon the children deep into the dark forest where the wicked witch lived? Everything beautiful always has a downside, and someone knows how to mask it better than others.

While I was looking at the details, Soomin dragged me inside and was already talking to the host girl, who was checking the records for a long list of names. She also, like the girls on the street, looked like a doll. Her hair was long and shiny, tucked away from her face with an embroidered rim with Swarovski crystals, and her eyelashes were so lush that they touched her cheeks when she blinked. I would call her beautiful; she licked to perfection, which made it almost unnatural. She had a sweet, high-pitched voice and an overly friendly smile. Annoyingly friendly.

“Please follow me; I'll show you your table. Since you have visited us for the first time, Mr. Yoon will personally take care of you today. Please enjoy your stay at “Angels' Share.”

YooA—that was the name of this girl—led us up the spiral staircase to the second floor. It seemed that everything around was carved from pale golden marble, with the addition of luxurious interior items and thousands of flowers—or, to be more precise, thousands of roses. Snow-white, cream, pastel pink, and soft peach—the whole space breathed rose buds that stood in tall transparent vases.

The sight took my breath away, and I was inwardly tense. It's okay; it's just a café, not Mina's apartment. You need to relax and not start panicking; it will not benefit anyone.

As if sensing my growing panic, Soomin squeezed my palm.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“Yes, it’s all right; there are too many roses for my taste; you know, it brings back memories.” I smiled tortuously in response to her words. I didn’t want to ruin her day; she was so excited and happy when we came here.

“We can leave if you are not comfortable, Sarang.” Soo still held my hand, gently walking her thumb over my palm in a comforting circular motion. “If you want to go somewhere else, this is fine. I can always come back here later.”

“No!” came out too loud. “No, I’m fine. I can’t wait to try their chocolate fondant. You know I’m here only for chocolate.” She said the last part with me in one voice.

YooA showed us our table, although it was more like a small loggia separated by airy chiffon tulle and pearl threads from the common room. I could easily fall in love with this place if not for the languid, enveloping smell of roses and the beauty of their lush, perfect buds.

“Do you think the rumors are true, and we'll see an angel appearance today?” Soomin leaned across the table to talk about the owner, not so obviously?

“I think you'll find out about it now, anyway.” I couldn't finish my thoughts, interrupted by Soo's enthusiastic sigh. It was a sound of undisguised admiration that she couldn't hold back, even if she tried.

The reason for her excitement was right behind me, and I had to look back a little to see what it could have been.

Of course, all the sounds of delight belonged to none other than Mr. Yoon. In part, I could understand why he was called angel-like. His beauty was painfully perfect, to the point where it became almost terrible. His face was beautiful—almost obsessively beautiful, like the face of a stone goddess on a grave. Surreal. The skin seemed to glow from the inside, like molten silver flowing through the veins. He had long hair—ashes, platinum, mother-of-pearl—everything mixed on a diamond cloth. One silvery strand fell delicately over his face.

Are the melodies of an angelic choir in the air, or does it just seem that way to me?

The more I looked at him, the more his appearance disgusted me.

I felt flawed and unsuitable, like a puzzle that did not fit the picture; my heart did not beat faster with excitement or sweet agony; I did not burn and did not desire it as it should. Between us, it was possible to draw thousands of parallels in a myriad of universes, and none of them ever intersected. Beauty is deceptive, like a serpent promising forgiveness. It’s the pain of a bittersweet injection entering our nervous tissue.

What do we know about them—angels? White-winged light bearers, without flaws and ignorant of evil and vicious desires, are submissive and faithful to their ideals and purposes. Silent watchers who look after our virtue. But there are those who are chained and silken, whose wings are torn out with bloody flesh, for they are sinners.

Their name is the fallen. Unforgiven.

He was not an angel. He was one of them who traded the vaults of heaven for the flames and steel of the nine circles.

His presence was heavy, stifling, and sharp. Goosebumps ran through my skin as an omen of the imminent end.

I could have sworn that the second our eyes met in his eyes, the color of dark bitter chocolate, anger, and disgust thickened. So everything that is perfect collapses, falls, beats, and crumbles like the great walls of Babylon, kissing the transcendental peak of heaven. Like a Venus flytrap, his appearance was a clever disguise of vice and rot in a velvet cage of flesh, and this place is the very gingerbread house that beckons to certain death.

“Welcome to “Angels' Share”. My name is Yoon Sung Hoon; I own this place, and today I will make sure your stay here is unforgettable.” The voice flowed like honey smoothly and gently, I could melt at this tone.

“I am Soomin, and this is Sarang; we have heard a lot about this place.” Soo’s cheeks were pink from a shy blush, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was embarrassed. This man was clearly something special, if he could make Soomin behave like a schoolgirl in love with just his presence.

His eyes rested on my figure for a second, and I wanted to shrink into a ball under this appraising gaze, as if he was trying to probe me and understand how dangerous I could be. It was only a moment, and then a smile shone again on his angelic face.

“I hope you’ve only heard nice things about us. What do you want today?” I wonder what he is used to hearing in response. I want you and your love, and I will accept everything you would not give me. Will you be my boyfriend? My husband? Will you give me eternal love? Judging by the expression on Soomin's face, this is exactly what she wanted to ask him, but she pulled herself up in time.

“I want to taste your best dessert.” As they say, kill them with your sweetness. Where has my self-sufficiency and t.” As they say, “kill them with your sweetness.” Where has my self-sufficient and confident self gone? Soo, this blushing mess was nothing like hers.

“Of course, only the best is for you. And what do you want?” All his attention was now drawn to me, and I had no pleasure. Yoon Sung Hoon is clearly not used to girls not falling at his feet like moths hitting the glass. Our dislike was mutual. Our dislike was mutual. “What do you want, Sarang? I would recommend one of our most special desserts: a white chocolate soufflé with candied scarlet roses.” Sung Hoon was smiling, but not at all benevolent; there was something mocking in the exquisite curve of his lips, as if he were challenging me: “Come on, try me.”

Roses. Those damn roses again. It always came down to these flowers. Were they my path leading away from the dark forest, or would they lead me straight to the crystal coffin in the tallest tower of the castle?

Instead of politely refusing, as a true lady should, I have given a crude, hoarse, and utterly evil speech:

“I hate roses.”

For me, flowers are as beautiful as the pain of a broken heart. You can call me a heartbreaker. What will your heart taste like? I'm so eager to try it.

“My apologies.” Sung Hoon bowed his head, hiding his gaze in the lace of fluttering eyelashes and platinum bangs. With this simple action, Soomin once again made a barely audible, enthusiastic sound. “In this case, I offer you our signature chocolate fondant with raspberry jam and glass caramel glaze. Our clients say that he has a heavenly taste, so celestial that he can be sinful.”

Sung Hoon—there was something about him that disgusted me. His way of speaking, his appearance, his behavior—in general, every detail of it The most beautiful apple on the branch will always be wormy. I couldn't understand how he could charm girls in a split second, without any effort, as if it were in his blood—to cause desire and awe.

During our short conversation, Soo did not look at me once, inseparably studying every detail of the angelic man. If I make an incision in his skin, will the gold pour as befits angels, or will it be the viscous and black acid that Pandora once shed from her eyes?

I didn’t like it here. I didn’t like Yoon Sung Hoon, and he probably didn’t like me. How was I in his eyes—insignificant, puny, ordinary? Our dislike was mutual but totally unfounded; I just knew I didn’t want to be in the same space with him. I can’t breathe.

Guests always leave after dessert. I didn't want to linger, so I agreed to fondant. “Okay, I'll take fondant and cappuccino.” I looked at Soomin again; her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, judging by the bitten lower lip and flushed cheeks. “And matcha latte, please.”

“Of course, ladies…” With this phrase, he finally left us, and I sighed deeply.

“I think I'm in love, Sarang.” Apparently, with his passing, Soo’s brain has resumed active activity. “He absolutely justifies all the rumors about him.”

“Yeah, I can agree with that; he’s definitely something very special.”

After Sung Hoon served desserts and another 10 minutes of heated discussion of his appearance, our conversation took its normal course. It’s like ping-pong; the rules are very simple: move from one question to another, follow the theme, and don’t miss your turn. “How's the work?” “Everything is fine.” “How’s your boyfriend?” “You remember I told you we broke up?” “What have you been doing lately?” “Too much to do; I can’t remember, but recently I came back from Japan”, “Did you like it there?” “Great seats and great cuisine.” “How do you feel, Sarang?” Say it again; I didn’t hear you.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” Once again, you speak unclearly.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” It's so loud here, I can't hear you.

“Sarang?!” Can I skip my turn? I’m tired of this game.

I took a deep, slow breath.

“What do you want me to say, Soo? Something that will calm you down or something that should comfort me? ”

“Truth, Sarang. I want to hear the truth from you.” Soomin looked at me so carefully that it seemed as though she was looking straight into my soul.

My mind moved from one thought to another, not knowing what it would focus on. Truth. What is it like, this truth? She is like a beautiful, spiritually disheveled monster with a lesbian couple of black widows in an aquarium; she exists in an endless eternity of joyful decadence and an ecstatic nightmare.

It’s no big deal to tell someone the truth, but are you ready to see your own reflection in someone else’s eyes? They say alcohol is a liquid truth, but I think it's nothing more than a road strewn with bread crumbs, straight into a dense, dark forest. The more you drink, the deeper you go. Sometimes, through the intricately woven stems of condemnation and bitterness, subtle rays of understanding break through, like the light shed by the dual face of the moon. But this happens so rarely that the eyes themselves become accustomed to the surrounding darkness.

I’m still afraid of the dark and, therefore, of the truth. Now I’m sure I’m allergic to the world.

When I looked at the café, I noticed that there were many more people. Bunny girls with colorful barrettes occupied small transparent tables filled with all sorts of desserts; others, similar to porcelain dolls, put their palms to their cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, and laughed loudly, sitting in the same loggias as ours. The sounds of clicks from selfies and aesthetic Instagram photos did not subside for a second, as did the high play of voices merging with soft background music.

This probably wasn’t the best place for such a serious conversation, but was it ever the perfect place to have a heart-to-heart?

“Honestly, I don't know. Really?” I began, stirring the thick, fragrant foam from the cappuccino. It tasted like a first kiss—a little bitter, a little sweet—something that I would like to repeat again and again. “Secrets, secrets, and more secrets—everywhere I look, no matter what I ask, they only get bigger. Everything is as usual: Mina died, and the world is still spinning around her. Remember, I told you that they still send roses? I can say that soon the cemetery will start selling bouquets because there is simply nowhere to put them. Every day there are fresh flowers on the grave.” Maybe I sounded a little petty and annoyed, but I didn't care. “I may not seem like the best person on this planet, but sometimes I feel absolutely happy that I finally managed to bury her in the ground.” Yes, this is exactly the right moment; you are not mistaken. That was my truth, like salt and pepper, like ashes, like burned dreams.

Soomin shook her head negatively.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, Sarang; you're not a bad person, and we both know it; everyone around you knows it; and even that bastard JiHo knows it. You have gone through a lot, and if I were you, I would have gone crazy long ago, but look at yourself: you are here with me, in the noise of the metropolis, and you have your whole life ahead of you.” She put her hand on top of mine, and the warmth of her body penetrated mine. “Mina was who she was, and neither you nor me nor anyone else could change her. So don't let her ghost poison your life. I'm not a fan of this entire Nancy Drew thing, but I won't dissuade you. If you want my help, I'm on board.”

I laughed bitterly, taking a sip of the coffee that had already cooled. There was something special about it—sweet, ice-cold coffee, like long-cooled love.

“Yeah, you’re right; she was who she was, but I guess we were wrong about that because those flowers broke her in half. In fact, that’s the whole point of the question: where did the roses come from? She was interested in nothing but flowers and some strange prayers. She frightened me. You know, at first it looked like another love of hers; everything was as usual—she talked incessantly about flowers and admired them, but the more roses they sent us, the less she was interested in the rest of the world. Mina withered and languished while the roses bloomed. I've never seen anyone come to our house or meet someone. Nothing, just roses—hundreds of roses. You just can't imagine how many there were.”

“You know, I don’t really want to imagine it. Okay, let’s say you find something in her files. What’s next? You really need this? Maybe we should just let go, you know, scatter the ashes to the wind.” Breaking off a slice of angel cake, Soo mooed in satisfaction as the dessert was in her mouth. “Mmm, I love sweets. Who handled her legal affairs? If this is one of the free lawyers, we should hurry; the queues in these cantors are worse than here.”

“No, no, we're not going to a free advocacy team. Wait a minute.” I pulled out of my purse a small card from a thick black cardboard and handed it to Soomin. Transparent gloss on a soft matt surface looked refined and very expensive, just like the business card itself. “Silver & Black LTD” was the name of the law firm that handled Mina’s affairs.

“You’re kidding me!” She exclaimed, almost burying her face in her business card. “That’s “Silver and Black.” How did she manage to work with them? They’re one of the most elite law practitioners in all of Seoul, and I’d say across Asia. Their lawyers are real sharks in their cases; for the existence of their practice, they have not lost a single case, and the bills for their services are simply cosmic. How does she have so much money? Sarang, did you inherit her sugar daddy too? If that's the case, ask for more; you're much more expensive than a cheerleader, and nerds are always sexier and more desirable.”

“Stop saying that like I’m a whore. I don’t know where she got the money, but are their services so expensive?” My surprise was obvious. Our family was not poor, but we were not rich; we occupied that golden layer in the class hierarchy where we could just live without any worries about tomorrow. Mina and I were well provided for, but judging by Soomin’s reaction, “Silver and Black” could afford only filthy rich and influential people.

“If I were to be offered the opportunity to trade my virginity for cooperation with them, I would have done it without hesitation. Are you sure we have an appointment with them?”

“Soomin!” Frankness was always such a simple thing for her that I felt awkward at such moments. “Of course, I called them yesterday to confirm the details.”

“What? The cult of virginity is overrated anyway, but now I'm much more interested in it.”

“Let me think, more amazing men?” “How did you guess?” Soo smiled sweetly, shoving another piece of dessert into her mouth. I snorted; I couldn’t help it. "Hey, don’t laugh! You should also consider new options, since you and JiHo have broken up. Listen to me, little Sarang, nothing will warm your bed better than a hot big boy."

"Ew, Soomin." She just laughed back.

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ash-says · 1 month

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Tips on how to be Goody Two Shoes and Pure in the society's eyes:

If you ask me personally I feel we girls should know how to camouflage cause it will just not save your life but also open lots of doors for you. Society loves obedient, docile and submissive women. It villianizes the ones who don't fit in this category. It's difficult to change the patriarchal society so easily thus as we fight for our rights how about we smartly use it for our advantage by selling a delusion?

Don't we say, delulu is the only solulu.

So here are some tips for you:

1) Be a nerd. Literally nothing screams Goody two shoes more than this.

2) Believe in purity culture (even if you don't, publicly act like you do). When someone asks you for casual sex react as if he has asked for your life.

3) Be religious. After all if you are faking a personality make sure you nail it down to perfection.

4) Don't indulge in sexually provocative behaviours or flirting.

5) Delude them in thinking you are a pushover. Do not exert any kind of power or assertiveness until it's absolutely necessary. Fake weakness.

6) Be kind and soft spoken. Treat people lower than your status with love and be receiving towards them. This helps in establishing influence and being perceived as a kind, gentle and elegant lady.

7) Don't let men touch you easily and casually. Be a little reserved. It automatically elevates the way people look at you and gives off a little conservative vibes.

8) Identify the thin line between modernization and traditions. Tread on it carefully to appeal to both the masses.

Disclaimer: I am not preaching to people please but rather use the society's biases to our advantage. The foolish rebels while the smart ones beat them at their own game.

9) Dwell in both sides of the world. It will give you an instinct on how to act where. Explore both the dark and light sides of the human society. The extreme liberalisation and the extreme conservatism this will teach you how to blend both of them for your benefit.

10) Be pretty. It can be in anyway. Make sure the way you are showing up is confident, attractive and showcases your best self. Pretty privilege is real. The amount of times I got out of situations, things and extra work by using pretty privilege, acting cute and dumb coupled with my other techniques is unreal. Leverage the shit out of it.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

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letmelickyoureyeballs · 3 months

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disclaimer: i have only watched the narnia movies, i have not read any of the books. if there is information from the books that relates to any of this i would love to hear it. this post was inspired by @fallingskiesandrisingseas and their character posts of the pevensies

its so horrible thinking about how the pevensies came back to england after basically living another life.

they basically lived a lifetime. they had friends, possibly enemies, lovers maybe, they had people they cared for and who cared for them, they grew up.

and to have all that taken away when they come home, years and years of building a life in narnia gone

sure they have their memories, but not their bodies, friends, kingdom. theres no way they could’ve acclimated back in england after being in narnia for decades. all the costoms they learned, the languages, the repect and adoration they created. gone

i know narnia and beyond is some religious allegory for heaven/an afterlife, but to people who aren’t religious/grew up being taught it, it was devastating to watch. theres no way they would’ve come back home of their own free will.

i mean they grew up, they matured. they knew war and death, love and respect. i mean Lucy became a woman a leader a queen, she had to be taken back to a body that is way to young to know most of that stuff.

i mean how would they even know how to act anymore, act not like nobles, like the commoners they are in england. its been YEARS, theres no way they remember every detail from their past lives. they wouldn’t even need school really, maybe some stuff but would they even want to pay attention. theyre fully mature adults trapped in a childs body.

and how would their kingdom fair when they left without any warning. we see later that it fell to history, but before that happened. their leaders are gone, their protectors, their friends, family, just gone forever. im sure there were people that were trusted to take over, but thats still a big change when losing the kings and queens of narnia

i truly believe they shouldve been able to live in narnia forever. the other movies should’ve been different characters or something else. i love these movies, i just wish they hadn’t ended like that

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #peter pevensie #edmund pevensie #aslan #aslan did them dirty #movie analysis #movie review #and why the fuck would they want to go back to war ridden old ass england

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slugtranslation-hypmic · 3 months

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Hi Slug!! I'm curious about some of the religious imagery in hypmic! Kuko is obvious and I think Doppo has talked about not believing in gods before but what's up with Jakurai? Is he meant to actually be Christian or is it just an aesthetic thing?

This ended up being so long Tumblr wouldn't let me put it all in one post. Hoo boy. Under a cut for length.

Usual disclaimer that I don't live in Japan, so I'm not talking about IRL Japan so much as Japanese media. Media isn't perfectly synonymous with real life and, of course, it's foolish to draw conclusions from the general (media and culture) and apply them to the specific (individual persons). With that being said, media is indicative of real life values and cultural concerns--for example, the American high school experience is a lot less interesting than in movies, but these movies reflect a romanticization of teenagehood so widespread in the US and areas with heavy US cultural influence that filmmakers take it for granted in their audiences--so I can talk about what assumptions inform the portrayal of religion in Hypmic.

As in a lot of Japanese media, religion is present but not explicitly mentioned outside of Kuukou. It's what I would call culturally religious as opposed to actively religious. Similar to how many works in the Anglosphere are steeped with Christian ideas and phrases even if the authors/works themselves aren't Christian (the Christian concept of sin, using "God" or variations as an interjection, etc.), many works written in Japanese are influenced by Shinto and Buddhist ideas. Some people in Japan are active worshipers of Shinto, Buddhism, or both, but many more have a somewhat relaxed approach. It's not uncommon for people to have a belief in a higher power, but the nature of this higher power isn't terribly well-defined. Many people will attend religious ceremonies for holidays or funerals but rarely pray to a higher power outside of moments of great stress. That is, being culturally religious. Traditions are fun and comforting, especially if they involve dressing up in fancy clothes, eating yummy food, and seeing friends and family. Even if you're not especially devout, it doesn't hurt to pray for a bit of luck before a big test, that your child will grow up healthy and strong, or that your recently departed ancestor will be at peace. For those in predominately Christian areas, you probably see plenty of this in your community--people who maybe go to church occasionally for companionship or holiday celebrations but aren't active worshipers. Or, perhaps, people who pray like, "Hey, if anyone's listening, can you lend me a hand?" Maybe you're even one of these people yourself. We can generally assume that most of the cast falls into this camp. Doppo and Hifumi go to a festival with a religious element--charms and rituals to bring good luck by appealing to Shinto deities--but I doubt either of them have a firm belief that these particular deities exist. They may think that there's some higher power...or not. But what's the harm in a good luck charm, right? And more importantly, it's fun to play games, eat, drink, and horse around with friends! But wait, does that mean these two are only Shinto or...Shinto-ish? Probably not. There's an expression that most Japanese people are "born Shinto, but die Buddhist." Shinto rituals tend to focus on matters of the living (although Shintoism has its own distinct funerary rites, sometimes combined with Buddhist rites), while non-devout Buddhists usually participate in Buddhist ceremonies only when loved ones die. We see Juushi and Hitoya with loved ones buried in Buddhist cemeteries, but it's safe to assume both observe Shinto holidays and customs in some fashion. We also see in the very beginning of TDD that Nemu and Samatoki have what appears to be a butsudan--a Buddhist altar--in their home dedicated to their deceased parents. "But wait," some might say, "I thought spirit worship isn't a part of Buddhism." That's true for some forms of Buddhism, but not all! Buddhism is enormously varied, and some of the (many, many!) forms of Buddhism practiced in Japan accept aspects of Shintoism. There's plenty of mixing, just as we see within individuals themselves. Again, the Hypmic characters may not fully believe that spirits exist. (Well, outside of Ramuda...) But it's a comforting thought that one's deceased family members are around in some form and can be a positive influence on one's life.

#not a translation #asks #hypmic asks

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fortheloveofshitsandgiggles · 8 months

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Unreal Unearth is an album that means a lot to me. It’s one of if not the greatest albums I’ve ever heard. Each song impacts me in a different way, so I wanted to go through each song with my own experience and interpretations (disclaimer, some of these analyses are my personal interpretation or how I react to the song, art is subjective and is what you make it)

De Selby (Part 1): oh my god I’ve been dying to hear Hozier sing in Gaeilge. I actually sang a song in Gaeilge in choir a few years back, and while it was difficult for me pronunciation wise, it was super fun to sing and is a beautiful and underrated language in my opinion. I also adore how haunting it is. It sounds like the soundtrack to my crisis (and it has been). I struggle to explain it, but the melody is so tormenting, especially with the layered voices in the second half of the Gaeilge verse. They feel very ghost like. It’s such an incredible way to introduce us into the decent into hell.

Transition: Yes I’m giving this special section because it’s one of the greatest song transitions I’ve ever heard. It’s really difficult to transition from a slow song into an upbeat one, but this one did it in a way that allows my brain to adjust to the difference in tempo. First of all, it lowers in pitch until it matches the key of part 2, musically representing our slow decent into hell. Then it starts with this beat that goes into part 2, and to me, this represents a building of insanity, one that is further explored in part 2.

De Selby (part 2): This is one of my favorite songs on the entire album. First of all, the beat is so addictive and the song generally makes me want to shake my ass. But beyond that, this song encompasses insanity in a way that I haven’t seen before but is also so relatable. Even with the music video, like there are times where I have felt exactly like the guy in the video and I just want to run into the abyss and forget everything and hit myself with a shovel. Hozier has such a talent for making relatability so artistic and unreal (forgive the pun).

First Time: This song is so full of complex lyricism that I couldn’t even begin to dive into. It’s super vibey, which I appreciate. A few notable lyrics I’d like to point out is “But you spoke some quick new music that went so far to soothe this soul as it was and ever shall be, unearth without a name.” I don’t know if anyone’s talked about this, but this lyric was so similar to the “glory be” prayer (I grew up Catholic lol) that goes “glory be to the father, the son, and the Holy Spirit, as it was and ever shall be, a world without end.” I don’t know if that was intentional/ the direct inspiration but I def did a double take when I heard that lyric. If it is intentional, I love how he twists it from a praise god I’ll get into Heaven sort of plea into describing the limbo we are trapped in, unearth without a name. The other lyric is “These days I think I owe my life to flowers that were left here by my mother, Ain't that like them, giftin' life to you again” I just think that’s such a sweet line that appreciates the kindness in humanity, especially so many mothers including my own. I would like to give a shoutout to Hozier’s mom for birthing and raising him, I would love to shake hands with her.

Francesca: This is maybe one of the best songs Hozier has ever put out. It has been on repeat since the second he dropped it. First of all, the sheer concept of this song, to love someone so full and so deeply that you would endure every ounce of pain and suffering that is inflicted on you because of this love, that is so powerful and just has such an element of storytelling that is as thrilling as watching a movie. To endure such hardship for the sake of a simple touch makes me want to cry. We all want something like that, to be protected and to be worth the sacrifice of another. And the lyrics encompass that perfectly, especially “Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I.” Now, being religiously traumatized myself, Heaven is a concept that I’ve gotten to know well. Eternal bliss and joy in the comfort of Jesus. It has hung over my head and has been used to keep me in the religion, especially as a comfort when it comes to the concept of death. But to say that even this place of eternal bliss and love and joy isn’t fit for the kind of love we possess just absolutely guts me. It is just beyond incredible.

I, Carrion (Icarian): As if Francesca wasn’t devastating enough, Hozier had to follow it up with this one. I absolutely love the use of Icarus imagery in songs, I love Icarus by Bastille (it especially reminds me of Crowley and Aziraphale from Good Omens). I know he used Icarus imagery in previous songs, and this is no hate to Sunlight, but I was def looking for something gentler that further explored the different perspectives of the story. And you know what, Hozier delivered. To paint the fall as something beautiful or as not even perceiving it as a tragedy is such a fresh take that I love the exploration of. “If I should fall on that day I only pray don’t fall away from me,” that hit me like a bag of bricks when I first heard it. Like, he’s plummeting from the sky, and still says “allow the ground to find its brutal way to me.” No matter what the ground holds for me, as long as I’m falling with you, everything will be alright. It becomes this state of delusion that is both heartwarming and devastating.

Eat Your Young: This song is what I have affectionately and repeatedly referred to as the “sexiest political commentary I’ve ever heard.” The melody and beat are so seductive, which just contributes to the appeal of the message, despite it being a pretty horrifying one. But it is from the perspective of the villain, which is an interesting point to write from. To say that it’s easier to cut out the middle man and eat your children rather than do atrocious things for power and money that will kill them anyways is such a relevant take on not only politics and capitalism but just the greedy side of humanity in general. The song is almost a trick, like it makes the greed sound so appealing and acts as a siren song to push the narrator’s unreliable narrative.

Damage Gets Done: I love Hozier songs that dive into the feeling of being young. Songs like Sedated and even Jackie and Wilson are reminiscent of that. We often think we’re indestructible when we’re young and we think we can do anything. We become reckless, but that recklessness isn’t what kills us. It’s the people in power who damage us with the laws they pass and systems they create. It sounds so happy like childhood, and yet it reminisces on what it was like to not be forced to participate in these systems such as capitalism. It felt good to just be free and not be tied down by the world. The melody of this song sounds nostalgic and hype like the energy of a young person. Also shoutout Brandi Charlie, I adore her voice on this track and in general.

Who We Are: We have to get through things one way or another, but “getting through still has a cost.” God, this line hits because even when the “damage gets done,” we still have to hurt in order to heal. And it hurts the most when you didn’t realize what you lost until it’s gone. The other lyric that hits is “someone with your eyes might come in time to hold me like water or christ hold me like a knife” hold me even though I’ll slip through your fingers, or if you can’t do that, wield me as something that can cause damage. And there’s nothing else we can do about it. Why? Because that’s who we are. Also, Hozier’s vocals on this song are absolutely insane, those high notes are so angelic. I don’t think I knew his range went that high but I was super impressed.

Son of Nyx: It seems like I say every song is my favorite (because they’re all so freaking good), but this one has got to be my favorite on the album. Despite the lack of words, this song stuck out to me the most. I want to kiss the composer of this piece. First of all, I’m an absolute slut for orchestral/ cinematic songs. And this song is unlike any of his other songs. It carries this haunting melody that is almost angelic in a way but the minor key pulls you back down into this journey of hell that we’ve been going on. It incorporates the melodies from other songs on the album beautifully. I’ve only been able to pick out the melodies from who we are and abstract, so let me know if there’s any others I missed. But the moment where the orchestra swells makes me actually ascend into the next dimension. I swear I had an out of body experience when I heard it for the first time. It’s so terrifying in a beautiful way and words can’t properly convey how this song makes me feel. It doesn’t need to have words for me to understand it, and pieces like that are especially impactful to me.

All Things End: Wow what a way to follow that. It definitely gives a bit of whiplash. First of all, I love the music video for this because the cut from Heaven Hozier singing with his little surgeon church choir to him dead on a table makes me giggle every time, it’s so abrupt. Anyways, it’s interesting that this song goes under the circle of Heresy, because the connection isn’t immediately obvious. But, to me, it does make a lot of sense. To say all things end, including Heaven and hell, inherently denies the belief in Christian ideals. Which, to me, is empowering in a way. This song is simultaneously hopeless and hopeful at the same time. It says that joy will end eventually, but so will the pain. It’s a comfort and an anxiety all wrapped up into one song.

To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe): I’m gonna be honest, this one was harder for me to figure out. It’s incredibly simple in a way that is so effective. To me, this song sounds like being unable to provide for someone what they need. And that’s one of the most devistating feelings, one that the simple sad sound of the song encompasses very well. I know what it feels like to be unable to give what someone needs. It makes you feel so stuck and so useless, a feeling which I despise. And Hozier, as he always does, broke my heart with this one. But he was only gearing me up for what would come later with Unknown.

Butchered Tongue: One thing this song reminds me of is how much history we’ve lost. I think about this a lot, the texts we could’ve had, the wisdom we could’ve shared with one another, all lost to the greed of other human beings. I think of the Indigenous cultures that were viciously stripped away in the name of god, the languages lost, the abuse endured. I think of the stories of LGBTQ+ people that remain untold because it didn’t fit the ideal image of those in power. I think of the untold thoughts and lives brutally taken to early. We build incredibly complex and beautiful cultures but we still put in the hours to tear them down. It’s a really upsetting reality, to know that loss happens all around us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. But we are also encouraged to be kind, so if you take anything from this post, from this song, please show kindness to all, especially those whose stories remain untold.

Anything But: This one is just so groovy I always gotta do a little dance when I hear it. What’s interesting is this song is framed like a love song. But to me, this sounds like running from something or someone. Like “I don’t wanna be anything but I would do anything just to run away” like yeah same. I just want to run away from everything and move into a cottage in the woods or something. It really captures that feeling of just wanting to get tf out of here.

Abstract (Psychopomp): Circling back to the religious trauma thing, I’ve always had a fear of death. Or rather, what comes after death. With the threat of hell always hanging above my head, I was scared to step out of that narrative they always trapped me in with. I don’t wanna suffer for eternity after my short existence. So I’ve always struggled with the idea of dying. But this song frames the journey to the afterlife as something beautiful, which is so comforting, I can barely put it into words. The idea that a spirit guide could be escorting you to the afterlife and they tell you to look back at Earth and “see how it shines” makes me feel a relief unlike any other. I know this song is based on an experience Hozier had where he watched an animal get hit by a car and watched someone comfort the animal in its last moment. But the way this song treats the concept of death is just so moving. It captures the fear and the pain but also the beauty of having someone to share those last moments with and having someone guide you beyond. The imagery in this song is such pure storytelling I feel like I am recounting the memory as if it’s my own.

Unknown / Nth: Not only is this song the most devastating one on the album, it’s maybe the most devastating song I’ve ever heard. I went through a breakup a while back and every single lyric described every single thing I was feeling about that lost relationship. It captured me and my pain so well I’m convinced Hozier crawled into my brain and wrote this. He described feelings I couldn’t even fit into words. The teaser that Hozier posted for this song on tik tok actually came out right in that stage where I could feel they were drifting away from me. This was a long distance relationship, so first the “you know the difference never made a difference to me” hit hard. Not only that, I always called them my angel, so “I thought you were like an angel to me” was just double the emotional damage. Then, we get to the bridge. This bridge is the absolute most gut wrenchingly genius string of words ever written. “Do you know I could break be with the weight of the goodness love I still carry for you? That Id walk so far just to take the injury of finally knowing you” Holy. Shit. I’m someone who, when I love someone, I love them with every ounce of myself. I would bend the Earth if they asked me to, I would give them my life and soul to sell to Satan. For a long time after that breakup, I still loved them and that love just fueled my grief. I knew this person like the back of my hand, I knew every inflection in their voice, every joke they hadn’t yet made, every feature of their face. And they knew me, fully and deeply in a way few people do. They listened, and they made me feel heard. And all of the sudden, it was all gone. And I did break beneath that weight, because I still loved and knew them, but didn’t get to know anymore. I didn’t get to know what they were doing now, how they were doing, I didn’t get to call them every single night anymore. But despite all of the pain, I would gladly do it over and over again. I can’t bring myself to regret any of it. “And there are some people love who are better unknown.” All I’ve ever wanted was to be understood. I struggle to make friends, and sometimes when I do, I’m only relevant when I’m beneficial. I’ve only ever wanted to be known by those around me. And they knew me. But when they left, I felt like I was unknown again. And I too resigned myself to that idea that maybe I am better unknown.

Transition: The transition between Unknown / Nth and First Light is much more subtle than the one between the De Selbys. But it’s there and it’s worth mentioning. When Unknown / Nth ends, we are left with this sinking and hopeless feeling that we will forever be stuck in that ice, flapping our wings. That hopelessness is drawn out in this ghost of a lingering note that pulls through the end of the song. Then the very first note of First Light is the same as the last note of Unknown / Nth.

First Light: The beginning of this song sounds exactly like rays of light spilling through the cracks. It sounds like the relief of light hitting your eyes after being trapped in a place of darkness for a long time. As the song goes on, it starts to sound more like an ascension. The vocals become very angelic and the whole song grows into this powerhouse of force that just gives off such a hope and determination that we haven’t felt for this whole album. To me, it’s very interesting that Hozier decides to end this album on such a hopeful note despite how devastating every other song was. I was convinced he was going to end the album on Unknown, and he very well could’ve done that. He could’ve left us in the deepest circle of hell. But he chose to end on this super optimistic note of finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I think it just gives us a look into his own optimism and his belief that our resilience as humans has and will pay off. We are constantly faced with adversity and won’t stop until we take our last breaths. But our desire to keep fighting is what makes us such a uniquely incredible species. And the payoff afterwards is a satisfaction that nothing else can quite compare to.

Hozier has such a way of turning the human experience into something otherworldly. He never ceases to amaze me with how his mind creates. I hope I get to tell him one day how much his art means to me and how deeply it’s affected me.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unreal unearth #music #art #storytelling #mythology

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inevitably-ineffable-husbands · 9 months

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Crowley's Past: Was He Archangel Camael?

With S2 now having been out for a few weeks, and the theories running wild, I think one of the unanimous beliefs within the fandom is that Crowley was SOME sort of Important Angel Before™. I touch upon the MANY clues in the various parts of my initial GOS2 Thoughts Meta, so I won't go into too many of those here, but inevitably this separate meta started out as the pulling-and-expanding-upon of the Archangel Crowley theory, primarily the "Raphael" theory, since I have loved that theory to bits since its inception early post-S1.

That was until my friend Peter finished watching the season early last week, and presented to me an alternative theory as to Crowley's identity that I thought deserved its own post breakdown, since I haven't seen this theory before.

NOW, I should make it clear I haven't been as DEEP in the fandom as many of y'all since S1 aired, so it's probably come up before S2 as just a light mention, but I personally haven't seen anything, so what follows is a joint speculation between my real-life, not-in-GO-fandom-spaces-whatsoever friend Peter, and myself, with my contributions being the expansion of his theory and linking it to what we already know.

The theory is this: Crowley might actually be Archangel Camael.

Please, PLEASE note that I am aware that authors and writers change things for creative liberty and originality, so please take this entire theory with a grain of salt (or go nuts with me, I'm happy either way!).

I'll TRY to keep this concise, but y'all know me. You can skip right to the "Conclusion" for a point-by-point breakdown if you don't want to read everything, but I hope you'll at least give me a chance to explain within the body of this meta.

I apologize in advance if any of my thoughts are a bit scattered. Here we go:

The Initial Text

Here is the initial text Peter sent to me after he finished watching S2 (and this was after I mentioned that the popular running fandom theory is that he's actually Raphael):

Okay… well - disclaimer I did not go to religious school and my biblical studies were a great many years ago. As I recall Lucifer was not one of the 7 archangels - he was meant to be but he rebelled before he was appointed (and there is some wiggle for a fictional story). So, based on what we have seen Crowley was one of the 7 but he hung out with the wrong people and asked too many questions. He never says his real name when we see him as an angel it is comically dodged - for a good reason. Crowley has a login and proves he had clearance way above a level 37th angel. He can see the top most important meetings… like he may have been allowed to attend in a previous life… And one line sticks out to me “one fallen prince has already gone to Hell. Two shows a problem.” As I stated Lucifer was not a Prince - we are not talking about him. Gabriel was banking on going to Hell like his “brother” - I’m guessing Camael, the one who Sees God - who ironically has cursed eyes now as a demon - the Prince of Fortitude (also Love and Charity). He often breaks his demonic spirit in cases of charitable needs or love. Crowley is one of the big Seven to be entrusted with creating the cosmos ;)

Naturally, this had a lot of things click for me, and I'm going to break them down below, with my additional research into the points that Peter made since he mentioned that he was going off memory.

Who Was Cameal?

When Peter mentioned this angel, it boggled my mind that I never actually recall knowing of this archangel. I went to a Roman Catholic school up until Grade 12, and with that comes Religious Ed classes, which also feature World Religions in the later grades. Funnily enough, I found out WHY I never heard of Camael:

Camael is not recognized by the Catholic Church due to the Vatican's decision to ban the veneration of angels not mentioned in the Bible [SOURCE]

Kind of explains why I only heard of Gabriel, Michael, and Raphael (which now adds another layer to a theory I will cover further down in "Does Crowley Remember?"), then.

Reading further:

[He] is the Archangel of strength, courage and war in Christian and Jewish mythology and angelology. [SOURCE] He is claimed to be the leader of the forces that expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden holding a flaming sword. However, in iconography he is often depicted holding a cup. [SOURCE]

A Flaming Sword, you say??? Interesting. Here's a good place to point out that there IS also a theory that Crowley and Aziraphale are one single archangel that was split into two (and Gaiman has stated that in original drafts of the original book, they were at first one character, so this fact might be an afterthought of that original idea). Also, interesting that this angel is depicted with a cup, traditionally used in Christianity to depict wine, which is Crowley's drink-of-choice. So, there's that.

Another standout point for me is the Adam and Eve bit (which I bolded above). The Snake of Eden is TECHNICALLY the instigator (the "leader") who encouraged the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden. "Forces" in this reading of it could be the metaphorical definition of it; the knowledge of good and evil, and the desire to see beyond the Garden. AND also the Flaming Sword itself BEING the object of force given to the couple for protection.

Furthermore, Crowley's a strong and brave character, given all the shit he endures time and time again. Strength (and bravery for that matter) can mean many things: emotional strength, physical strength, possibly also a strength of character and an unwavering belief in the values one holds dear. I should also note that it's interesting that an angel of war, should Crowley indeed be this character, wants nothing to do with a war and is actively trying to stop one: an angel of War can absolutely NOT want a war, because he knows it's wrong.

And without the Angel of War up in Heaven to PREVENT any war at all? Well, they would just get all willy-nilly crazy on the idea of War without having any pushback on it, wouldn't they?

Kind of like how Gabriel was to be demoted (cast out) for denying Heaven a War. Funny old world, isn't it? Seems the parallels write themselves.

What's in a Name?

Because Peter mentioned the name meaning, I had to look into it myself, and indeed, one of the various meanings of Camael is apparently "he who sees God" in Hebrew.

As Peter stated above, I think this is very significant because it's seemingly only Crowley who has "demon" eyes that he himself cannot change. It's the ONLY part of him that always remains a constant, and why he is forced to hide them. We know from S1 and bits of S2 with Shax that other demons can change their eyes because we see them mimicking other humans time and again without the black eyes if they choose to.

Crowley's eyes could have been cursed specifically because was ordained as "the one who sees God" and possibly was the ONLY angel who ever "saw" a physical God in the literal sense (it's implied in the show that no one actually SEES a physical god). It's possible that Crowley being cast out literally burned his angelic eyes and left a visible scar that can't be fixed or erased – a forever-reminder of what he did and can no longer do. AND as the one who sees God, he indeed was a very high-ranking angel.

In the GO universe, I suspect he was indeed the FIRST Supreme Archangel, tasked with creating God's Vision (HAH) of the Universe. And when Crowley questioned what the point of creating such beauty was only for it to be destroyed, God (or, I suspect more likely, the other Angels) saw it as Crowley questioning their "vision" in the metaphorical sense.

Does Crowley Remember?

In light of Season 2, and some interesting exchanges and moments of Crowley with other angels, some people speculate (and as I watch the series more, I'm starting to also agree somewhat) that Crowley may not remember everything from Before.

Now, while I do like this theory a lot, and it makes sense with the context clues from S2, I don't think it's that he doesn't remember anything at all, however, as many versions of the theory postulates.

My speculation is this: what if, by having his Angelic Name removed from recognition in the Bible, and going through a similar Trial to Gabriel, THEN by Falling the traditional way, the memories are still there, but they're just a bit fuzzy and scattered? It could also explain why some of the other Archangels DON'T remember him... he was removed from the memories of other ranking angels (Saraqael is the only angel to seemingly remember who Crowley was, so I postulate that she WASN'T a top angel until fairly recently, because of the named angels in the next section).

The show brings up the Book of Life in S2 on several occasions, leaving me to believe that this will be an important item in the next season. What if the phrase "it will make it like you don't exist" literally means "don't exist in memories"? Maybe a Book of Life 1.0 existed at one time, and everyone who Fell was forgotten because their angelic names were removed. Because wouldn't that be more awful than never having existed? Remembering that you WERE something or someone, you had a name that you can't remember, that you WERE important to people and events, and having everyone around you who you considered family forget who you are? It's its own kind of personal Hell ... kind of like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, a movie that references angels, funnily enough. And Crowley remembers the furniture being there but not where it all belongs. I think his memory haziness is also a side effect of Falling the traditional way (burning sulfer and all that jazz, possibly causes trauma amnesia?).

It's a stretch here, I know, but I thought I would put this one out there as a possibility as to what it could mean (given that Gaiman and Pratchett tend to "play on words" a lot, I think it is worth mentioning this as an alternative meaning).

In S2, when Gabriel was sentenced, the Trial stated that Gabriel would forget his time as Gabriel, but not his time as an angel. I think a similar thing happened with Crowley, only much more violently with the "burning the eyes out" and "staining his wings black" thing.

My friend Peter mentioned that the show avoided Crowley's Before-Name "to a comical degree". I reckon, rather, that Crowley just simply doesn't remember his Angelic name, and his changing of his demon names is him possibly trying to find an identity. I think he recalls it having started with a "C", maybe? And now he's a snake, so he's kind of crawl-y, must be "Crawley". As time moved forward and as he learned more and more about humanity, he changed is namee to fit in better. Having a full Human-esque name makes him feel more connected to the Humanity he prefers.

And because I'm a romantic sap at heart, I think he enjoys spending time with Aziraphale because perhaps some part of Azzie's presence helps Crowley remember bits and pieces of his broken memory. He is LITERALLY Crowley's Emotional Support Angel – remember Shax can read into people, it seems. Azzie brings comfort to him, and seeing another Angel that also questions the choices Heaven makes allows Crowley to feel less alone.

The Original Seven Archangels

It's brought up a couple to several times in S2 the point that "God loves sevens". I actually couldn't remember why Seven was such a big Biblical number so a bit of quick Googling reminded me that "Seven [...] communicated a sense of “fullness” or “completeness” [...]. This makes sense of the pervasive appearance of “seven” patterns in the Bible." (SOURCE).

And of course, after Peter had mentioned it, I had to look a bit more into who the Original 7 could possibly be. Wikipedia mentions it could be Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Camael, Jophiel, and Zadkiel.

Peter was correct in his assumption that Lucifer wasn't one of the original 7 archangels, so that leaves us with Raphael, Camael, Jophiel, and Zadkiel, if we're assuming that Crowley is one of these top Archangels.

I would also like to speculate that "God likes 7's" could also mean (if you allow me to reach a bit) "God's favourite angels are the initial 7". If Crowley happened to be one of these 7, it could explain why he's able to get into Heaven without raising alarm at all, why he still maintains his immense power that set off alarms in Heaven when it was used purposefully against Heaven, why he was able to access the Gabriel Files, and why Sarqael allowed Crowley to continue watching the Trial (because if God allowed Crowley access even when he's no longer an angel, then Sarqael has no reason to believe that he's still not important to God).

Perhaps, in Modern Day, only having four archangels making the decisions symbolizes that, indeed, God's not really calling the shots anymore – and hasn't been for a long time – and that the whole system is all broken and not complete.

It also begs the question: if Crowley was one of the Original Seven (if they are indeed going to go in that direction), what happened to the other three? Did they also suffer the same fates? Were they turned to Scriveners just like Gabriel was to be?

Here is where I will also throw out there that my random thought that Muriel possibly also may have been one of the other three, as my own expansion of this theory, but I digress.

Anyway, I think I found the original Fandom Wiki that Peter quick-referenced when doing his quick message to me, and it's very interesting:

How they were founded as a unit is unknown, but it is said that it happened during Lucifer's rebellion. When Lucifer rebelled against God, one entire choir of angels followed him and was lost. Many angels from other choirs also followed him in his rebellion. It is revealed that Lucifer was meant to be apart of the Seven Archangels as well, however, since his fall he was replaced by Camael.

Disclaimer here that I understand that Fandom Wiki isn't THE BEST resource, but we're also talking about a fictional story that loosely references actual scripture, so I think it's valid enough, heh.

But I bring this point up because Peter links it to Metatron mentioning the "Prince of Heaven" falling, as Gabriel as being "another" one. "Another one" what?? We have to assume that Metatron means another "Supreme Archangel" as holding the title of "Prince of Heaven", meaning Gabriel was NOT the first and only Supreme Archangel. I don't think Metatron is referencing Lucifer here. In fact, they deliberately avoid saying a name. We just ASSUME that it was Lucifer because that's the "common knowledge".

If GO is going to reference the theory that Lucifer actually fell BEFORE becoming an Archangel, then that means in my theory Crowley became his replacement of the Original Seven. And given that he was possibly the One (and only angel, in my above theory) Who Sees God, he was in-turn given the position of Supreme Archangel, charged with creating, again, God's Vision of the Universe.

I think having Crowley be the one who witnesses Gabriel's Trial is important if we're going on the theory that they are mirrors of each other in S2. What if:

Crowley ALSO had a similar Trial when he questioned God (or the other Archangels) about "what's the point of" the destruction of the universe, then subsequently saying "nah" to having Armageddon 6,000 years before the events of S1?;

In said Trial, Gabriel was a presiding member, and, given that we know his prior cruelty from S1, he voted on Camael being cast out in a vicious and cruel fashion "for betraying God". Thus, his eyes burnt and forever scarred to prevent him from ever seeing God again, had his name and memories removed from the Book of Life, and sent to on a one way trip to Hell. I speculate this because Trial-Gabriel certainly believe he was going to "Fall" that way. I'd also wager Camael/Crowley was the last angel to ever "properly" Fall, which is why the modern angels still think that they do it this way, rather than the way they planned for Gabriel. I realize that this point DOES contradict my theory about the other missing Archangels quietly being erased and reassigned, but perhaps BECAUSE Gabriel is SO High up the chain, they HAD no choice but to make an example of him. Perhaps Metatron just quietly deleted the other Archangels' original names without anyone's knowledge.

We now know from S2 that regardless of an angel's status, the angels will veto against anyone who goes against their interpretation of The Great Plan. We now also know that the "Supreme Archangel" is also a "title only" job that has benefits only if you're going to go with the Majority Vote. And if you don't, they're going to make an example out of you.

And I reckon Camael/Crowley, just like Gabriel after, tried to "go his own way" (as quoted by the Metatron) and got banished for it.

Aziraphale really now has himself in a pickle, and I suspect that he will figure ALL of this out when he gets there.

And finally because this is the "Sevens" section of this meta, I also want to mention these "a-bit-reaching-but-still-plausible-theories" that I came across while I was researching:

This tweet speculates that Gabe is morse coding "7"

Michael tweeted 7 dots after S2 aired

CONCLUSION

While this theory doesn't outright bust the Raphael Theory (since there are some similarities with Crowley and Raphael within the theory), as well as the "he was Lucifer" theory (which I also really like, but Crowley mentioned in S1 he was "hanging out with Lucifer and the guys" before he fell, so... I'm more apt to not really run with this theory). BUT it does tie up a lot more things, and it connects things better than the Raphael one does, in my humble opinion.

The TL;DR of this entire post is this:

I think Crowley was an Archangel, that is the only CERTAIN thing I feel.

I think he was Camael, The One (and only angel) Who (Literally) Sees God. He was the First Supreme Archangel who created God's Vision of the Universe.

I think that Camael questioned the Council of Angels why they need to destroy beauty that God created. It didn't make sense to him.

They told him about Armageddon (the S1 one). As the angel of war, and as the Supreme Archangel who had final say, he said "nah". And he tried "to go his own way" to avoid Armageddon.

The Council and Metatron did not like this, saw it as blaspheming against God. Camael then had a Trial similar to Gabriel's.

I think this all happened shortly after the war that sent down Lucifer and the other rebelling Angels, so Heaven was still VERY tetchy about anyone who questioned God and The Great Plan. Because Camael was a Supreme Archangel, the original Prince of Heaven, this was seen as SEVERE betrayal of the Council. For the record, I think the "Before the Beginning" sequence takes place AFTER the War that created Hell.

My belief about the Book of Life is that its ACTUAL purpose is to remove people from being remembered, which is far worse of an existence for someone banished. A metaphorical interpretation of "removed from existence" simply could mean "and everyone forgot about you", à la It's a Wonderful Life, a movie that references "angels getting their wings".

Camael was sentenced in a way that would make an example of him to other angels to remind them of their place: He was cast out of Heaven, his angelic name erased from the Book of Life which caused his other Council Members at the time to forget him, and for him to have foggy memories in turn, although he KNOWS he was an angel (perhaps as a side effect of being cast out the traditional way, you are forced to remember that you once lived in Heaven). His eyes were burnt out to quite literally leave an unremovable scar so he could no longer "see" God and their vision, which explains why Crowley cannot ever change his eyes regardless of how he presents himself. He has to hide them away.

I think Crowley was the last angel to be cast out in this way. BUT because his ANGEL name was erased, none of the remaining Original Council angels (Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel) recognize him. I suspect Sarqael remembers him because she was NOT an Archangel at the time since she was not one of the Original Seven Archangels.

I also suspect that there are purposely missing Archangels for a reason, and the fact that only 4 rather than 7 seemingly run things symbolizes the problems in Heaven and that God has not been in charge for a long time. I think those missing 3 or 4 are actually Scriveners, who were quietly sentenced and erased by the Metatron, hence why Gabriel thought that he was going to be cast out like his predecessor. But because Gabriel WAS a Supreme Archangel, he HAD to be made an example of, just as Crowley before.

"Supreme Archangel" is a Title-Only job, and if you go against the Council, you are indeed made an example of. I think this is purposeful setup for S3 to show that Azzie is in DEEP shit.

EPILOGUE

I still want to expand upon my Angel Theory section from my S2 Meta, but for now, I am so pleased with how this turned out, and I hope you've enjoyed this Deep Dive into another Archangel Theory. I had a lot of fun with this one; I like learning about supernatural things, it's always interesting.

I am interested in others' thoughts on this theory, especially if your memory of your religious education is a bit better than mine! Feel free to expand upon this more, because I am an interactive blog, so it will be added to the post! <3

I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

#good omens #good omens s2 #long post #spoilers #archangel crowley #crowley is camael #good omens meta #go meta #my meta #my theories #angel crowley #crowley was an archangel #go speculations #go theories #go s3 speculations

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 6 months

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Could you explain why you don't agree with the og of the "settlers aren't evil" post. I understand the broad strokes of conflating refugees with settlers, but I'd love to hear more of what you think

I still have limited spoons but I can try to articulate some about it but it might be a bit all over the place or half-baked or whatever, so disclaimer about that.

I think like, obviously the post is speaking in regards to what's happening in Palestine and they're generalizing to settlers in general, but putting that aside for a moment, they give the example of Europeans moved to America looking for a better life and they aren't Evil Settlers, but like. Hm. No. Settlers are bad.

America was colonized, the natives massacred, so many cultures eradicated by Europeans who saw the land as uninhabited despite being inhabited. And when they conceded that the natives did live there, they had their concept of Manifest Destiny, that God has given them the right to take this land, and that the natives didn't know how to use the land properly so the Europeans need to take it. The puritans who came to America were searching for religious freedom or whatever, but that in no way makes their colonization and murder of natives okay.

Sure, as more Europeans came to America, there were people who were fleeing harsh conditions or looking for a better life. But like. The reason people went to America is because of this concept of Manifest Destiny and the idea that there was just empty free land anyone could take, rather than land that was lived on by natives. Like if you look up settler colonialism, the picture for it on wikipedia is an advert for "Indian Land" for people to come and make a home on.

Like, arguing about "well what if the people buying stolen native land are good people and are actually victims fleeing persecution?" feels like. Okay. So what gives them the right to be good people who deserve the land, over the native families who's land it is? Like at the end of the day it feels like. Asinine. It feels like those stories where theres a horrible villian who kills countless people but then they're like "actually my childhood was bad :(" as if that makes their cruelty suddenly okay. Are we arguing if its okay to colonize if you have a tought life?

And abviously thats not even going into like, all the stuff with Palestine and the Israeli settlers. Or the apparent people in the notes of the OG post who claim that Muslim refugees are basically colonizing Europe or whatever (insane)

Anyway if any of my fellow indigenous folks want to like, better articulate things please do so, like I said, I'm not in the best mental state and don't have the ability to like, put together a solid post and pull out all my sources and shit.

#Eldritch IT Answers #Anonymous

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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maybe weird and mybe vague, but if you ever have the time and inclination, would you talk bout your opinion on Geralt and *religion*? I haven't read the books in a very long time, and i only am halfway though the series, but sometimes geralt says something (' for it is the **holy** and irrefutable right of every woman.') and i'm left thinking, because he doesn't seem to believe in much but at the same time he does?

Religion and Spirituality in The Witcher Books: What DOES Geralt of Rivia Believe In?

Hello my dear! Sometime you guys will send me an ask that just makes me go...HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THIS AND WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO RAMBLE ON ABOUT IT.

VERY MILD BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD

VERY LONG, EXTRA, GEEKY POST AHEAD

So. For those who missed it, this is in reference to my "abortion in the witcher books" post, where Geralt calls abortion a "holy and irrefutable" right, both words that imply either spirituality or at least moral beliefs that surpass reasoning and rationality.

Yet, we know that Geralt does not believe in the existence of 'the gods', (I'll pull the quotes for that and show evidence as we go) so why would he use such language? What DOES he believe in? Does he have a guiding spiritual system of beliefs?

A lot of people interpret Geralt's attempts at political neutrality as wishy washy or cynical or apathetic, and believe, as a result, that he does not have a particular driving moral system of beliefs. In fact!! On my abortion post there was a guy on twitter actually trying to fight with me, saying that it doesn't matter what Geralt thinks about abortion, because Geralt doesn't value human life. (lmaoooooooooooooooo)

I am here to say that this is incorrect all around. (to the conservative dudebro I told him that he was conflating 'has killed' with 'does not value life', two very different things.) Anywho. Geralt actually has an incredibly strong system of morals and ethics that are VERY clearly laid out in the books. We can even name that system of beliefs. It just gets complicated!

So, let's talk about that. First, let's lay out his beliefs.

Disclaimer: I'm working with English translations of the books, and as I get very precise about words, just please be aware of that limitation. Many times I wish I had a Polish friend who had copies of the book and wouldn't mind me (the dreaded Geraskier shipper and twn fan) pestering them every time I had a question about wording. If anyone doesn't mind being that friend for me, please let me know.

Now. Onward.

For those who did not read my abortion post, Panur is referring to the fact that In Sword of Destiny (p 345), when Geralt is discussing his mother with Calanthe, this is what he calls abortion:

“A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.”

There are two words that Geralt uses here, "holy" and 'irrefutable" and both imply something 'higher' than reason. Holy is religious in nature, while irrefutable is along the lines of "inalienable" which is the word Dandelion uses, when speaking about the right to abortion. In Baptism of Fire (p317), Dandelion refers to abortion like this:

It’s obvious that only the woman can make a decision like that. It’s her inalienable right.

Inalienable and irrefutable are words that describe inherent rights, which are not subject to rational debate.

Many would describe that as sacred or untouchable. So even though it is not as directly religious as the word 'holy', it implies a value that is higher than logic or rationality.

AND YET, we do know that Geralt does not believe in the gods. It is a point of discussion between him and Nenneke on multiple occasions. In The Last Wish (p37) Nenneke is worried about Geralt and is trying to convince him to let Iola, one of her priestesses, put him in a trance. He resists her idea. Here is what Nenneke says.

"Iola isn't a medium or a mentally ill soothsayer. That child enjoys the goddess's favor."

Geralt's face does something in reaction to this that indicates his disbelief, and Nenneke responds.

"Don't pull silly faces, if you please."

So whatever his face did, it wasn't good. She continues.

"As I said, your view on religion is known to me, it's never particularly bothered me, and no doubt, it won't bother me in the future. I'm not a fanatic. You've a right to believe that we're governed by Nature and the Force hidden within her. You can think that the gods, including my Melitele, are merely a personification of this power invented for simpletons so they understand it better, accept its existence. According to you, that power is blind."

So, Nenneke describes his belief system in regard to the gods as...they don't exist, at least not in the way people view them. There is magic and chaos and monstrous beings, sure. But there are no 'all powerful' gods enacting their will on the world, there is nothing so predictable or organized.

Those beliefs are repeated elsewhere in the books, but I won't pull every single quote. This one does the trick. Geralt believes that people invented the gods to explain the world around them.

We also know that he believes humans invent monsters in order to seem less monstrous themselves. He says this to Dandelion in The Last Wish (p167).

"People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, staar an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

So. In Geralt's world view, human beings are the creators. They create gods. They create monsters. And when they blame the gods or monsters, it is a false powerlessness engineered to escape accountability. But Geralt holds people accountable anyway.

So, if Geralt does not believe in the gods, does that mean he believes in nothing? Does that mean he does not have a moral code?

Actually, it is the opposite.

If people are held accountable for their actions, when they have no gods or demons or monsters to blame, the standard for morality is much higher.

Geralt if often called self righteous for this stance. In The Last Wish, (p160) when Geralt is complaining about how hard it is to make a living as a witcher, Dandelion even tells him he should be a priest, saying the fact that he doesn't believe in gods shouldn't be any barrier.

"Whatever. Become a priest. You wouldn't be bad at it with all your scruples, your morality, your knowledge of people and everything. The fact that you don't believe in any gods shouldn't be a problem. I don't know many priests who do. Becomes a priest and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

But without spirituality, where does Geralt get his system of morals? How does Geralt decide what is right and what is wrong?

Well, once again, Geralt puts human beings (instead of gods) at the center, in the position of power and importance.

Let's start with the moral quandary Geralt faces most often. Which monsters are ethical to kill, and which are not ethical to kill?

Geralt has arguments many times throughout the books with people who want him to kill a monster that he does not want to kill,

AND conversely

he has arguments with people who judge him for killing monsters that they believe should be protected.

Those people are on the extremes. Some people see all monsters as inherently without worth. At best, they think they are subhuman and can be murdered for money making schemes or potions, or at worst, they think they should all be exterminated.

The other kind of person (mostly druids and academics) see them as part of mother nature, sacrosanct and untouchable, and accuse Geralt of being immoral for killing even one.

But for Geralt? It isn't so simple. There is no 'one size fits all'. He doesn't 'other' monsters like that. So he has to decided each and every time. And as a nonbeliever, Geralt does not have a holy book or god to consult with to tell him what is right. And yet? He always has an answer.

In reference to the monsters he does not want to kill, here are a few passages of Geralt explaining his reasoning. In The Last Wish, he tells Dandelion he won't kill mecopterans because:

I'm not going to kill mecopterans. Nor any other harmless creatures."

Then, in Sword of Destiny (p42) when when Yennefer and Dorregaray are arguing about dragons, Geralt speaks up. What he says explains why he doesn't kill them:

"Dragons aren't man's enemies," Geralt broke in.

Then later, Yennefer challenges him.

"...And what do you know, witcher?"

“Only," Geralt said, ignoring the sudden warning vibration of the medallion around his neck, "that if dragons didn’t have treasure hoards, not a soul would be interested in them; and certainly not sorcerers...

Later on in the book, Dandelion says that Geralt doesn't kill night spirits because they are "sweet". There are a lot of other examples, but basically, that is always the test. Did the monster harm a human?

Now, on the other extreme, there are people who think Geralt shouldn't harm any monsters. These are people who are big on theory and environmentalism, druids and academics. Here are two examples.

First, we have Dorregaray in Sword of Destiny (p40) he says that Witchers calling killing a vocation is "loathsome, low, and nonsensical". He says:

"The world...is in equilibrium. Natural equilibrium....The extermination of the natural enemies of humans, which you dedicate yourself to...threatens the degeneration of the race."

Geralt responds with his reasoning.

"Do you know what, sorcerer?" Geralt said, annoyed. "one day, take yourself to a mother whose child has been devoured by a basilisk, and tell her she ought to be glad, because thanks to that the human race has escaped degeneration. See what she says to you."

Basically, he's like...tell that to the people who are killed.

Then, in Blood of Elves, Geralt is talking to an academic called Linus Pitt. (it's actually a really funny story, I summarized it here) Geralt has been hired to defend the boat from a monster, and this academic has struck up a conversation with him. They are discussing sea creatures (aeschna) who have been pulling people from decks and eating them. This man offers a similar argument to Dorregaray.

"...It was wiped out a good half-century ago, due -- incidentally --to the activity of individuals such as yourself who are prepared to kill anything that does not instantly look right, without forethought, tests, observations or considering its ecological niche..."

Now, we as the reader know, witchers do consider ecological niches, because Vesemir teaches Ciri about them in the previous chapters in this same book. But for witchers, ecological niches ultimately do not outweigh human life. So after briefly considering just telling the man "where he could put the aeschna and its niche," Geralt responds, trying to appeal to the man's love of theory and scholarship and his college (Oxenfurt, natch)...

"Master Tutor," he said calmly, "one of those pulled form the deck was a young pregnant girl...Theoretically, her child could, one day, have become chancellor of your college. What do you have to say to such an approach to ecology?"

That doesn't work. Master Tutor Pitt is still snooty.

"Nature is governed by its own rules and although those rules are cruel and ruthless, they should not be amended...And nothing can justify the extermination of a species, even a predatory one. What do you say to that?"

So, Geralt reverts to his truth.

"I'd say it's dangerous to lean out like that. There might be an aeschna in the vicinity. Do you want to try out the aeschna's struggle for survival on your own skin?"

Linus Pitt let go of the railing and abruptly jumped away.

The point is always always always...idk man do you want to die? Do you want your family to die?

The test is always:

Harm to humans, vs no harm to humans.

At this point, we can comfortably say that Geralt's system of beliefs has a name.

Geralt does not exist, he is a literary device. But in as far as we can gather evidence and apply it to canon, his state beliefs fit the definition.

A system of belief that attributes the good and evil in the world to choices of humans, rather than gods, and that assesses good and bad based primarily on whether they harm or help humans, has a name.

Geralt is a humanist.

Here is the definition for humanism from Oxford dictionary:

an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

There are, of course, many ways to define any philosophy you could possibly discuss, but at it's most basic, humanism does not source morality from a holy book or a god. There is no higher power or authority.

It asks one simple question:

Does this do harm to humans, or does it help humans?

That may seem obvious, but a whole lot of morality based on religion falls away when you use this. Premarital sex? Is it bad? Welp? Are you harming the person you're having sex with? No? Ok, you're good! Homosexuality? Again, are you harming the person you're dating? No? Then you're good! Most sex based ideas about immorality just sort of goes away.

So is this just a decision making tool though? Or a system of morality? A way of life?

Well, for Geralt it is a way of life. This man is extra as fuck about his code of ethics.

I mean, there is no witcher code of ethics. But you'd better believe his extra ass made one, for himself! He calls it the witchers code, instead of Geralt's code, because that sounds fancier, and people respect it that way. If he just said, "I don't want to do it," no one would listen to him.

I did a post on his code.

So this guy is so in love with ethics that when no one gave him a code, he WROTE HIS OWN, and THEN! THEN he went out on the path as a young witcher, hoping to rescue innocents. He came out of the gate being driven by the value of human life.

When he is in the temple, talking to Iola, the priestess, (p115)about himself as a young witcher and what motivated him out on the path, he says this:

"...when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I'd earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive, and....faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent."

Geralt's entire personality is based on his initial desire to just...help people. Do good. It has nothing to do with gods. It has everything to do with the way he values human life.

Does this take a massive beating every day he wakes up? yes. Does he always live up to it? No. But it doesn't change the fact that it's there, that it is the underpinning of his character.

Also, I have to add, it informs his entire approach of political neutrality.

Geralt gets a bad rap for his ideas about neutrality. I'm not saying his idea about neutrality is the ideal or always correct. But people tend to see it as based in apathy or self interest and it very much is not.

He explains it to Ciri in Blood of Elves.

Geralt, Triss, and Ciri are traveling with Yarpen Zigrin and his men in Blood of Elves (p122) . Yarpen is transporting (smuggling) something crucial for the war effort on behalf of King Henselt of Kaedwen.

Triss is ill, so Geralt has begged Yarpen to allow them to join the caravan. Geralt says he will help out to pay them back for their kindness, only, Geralt has one thing he will not do. Since they are an official caravan, fighting would essentially make him an official soldier. So, if they are attacked by Scoia'tael, he will not fight. He says:

"Please don't count on my sword. I have no intention of killing those, as you call them, evil creatures, on the order of other creatures whom I do not consider to be any better."

Later, Ciri rides ahead and comes across some elven ruins. Geralt catches up to her and tells her what happened there. They are the ruins of an elven castle called Shaerrawedd, where humans mercilessly massacred a huge number of elven youth.

Geralt says that he has seen some elves about, but he isn't going to warn the caravan because he knows the elves are only there to visit their sacred place. He explains his neutrality to Ciri further.

"Do you know now why the Scoia'tael were here, do you see what they wanted to look at? And do you understand why the elven and dwarven young must never be allowed to be massacred once again? Do you understand why neither you nor I are permitted to have a hand in this massacre?....Do you understand?

She nodded.

"Do you understand what this neutrality is, which stirs you so? To be neutral does not mean to be indifferent or insensitive. You dont' have to kill your feelings. It is enough to kill the hatred within yourself. Do you understand?"

It isn't that Geralt doesn't care.

Geralt cares so so very much, and is so distrustful of power and political and religious institutions that he believes getting involved with them will end in him being used as a tool to do something to harm others.

Geralt does not want to be used as a tool to kill someone else. He has a lot of experience with that. He believes that the only response to a rigged game is to not play it.

Of course it is so much more complicated than that. Geralt has a lot to learn over the course of the series and he is tested sorely, and brutally. He is challenged over and over again. Is it even possible not to play? Are you playing by not playing?

But this post isn't about the relative ethics of political neutrality. It's about Geralt's spiritual and/ or moral beliefs.

The point of this post is, that Geralt is very passionately driven by his well defined system of beliefs, and that belief system is humanism.

Ok, let's go back to the words holy and irrefutable. Even though Geralt does not believe in the gods, he sometimes uses words that sound religious to describe his beliefs. Let's also go back to the word Faith. He uses it twice with Iola to describe his belief that he can help the innocent and do good in the world.

That is because, you don't need anything supernatural to value human life, AND YET sometimes that act of valuing human life feels sacred.

It is not logic. It is not reason. It is love.

I'm editorializing here. This is just me talking, my opinion. Humanism involves believing in the worth of human beings, and that requires a massive amount of faith, especially when people are out there doing evil to each other every day. Some days, love feels like a miracle.

Sure, you CAN make 'rational' arguments about why being kind to one another or valuing one another is the best way to live. It results in a high quality of life, it builds a healthier, more peaceful, world. It's all true.

But ultimately, most humanists are probably not humanists because of rationality. They value human life because they value it intrinsically. They believe that it matters, against all fucking odds. They just love for love's sake.

A know I do!

And having a protagonist like Geralt, who, no matter what horrors and evils he sees, not matter what abuse and trauma he endures, who never ever stops just fucking HELPING, who never stops CARING never stops TRYING, who exemplifies everything to love and cherish about the human spirit, just because he thinks HUMAN BEINGS are worth defending, it is so important to have, and for me, so fulfilling to read.

So, call him a humanist, don't call him a humanist, it doesn't matter. But watching him him go through hell, yet refuse to stop trying to help other people, it makes me feel better about being a human.

#the witcher #asks #geralt of rivia #the witcher books #thinking about geralt of rivia yet again #thinking about the witcher books yet again

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 2 months

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(I’m popping a extra disclaimer here because I don’t know if I worded this very well, and I understand if this isnt the kind if question you feel comfortable answering, but this is a genuine question made in good faith. I also apologise if this sounds really stupid)

I read one of your recent asks about inclusivism and it reminded me of something that always sat in the back of my mind with this train of thought.

If we say that everyone regardless of religion, or absence of it, gets into heaven, doesn’t that seem disrespectful to their faith. By saying that people of other religions get into christian heaven, is that not inadvertently telling them that their religion or their gods are fake, and that when they die it’ll be okay because they’ll learn the real truth? I hope this doesn’t come across as blunt or disrespectful to anyone, I’ve just never be able to come to a conclusion that isn’t exclusive (which is kind of a depressing thought), but is also respectful. Because it’s a beautiful idea that god loves us all regardless of who we are or what we believe, but what about people who have the kind of faith we do in a completely different god, or multiple gods, do they have the same thoughts about us? that their god loves us even though we dont believe?

I feel like I’m asking questions I’m not supposed to but I’m just really curious about your perspective if this is something you’re comfortable answering.

Hey anon, this is an important question, so thanks for asking it! You don't sound "stupid"; you're thinking like a theologian :) I'm probably not going to do it justice, I'm afraid, but maybe folks will hop on with more ideas or resources?

This got really long, so the TL;DR: I agree with you, and so do a lot of theologians and other thinkers!

In a religiously diverse world, it makes sense that people of various religions ponder where people outside their religions "fit" in their understanding of both the present world and whatever form of afterlife they have.

If someone has a firm personal belief in certain things taking place after death (from heaven to reincarnation), I don't think it's inherently wrong to imagine all kinds of people joining them in that experience, when it points to how that person recognizes the inherent holiness and value of all kinds of people, and shows that they long for continued community with & flourishing for those people.

However, this contemplation should be done with great care — especially when your religion is the dominant one in your culture; especially if your religion has a long history (and/or present) of colonialism and coerced conversions.

Ultimately, humility and openness are key! It's fine to have your own beliefs about humanity's place in this life and after death, but make yourself mindful of your own limited perspective. Accept you might be wrong in part or in whole! And be open to learning from others' ideas, and truly listening to them if they say something in your ideas has caused them or their community tangible harm.

In the rest of this post, I'll focus on a Christian perspective and keep grappling with how to consider these questions while honoring both one's personal faith and people all religions...without coming to any solid conclusions (sorry, but I don't think there's any one-size-fits-all or fully satisfying answer!).

I'll talk a bit about inclusivism and how it fails pretty miserably in this regard, and point towards religious pluralism as a possibly better (tho still imperfect) option.

And as usual I'll say I highly recommend Barbara Brown Taylor's book Holy Envy: Finding God in the Faith of Others to any Christians / cultural Christians who want to learn more about entering into mutual relationship with people of other religions.

In previous posts, I brought up the concepts of exclusivism, inclusivism, and religious pluralism without digging into their academic definitions and histories — partially because it's A Lot for a tumblr post, but also because it's by no means in my sphere of expertise. I worried about misrepresenting any viewpoint if I tried to get all academic, so I just stuck to my own personal opinions instead — but looking back at some posts, I see I didn't do a great job of clarifying that's what I was doing!

So now I'll go into what scholars mean when talking about these different viewpoints, with a huge caveat that I'm not an expert; I'm just drawing from notes and foggy memories from old seminary classes + this article from the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (IEP), and anyone interested in learning more should find scholarly articles or books rather than relying on some guy on tumblr!

Defining exclusivism, inclusivism, & religious pluralism

When we encounter traditions that offer differing and often conflicting "accounts of the nature of both mundane and supramundane reality, of the ultimate ends of human beings, and of the ways to achieve those ends" (IEP), how do we respond? Do we focus on difference and reject any truth in their views that conflicts with our views? Do we avoid looking too closely at the places we differ? try to find common ground? try to make their views fit ours?

Exclusivism, inclusivism, and religious pluralism are three categories into which we can place various responses to the reality of religious diversity.

It's important to note that this is only one categorization system one can use, and that these categories were developed within a Western, Christian context (by a guy named Alan Race in 1983). They are meant to be usable by persons of any religion — all sorts of people ask these questions about how their beliefs relate to others' beliefs — but largely do skew towards a Western, Christian way of understanding religion. (For one thing, there's a strong focus on salvation / afterlife and not all religions emphasize that stuff very much, if at all!)

Drawing primarily from this article on the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy (IEP), here are basic definitions of each:

Exclusivist positions maintain that "only one set of belief claims or practices can ultimately be true or correct (in most cases, those of the one holding the position). A Christian exclusivist would therefore hold that the beliefs of non-Christians (and perhaps even Christians of other denominations) are in some way flawed, if not wholly false..." . (From my old class notes — Exclusivist Christians believe 3 things are non-negotiable: the unique authority of Jesus Christ as the apex of revelation; Jesus as normative; salvation exclusively through repentance and faith in Christ's work on the cross. Some will allow that God does provide some truths about Godself and humanity through general revelation, including truths found in other religious traditions, but the Biggest most Important revelation is still Jesus.) .

Inclusivist positions "recognize the possibility that more than one religious tradition can contain elements that are true or efficacious, while at the same time hold that only one tradition expresses ultimate religious truth most completely." . Christian inclusivists tend to focus on salvation, claiming that non-Christians can still achieve salvation — still through Jesus Christ. Sometimes they hold that any non-Christian whose life happens to fit Jesus's call to love God and neighbor, etc., will be saved. Other times they hold that only non-Christians who never had the chance to learn about Jesus can be saved; if you know about Christianity and reject it, it doesn't matter how "good"you are, you're doomed. .

Pluralist positions hold that "more than one set of beliefs or practices can be, at least partially and perhaps wholly, true or correct simultaneously." For Christian pluralists, that means believing that Jesus is not the one Way to God / to heaven/salvation; Christianity is one way of many, usually conceived of as all being on equal footing, to connect to the Divine. .

(These three categories are not all encompassing; the IEP article also brings up relativism and skepticism.)

Issues with Exclusivism & Inclusivism

I hope the issues with exclusivism are clear, but to name a few:

Christians who are taught that all non-Christians (or even the "wrong kind" of Christians) are doomed to hell are taught to see those people as Projects more than people — there's a perceived urgent need to convert them asap in order to "save them." The only kind of relationship you'd form with one of them is centered in efforts to convert them, rather than to live and learn alongside them as they are.

Doesn't matter if they are already happily committed to a different religion. In your eyes, they're wrong about feeling fulfilled and connected to the Divine.

Doesn't matter if you have to resort to violent and coercive practices like wiping out all signs of non-Christian culture or kidnapping non-Christian children to raise Christian — the ends justify the means because you're looking out for their "immortal souls."

...But what about inclusivism? If you're a Christian inclusivist, you aren't forcing anyone to convert to Christianity right now! You acknowledge that non-Christians can live holy and fulfilling lives! You even acknowledge that there's scraps of value in their valid-but-not-as-valid-as-Christianity religions! So what's the problem?

Turns out that this is a major case of one's good intentions not being nearly as important as one's impact.

You may be pushing back against exclusivism's outright refusal that non-Christians have any connection to the divine at all, which is nice and all — but by saying that non-Christians will basically become Christian after they die, you are still perpetuating our long history of coercive conversions.

There's a reason some scholars argue that inclusivism isn't actually a separate category from, but a sub-category of, exclusivism: you're still saying everyone has to be Christian, "so luckily you'll See The Light and become Christian after you die :)"

This is very reasonably offensive to many non-Christians. If nothing else, it's ludicrously smug and paternalistic! I won't get into it here but it only gets worse when some inclusivist positions try to get all Darwinian and start arranging religions from lower to higher, with Christianity as the "evolutionary" apex of religion ://

For now, I'll only go into detail about Catholic Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner's particular version of inclusivism, because it's quite common and really highlights the paternalism:

Rahner's Anonymous Christians:

A question that Catholics and other Christians struggled with in the 20th century was this: If non-Christians cannot be saved (because they held firm in believing that salvation must be in and through Christ), what happens if someone never even had the chance to learn about Christianity? Surely a loving God wouldn't write them an automatic ticket to hell when they're non-Christian through no fault of their own, right?

German Jesuit Karl Rahner's response was to conceive of a sort of abstract version of Christianity for non-Christians who lived good, faithful lives outside of official (what he called "constituted") Christianity:

"Anonymous Christianity means that a person lives in the grace of God and attains salvation outside of explicitly constituted Christianity. ...Let us say, a Buddhist monk…who, because he follows his conscience, attains salvation and lives in the grace of God; of him I must say that he is an anonymous Christian; if not, I would have to presuppose that there is a genuine path to salvation that really attains that goal, but that simply has nothing to do with Jesus Christ. But I cannot do that. And so, if I hold if everyone depends upon Jesus Christ for salvation, and if at the same time I hold that many live in the world who have not expressly recognized Jesus Christ, then there remains in my opinion nothing else but to take up this postulate of an anonymous Christianity." - Karl Rahner in Dialogue (1986), p. 135.

So someone who has intentionally devoted themselves to another religion, someone who does good work in that religion's name, is...secretly, unbeknownst to them, actually Christian?

I hope the offensiveness of that is clear — the condescension in implying these people are ignorant of what religion they "really" belong to! the assumption that Good deeds & virtues are always inherently Christian deeds & virtues! the arrogance of being so sure your own religion is The One Right Way that you have to construct a "back door" (as Hans Küng describes it) into it to shove in all these poor people who for whatever reason can't or don't choose to join it!

One theologian who criticized the paternalism of "anonymous Christianity" is John Hick, who was one of the big advocates for religious pluralism as a more respectful way of understanding non-Christian religions. So let's finally talk some more about pluralism!

Religious Pluralism!

As defined earlier, religious pluralist positions hold that there are many paths to the divine, and that all religions have access to some truths about the divine.

For Christians, this means rejecting those 3 non-negotiables of exclusionists about Christianity being the one true religion and Jesus being the one path to salvation. Instead of claiming that Christianity is the "most advanced" religion, pluralism claims that Christianity is just one religion among many, with no unique claim on the truth.

Some other pluralist points:

Pluralism resists antisemitic claims that Christianity is the "fulfillment" of (or that it "supercedes") Judaism.

Various religions provide independent access to salvation rather than everyone's salvation relying on Christ. (Note the still very Christian-skewed lens here in emphasizing salvation at all though!)

When we notice how different religions' truth claims conflict with one another, pluralists reconcile this by talking about how one's experience of truth is subjective.

Pluralism tends to give more authority to human experience than sacred texts

John Hicks' pluralist position

I mentioned before that Hicks is one of the big names in the religious pluralism scene. The IEP article I drew from earlier goes into much greater detail about his views and responses to it in the section titled "c. John Hick: the Pluralistic Hypothesis," but for a brief overview:

His central claim is that "diverse religious traditions have emerged as various finite, historical responses to a single transcendent, ultimate, divine reality. The diversity of traditions (and the belief claims they contain) is a product of the diversity of religious experiences among individuals and groups throughout history, and the various interpretations given to these experiences."

"As for the content of particular belief claims, Hick understands the personal deities of those traditions that posit them...as personae of the Real, explicitly invoking the connotation of a theatrical mask in the Latin word persona."

"Hick claims that all religious understandings of the Real are on equal footing insofar as they can only offer limited, phenomenal representations of transcendent truth."

We must accept that world religions are fundamentally different from each other, rather than falling into platitudes about how "we're all the same deep down"

Each religion has its own particular and comprehensive framework for understanding the world and human experience (i.e. we shouldn't use the normative Christian framework to describe other faiths)

Another angle: hospitality

As various philosophers and theologians have responded to and expanded upon pluralist frameworks, one big concept that some emphasize is hospitality: that all of us regardless of religion have an obligation to welcome others to all that is ours, if and when they have need of it — especially when they are of different cultures or religions from us.

Hospitality requires respect for those under our care, honoring and protecting their differences.

When we are the ones in need of hospitality, we should be able to expect the same.

Hospitality implies being able to anticipate our guest's needs, but we need to accept the impossibility of being able to guess every need, so communication is key!

Liberation theology & Pluralism

I also appreciate what liberation theologians have brought into the discussion. Here's from the IEP article:

"Liberation theology, which advocates a religious duty to aid those who are poor or suffering other forms of inequality and oppression, has had a significant influence on recent discussions of pluralism. The struggle against oppression can be seen as providing an enterprise in which members of diverse religious traditions can come together in solidarity.

"Paul F. Knitter, whose work serves as a prominent theological synthesis of liberation and pluralist perspectives, argues that engaging in interreligious dialogue is part and parcel of the ethical responsibility at the heart of liberation theology. He maintains not only that any liberation theology ought to be pluralistic, but also that any adequate theory of religious pluralism ought to include an ethical dimension oriented toward the goal of resisting injustice and oppression.

"Knitter claims that, if members of diverse religions are interested (as they should be) in encountering each other in dialogue and resolving their conflicts, this can only be done on the basis of some common ground. ..."

Knitter sees suffering as that common ground: "Suffering provides a common cause with which diverse religious traditions are concerned and towards which they can come together to craft a common agenda. Particular instances of suffering will, of course, differ from each other in their causes and effects; likewise, the practical details of work to alleviate suffering will almost necessarily be fleshed out differently by different religions, at different times and in different places. Nevertheless, Knitter maintains that suffering itself is a cross-cultural and universal phenomenon and should thus serve as the reference point for a practical religious pluralism. Confronting suffering will naturally give rise to solidarity, and pluralist respect and understanding can emerge from there."

Knitter also sees the planet as a source of literal common ground for us all: "Earth not only serves as a common physical location for all religious traditions, but it also provides these traditions with what Knitter calls a 'common cosmological story' (1995, p. 119). ...Knitter makes a case that different religious traditions share an ecological responsibility and that awareness of this shared responsibility, as it continues to emerge, can also serve as a basis for mutual understanding."

When Knitter and other liberation theologians speak of suffering or earth care as rallying points for interreligious solidarity, it's important to point out that such solidarity doesn't happen automatically: it is something we have to choose to commit to. We have to be courageous about challenging those who would pin suffering on another religious or cultural group. We have to be courageous about having difficult conversations, again and again. We have to learn how to work together for common goals even while accepting where we differ.

How to end this long ass post?

My hope is that as you read (or skimmed) all this, you were thinking about your own personal beliefs: where, if anywhere, do they fit among all these ideas? where would you like them to fit?

And, in the end, did I really address anon's question about whether it's disrespectful to people of other religions to assert that everyone is loved by God, or gets into heaven? Not really, because I don't know. I think it probably depends on context, and how one puts it, and how certain one acts about their ideas about God and heaven.

For me, it always comes down to humility about my own limited perspective, even while asserting that we all have a right to our personal beliefs, including ideas about what comes after this life.

When I imagine all human beings together in whatever comes next, I hope I do so not out of a desire for assimilation into my religion, but a desire to continue to learn from and alongside all kinds of people and beliefs. I hope I remain open to learning about how other people envision both what comes after death, and more importantly, what they think about life here and now. What can I learn from them about truth, kindness, justice? How can we work together to achieve those things for all creation, despite and in and through our differences?

I'll end with Eboo Patel's description of religious pluralism, which sums up much of how I feel, from his memoir Acts of Faith: The Story of an American Muslim:

"Religious pluralism is neither mere coexistence nor forced consensus. It is a form of proactive cooperation that affirms the identities of the constituent communities while emphasizing that the wellbeing of each and all depends on the health of the whole. It is the belief that the common good is best served when each community has a chance to make its unique contribution."

___

Further resources:

Explore my #religious pluralism tag for more thoughts and quotes

You might also enjoy wandering through my #interfaith tag

Two podcast episodes that draw from Eboo Patel, Barbara Brown Taylor, and other wonderful people: "No One Owns God: Readying yourself for respectful interfaith encounters" and "It's good to have wings, but you have to have roots too: Cultivating your own faith while embracing religious pluralism"

My tag with excerpts from Holy Envy

Post that includes links to various questions about heaven

Here’s a post where I talk about why I don’t believe in hell

My evangelism tag (tl;dr: I’m staunchly against prosletyzing to anyone who doesn’t explicitly request more info about Christianity)

#feel free only to read the tldr anon -- the rest goes way beyond your actual question!#exclusivism #inclusivism #religious pluralism #long post #essays #theology #other faiths tag

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holybibly · 6 months

Text

Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader ❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut ❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love. ❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior. ❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

English is not my native language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know.

Published on AO3 like FleurRi

❣ Prologue: Roses scarlet like blood ❣

Every story has a beginning: a magical, inexplicable moment—an elusive contact between reality and dreams. When thoughts emerge from the edge of consciousness, a stream of colorless letters appears on the parchment of our fate, eventually becoming an event. Life's intersections, fragments of various plots, are continuously repeated, lost, or deliberately forgotten. They are like unwritten melodies; the echo of their angelic voices follows us through life, like the bright tent of a wandering circus that incessantly makes noise. is full of tinsel, and raves with dreams.

There are millions of them. No. Billions, like the sleeping stars, sway peacefully on the sky-blue wire; their scattered light tells the wayward souls the way in the velvet folds of the night's darkness. These are our memories. Some are dazzlingly bright, as fresh as summer breezes, while others are barely flickering, covered in the marble ashes of time and a diamond crumb of emotion. And they all live so far away and at the same time prohibitively close together, there, in the labyrinth of the underground sky and on the endless roads of the blood rivers, where it is impossible to find them: in our memory.

Just as a pebble thrown into the ocean sinks into the murky depths, so does memory. Drowning into the viscous muddy depths without a bottom, in that rich and uncharted area that we call “oblivion,” it sinks in time. And few of us have been given the opportunity to preserve living images of memories of the feelings we have ever experienced: to drown in the bittersweet water of sorrow and joy; to fill our consciousness to the brim, like a vessel with golden honey, with the feelings of pain and keen passion, and to die. Die happy. The greatest privilege of all.

Seconds, minutes, days, and years—colorful fragments of time; sharp crumbs scattered under our feet. Unlike us, those who plunge into eternal sleep, our memories that have insidiously dissolved in ink in our blood will not disappear. They fear death, flee from it, and hide in the thick of the earth that blossoms with fluttering glass, forget-me-nots and drunken petunias that, in their intoxicating happiness, kiss the eyelashes of the blind God. You hear them whisper, “I’ll never forget you…”

My story begins with an innocent question that I’m sure you’ve heard more than once: “Do you like roses?”

Once upon a time, I would have answered, "Yes, I love roses." But, as it turns out, all our words are followed by consequences, and small rosy spikes can be much more dangerous than they seem at first glance, just like in the fairy tales that we were told in childhood. You know, there are things that we might call fatal: people who decide other people’s lives as long as they reach out to them like they're God. And then there are the flowers, which keep the mysteries tenebrous and ancient. I'm almost a hundred years old, maybe more. I should start my story right now; this is the perfect moment.

I will tell you about who I once was and who I am now. I will tell you about love, which is akin to obsession, and the death of her faithful friend. I will also tell you about the people, ghosts, or maybe illusions that were around me. They were with me once… Now, there are others, but they’ll be in my story later. They will come into my life with a chorus of angelic voices; the sound of a heavy autumn downpour, and the pretentious solemnity of death. Yeah, they’ll be there, though, if you think about it, they were always there, from my first breath to my last breath, by my side. But I’m forgetting what’s important. I have to tell you about the roses, and only about them.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

Mina's long hair shimmered like luxurious silk under the early morning light. Bloody strands fell in curled doll curls onto her bare shoulders, as if in Baroque paintings. The lush blossoms of white roses woven together in her hair made her look like the ancient Greek goddess of spring. Her appearance has always been astonishing, blatantly perfect rather than real, but that was sometime in the past. Now she was like a pale ghost of herself, a blurry reflection on a black surface of water on a moonlit night. The only thing that reminded her of her former beauty was her hair, which remained perfectly groomed and scarlet, like blood. Oh yeah, there are still roses. These flowers… there was something unnatural about them, something otherworldly. Each petal was painfully perfect, as if made of satin. But the flowers were real; they were alive and breathing and too demanding. It seemed that just because they wanted this, Mina could wear them in her hair. It was their choice, not hers. “Do you like roses, Rosa?” · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

This is the moment when my life changed forever. If I had known that this innocent question would be the beginning of my end, but can this be called the end? Would my answer have been different?

I’ve thought about it a thousand times. Over and over again, I played this scene like a broken record, crossed my answer out of the script, wrote a new one, and made comments and footnotes, but… But the answer was the same. I couldn’t change anything; it was destined. Much later, when I fall asleep in a warm bed, I will feel a gentle kiss on my closed eyelids and hear San’s angelic voice whisper in my ear that fate is never wrong. That they would find me or that I would come to them does not matter; in the end, we would still be together in life and in death. In eternity.

I’ll come back to that later, I promise. In the meantime, I’ll continue. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“They’re beautiful, Mina, but I don’t like them anymore.” I sounded terribly rude from the outside, and I could see Mina’s eyes filled with tears, as if I had slapped her.

“But Rosa!” Mina reached out her pale arms to me. “Look how perfect they are; don’t you care about their beauty? Doesn’t your heart beat faster when you look at them? O Rosa, these flowers are special; they never wilt.” She shook her head, as if confirming her words. “Yeosang gave them to me before I left” Her long, thin fingers reaching for the white rosebuds in her hair. “I want to give you one.” Hooking the flower, Mina gently pulled it out of her curls and stretched it towards me. I didn't have the desire to accept her gift; something in her behavior and her voice caused me anxiety. And there was this name: Yeosang. It wasn’t the first time I heard it, but it was a long time ago, and I still remember that Mina mentioned others with that name: Hongjoong, San, and Mingi. They sounded familiar to me as a song once learned by heart. She pronounced them in a special way: with a gentle intonation and an exciting euphoria. As if it had been repeated countless times at the same completely new to her. All I could hear was the echo of that song, which came along with those names in the conversation. It was an ominous echo, like an impending, inevitable storm. Mina was still holding out a rose, and I looked at her hands. Arms with a faint web of blue veins that looked like dried stems of faint flowers. For some reason, I came up with the idea of sirens holding out their hands to pirates while their voices led them into the welcome embrace of death. Did they look like Mina’s hands now?

I remember these hands weaving long pearl threads into my hair during festivals. I remember the feeling of intertwined fingers as Mina led me down the dark corridors of my grandmother's old house. I remember them gently wiping my tears when I was rubbing my feet until I bled in ballet class.

I remember the touch of those hands… I know him. These cold fingers that so carefully hold the snow-white flower no longer belong to my sister. Their touch changed, becoming foreign and distant, as did the mysterious land where these perfect, never-fading roses grew.

Didn’t that sound like a fairy tale? Just in our history, there has been no magic mirror, no Queen-Witch whose crown shines like a star, and no apple full of poison, but there is a coffin of shimmering crystal, and a prince that sleeps in it. Of course, there are also roses—thousands of roses.

“Rosa” Mina turned to me again. “Please take them; you will surely love them. Just try to feel them…”

She put a flower in my hands. The drops of nectar froze on the wax petals, and the first rays of the dawn sun made them sparkle like diamonds. “This variety is special.” Her voice sounded soft. “It's called the Deva-Rosa. I want to show you where they grow. It’s so beautiful. I want you to come with me, Rosa. We’ll be there together, you and me.” Mina smiled dazzlingly, but something was wrong with that smile. The once-sensual kiss lips were painfully curved, the corners awfully lifted, like the forever-frozen smile of a Venetian mask, and the warm pink shade was gone.

I was always jealous of her lips. They were so tender, plump, and enticing. All her features attracted attention, but it was her lips that made Mina's beauty unique.

She shone like the sun, easily becoming the center of everyone's attention—a beautiful white swan. The main heroine of the story.

Then there was me, only a shadow of her perfection—gloomy and pale as the moon, the complete opposite of the burning heat and the sexuality of my sister. Unlike Mina's, my features were not sensual and breathtaking; no, they were old-fashioned, like those of a porcelain doll. I didn’t find myself ugly or unattractive; just ordinary. One of a hundred million. The classic tragic heroine of a Gothic novel, someone like me, doesn’t make it to the finale.

Now looking at Mina, I can no longer see her life; her fire has almost been extinguished, leaving embers smoldering. And only her hair, like a burning sunset, was the only bright spot in her appearance. They crimson her white dress like blood rivers in the snow.

“Rosa, come with me.” The touch of her hands was icy and gave me a nasty shiver. It wasn’t Mina anymore. “Let's go, please. We can admire roses together. We can be together, Rosa. Remember what we promised each other when we were kids? Forever.” Mina leaned towards me with her whole body, completely trespassing into my space, and with her intimacy came the suffocating, sugary smell of roses. It was a thick, enveloping aroma that instantly sat in the lungs. I thought that if I breathed it in deeper, these strange, unnatural flowers would sprout in my veins, intertwine with my bones, and create a new home for themselves in my body.

“No!” I exclaimed, pushing Mina away from me. “I don’t want that, Mina. I don’t want you or those freaking roses in my life.”

Suddenly on my feet, I took a few steps away from the pale Mina, who was staring at a rose that had fallen to the ground. Her posture was as vulnerable as that of a wounded animal, and her limp arms reached for the flower, which, surprisingly, began to darken and fade, touching the ground. In her eyes, once radiant with happiness and dreaming, stood tears, and her lips began to tremble. It was as if a child whose beloved toy had been mercilessly abused had fallen to her knees, picked up a dying bud, and, in despair, pinned it to her lips.

“How can you be so cruel, Rosa?” Mina whispered, her lips gently touching the petals. “You hurt them; it breaks their heart. Can’t you just accept their love? Accept the roses?” She continued to kiss the petals.

“What are you talking about, Mina? Whose love should I accept?” I asked cautiously. Her behavior began to frighten me.

“You must give yourself to them, Rosa; I must give you to them.” Mina ignored my question, methodically kissing a faded flower. His dead petals began to fall away, slowly, baring his heart. “O Rosa, the rose is a rose; the rose is a deva; the deva is a rose; is a rose.”

“Mina!” I called her by her name in an alarm. The entire situation had me in a state of primitive terror. Mina began slowly swaying from side to side in time to your words, all the while continuing to say, “Rose is a rose, the rose is a deva.” It was meaningless, like the ravings of a madman. The words were repeated in an endless circle, like a prayer or a ritual chant. Mina’s voice grew louder, higher, and higher until it broke, and abruptly she stopped all movement, standing there like a graceful statue.

Once I admired her every move; now I want to cover my eyes so I never have to see her again. What happened after became the most traumatic thing in my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I want it. It seemed to be imprinted on my eyelids, and even after closing my eyes in my sleep, I couldn’t get rid of those memories.

Her movements were fleeting, like the wings of a butterfly. Here she is before me, tense and waiting, and then her throat crosses a ragged line, and blood rushes through her body like a waterfall.

Eyes shining from tears are wide open and so resemble smooth black pearls, and lips are opened as if waiting for a kiss. For a second, Mina's body stretched like a thin string and then softened, falling on the grass. I heard someone start screaming; the sound was so deafening and heartbreaking that I wanted to curl up in a ball and cover my ears with my hands, so I couldn’t hear.

I found myself screaming. I needed to call for help; I had to call an ambulance, and I had to try to help her. Put my arms around her neck and cover her gaping red velvet wound.

But I was yelling about something else instead. My name is not Rosa; you hear me, Mina! I am not her. · · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I awoke in a frenzy, sweating profusely and with a wildly pounding heart from an endlessly recurring nightmare.

This dream has haunted me for months since Mina’s funeral. Night after night, I have lived this sunrise over and over again. I didn’t like morning anymore; I started avoiding sunlight and hiding in the velvet folds of the night, sharing my loneliness with the darkness. I made the moon my friend, and the stars my silent witnesses.

My memory is folded paper, folded a thousand times. Sometimes, I want to unwrap it, but not completely: open the brittle edges of the fragile sashes, smooth out the folds and creases with my fingers, spread out the time sequence. Unwrap it just a little, and then fold again, mixing letters and days, reality and dreams. I never want to open the pages where the memories of that morning are stored. Every time I get almost to the end, moments before the final, I run away to the safety of happy days.

I try to come up with a new ending to this story, a different ending, but the dream comes to me like a cat, gently calling me into its embrace, and I find myself again in a place I don’t want to be.

It’s early in the morning, and the sun is just rising above the horizon, shimmering like a limitless purple-pink ocean.

In Mina’s crimson hair are snow-white roses, and her dress looks like an intricately woven ruffle and lace. Her pale hands holding flowers, her puffy lips in a painful smile, and her bare feet—the ground must be cold since it was the middle of October. Her blood… and the roses. And if it were possible to personify hatred and death, then for me, it would be roses.

I hated and despised these flowers with all my heart. They brought only sorrow and gloominess into my life. The beautiful symbol of mourning solemnity. They started it. They ended it all.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

I was sixteen when Mina first called me Rosa. One January afternoon, she came home with a basket of the most gorgeous flowers I’ve ever seen in my life. Scarlet like the blood of a rose, they were magnificent and perfect. From that day on, I became Rosa. Why did Mina start calling me that? She never spoke. But she completely forgot my real name. For the whole world, I was now Rosa. After this case, every day in our small apartment, the roses became more and more numerous, until every inch of free space was filled with scarlet buds. Their smell was suffocating, thick, and sticky like honey. It is absorbed into the skin, hair, and dissolved in the blood. It made me dizzy and nauseous, and I could taste it on my tongue with every breath. But it wasn’t just a smell. It was a color that screamed “red,” like blood itself. It poured over our house, coloring the entire apartment in a disturbing shade.

After that, every day in our house, the roses became more and more numerous until they filled all the surrounding space.

Soon, they became so numerous that our house looked like a tomb filled with scarlet petals hanging from the ceiling. We've been arranging here with all honors, breathing in a haze as imperceptible as rose-scented mist.

In all the time I lived there, not a single flower withered. It was frightening and exciting at the same time. Day followed night, and night gave way to day; but no petal lost its pristine beauty, and no bud bowed its heavy head in sorrow. There was not a single bouquet that would dilute this velvet sea with its mourning black.

And if that did happen, Mina cried long and hard over these flowers and blamed herself for not saving them. At night, I heard the sound of her apologies and her fanatical prayers.

Whether she prayed to God or to the Devil, I couldn't tell. I'll find out for whom these prayers were intended many years later.

Roses were always sent with a postcard and a box of expensive chocolates with some intricate filling. The box was necessarily in the form of a heart. The signature was also one; once the unchanged calligraphic handwriting deduced only one phrase, “For you,”

Mina never told me who gave her these magic flowers or why the roses didn’t wither.

I tried to ask her these questions several times, but she only brushed them off, throwing her long hair from one shoulder to the other and angrily declaring, “You must love them; you don't need to know more.”

Mina also dyed her hair scarlet, like roses.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Constantly surrounded by these flowers was unbearable, and one day I packed up all my things and moved in with a friend, leaving Mina alone in her regal rosary.

My first night away from home, away from the roses and Mina, I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned anxiously in bed hour after hour; but the dream never came, and then the phone rang. Mina called. Crying, she begged to come home, and when I asked her why, she barely whispered, “The roses are wilted.”

I hung up, and Mina never called me again. Two years had passed. My life had changed, and I think my luck had smiled. I found wonderful friends who were eccentric and bright. I had a great and caring boyfriend, and the internship at ballet school was promising. Everything worked out perfectly, and there were no more roses.

Until my twentieth birthday, a huge bleeding bouquet of scarlet roses tied with topaz-embroidered ribbon appeared in my new apartment. The candy box was heart-shaped, and the caption read, “For You.”

I burned the bouquet, threw out the chocolate, and tore the note apart, and blew it to the wind.

No one was supposed to see or know. Even me. Exactly eight days after these flowers appeared, I got a call from former neighbors in the apartment complex Mina was still living in. I was urged to come and deal with the situation; the smell of rot and death was unbearable, and Mina didn't open the doors or answer the phone. I opened the door with my key. Opening it wide, I crossed the threshold and could not contain a short scream. All the once-luxurious roses had rotted, dripping thick, stinking jugs on the floor and accumulating in gleaming poisonous lakes. Every corner of the space was occupied by large vases with black velvet buds and tall candles. After my move, Mina got rid of all the furniture, leaving only the big bed, which was now covered with dried stems strewn with thorns.

This place was like a grave — cold and dark — where my sister was supposed to rest. Going deeper, I found no hint of Mina's presence. Absolutely nothing. Only putrid roses and an empty heart-shaped box.

Mina was gone. For a whole year, I tried to find her without success. Old friends, distant relatives, acquaintances, and any other connections she might have ever had—I checked everything, but there was nothing to help me find her. It’s like she never existed.

In the two years we’ve been apart, I didn’t know anything about her. Mina didn’t call, and when I tried to contact her, she would reply with a short message, always the same: "Roses have wilted; come back." just like the night I left her.

All Mina had ever thought about since that unfortunate January day were these sinister roses.

The police began an investigation. Two years after her disappearance, Mina became officially missing.

And a year after that, she showed up at my door in the twilight of the fall morning, barefoot, in a sophisticated lace dress with a rose crown on her head. From the Mina that I knew, all that remained was her hair—long, silky, and crimson like blood and roses.

She still kept calling me Rosa, calling me out, and promising that we’d be happy together. That it will be only us, forever. She promised to show me where these strange flowers bloom, which she called the Deva-Rose, although these were not her words, but those of someone distant and unfamiliar to me, Hongjoong.

And then...then Mina died. The dawn painted her body in pink shades, flooded the grass with sparkling gold, and dyed the white roses of her crown scarlet. She slit her throat. Ragged a sharp spike into it. As it turned out, even the tiniest rose spikes were deadly. It was a nightmarish and, at the same time, majestic end to her story. The image of Mina haunts me in dreams even now—this distant gaze in her pearly eyes and a complete absence of fear of death. No, Mina wasn't afraid. She welcomed death as an old friend, graciously opening her arms.

It was her exodus. I remember screaming loudly. Blood thundered in my ears, and tears flowed in an endless crystal stream. I screamed that my name wasn’t Rosa; that I wasn’t her, and never would be.

Her funeral was truly a royal one. Rain and thunder rattle in the sky, as if raising a toast in her honor. The flat haloes of the black umbrellas swayed peacefully as the guests made their sorrowful speeches.

Mina seemed to fall asleep, dressed in an old-fashioned wedding dress, lying there like a princess, drowning in thousands of roses. The flowers were brought at dawn. Their color was deep and dark, as if every petal was filled with the gloaming of the night. They mourned with me. But I knew better. It wasn’t the end; it was the beginning. Death follows life in an endless cycle of rebirth. When one flower fades, plant a new one. Back home that night, I found a black envelope at my door, sealed with a monogram wax seal.

It lacked an address and the sender's signature. The message was clear and concise. "I live for you, my Rosa."

· · • • • ✤ • • • · · I went to the window and opened the curtains with my newfound determination. It’s time to stop being afraid and run away. Whatever it is, I’ll find out what happened to Mina. Let her start it all, but I’ll be the one to finish the story. The last surviving girl.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · · How naive I was then, how stupid. The moth always flies to the flame, attracted by the warm fluttering light; he himself goes to his death.

I was that moth. Without realizing it, I came to my inevitable fate, which has been waiting for me for centuries, maybe longer. Their hands have stretched out since the darkest times, when the light didn't exist, and the Devil was as real as you and I. At that time, everyone knew his face, felt his hot breath on his skin. The story I’m going to tell you isn't going to be bright and sweet; we’re going to go down to hell and come back. I'll take you through the dark woods to the horrors of uncharted lands where barefoot priestesses rock their sharp teeth in alluring smiles. I will take you to the castle where the prince rests in a crystal coffin and make you drink wine that tastes like blood.

Now I have to ask you, "Are you afraid of the dark and what’s hidden in it?" But my question is, "Love, do you like roses?"

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