noirmorose

[noirmorose]

FLEABAG (2016) Created by Phoebe Waller-Bridge

[noirmorose]

“ i fear we’re far past the days when one could rely on forecasts and expect typical moments tied to the seasons, ” silas remarked, his attention on the weather despite the greater threats lurking in blackwater. the whole situation with global warming had led to something so … unpredictable. it could be cold today, blisteringly hot tomorrow, and then turn chilly again, or … rain. “ i assume this doesn’t bring you the same joy as it does to others, ” he noted with a detached tone, his steely gaze clashing starkly with mikala’s.

his mouth twisted in a hint of a smile, and though his expression remained severe, a playful glint sparked in the reverend’s eyes. “ there’s no reason to be, ” he declared with conviction. “ just because your faith in our god has faltered doesn’t mean he has lost his in you. our father turns no child away who seeks him; think on that. ” his thumb rubbed the rosary pressed into his palm, feeling the worn leather, scarred like his bible lying just below.

“ ah, yes, i see. is michael around? ” his gaze softened. silas could hold his beliefs and live according to his father’s truth, which, as he’d say, diverged from what certain writings claimed. “ do you prefer apple or pumpkin pie this time of year? ” his eyes drifted over to the townsfolk, the defenceless children, to people who didn’t quite grasp what lingered in blackwater’s shadowy corners. “ i think of them, the people of blackwater. i enjoy communion with the flock, giving to those in need, and, of course, spreading the word, ” he added with a warm smile. “ care to join me for a slice of pie? i reckon standing around on an empty stomach won’t help me keep in good spirits. ”

"The forecast had predicted rain around this time," comes his own murmured musings. Mikala isn't sure when discussing the weather had actually become a viable topic of conversation, but he'll surmise it was around the time he entered middle-aged territory. "Instead, it's a wonderfully bright and sunny day." The words are cheery, his tone never is.

In comes the unspoken mantra of don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh... An amused huff is what escapes, regardless. "Each time I hear those words towards myself specifically, I can't help but assume they're sardonic."

They'd have to be. God had already given up on types like him, thrown in the celestial towel.

"It's more for the benefit of my husband... I just so happen to enjoy the festivities around this time of year, as well." A quick drag from his cigarette before he carries on, "What pulls you here?"

[noirmorose]

silas had long been taught that sometimes the faithful who came to the house of god did not yearn to hear his sacred speeches, but rather to rest within the silence itself. yet, their faith in the father helped them understand that god spoke to his children in many ways. sometimes it was through a scripture passage they’d hear at the back of their mind while preparing a sermon, or perhaps when they opened the bible itself. at other times, they were guided to a troubled soul, laying a gentle hand on a shoulder and whispering words of comfort. but birdie was an anomaly to their midnight eyes, for silas remembered seeing her once full of life—a soul that captivated, that radiated peace and joy. now, they could scarcely distinguish her from a wandering body, fearing that if they ventured to the limbo, they would find the girl’s soul adrift in torment.

their stern gaze softened at the mention of riverman. they almost allowed a shadow of a smile to cross their lips. the devil was still the devil, regardless of the name he took. he still came to tempt, promising riches and joys, although at a cost far beyond what the human mind could grasp. he seduced with promises and honeyed words, his voice hissing like a serpent’s. riverman was akin to the snake in eden, and many in blackwater fell as eve had, as adam had. silas contemplated the ruin of their community and the corrosion of their flock; and on sleepless nights, they held vigils, lit candles, roamed the streets, interceding for souls drifting from the kingdom of heaven into the shadowed woods beyond.

they hadn’t given up on them yet. they never would.

“ churches have woven this tiresome idea that to be heard, you must pray. but no, my child, ” their tone softened, almost making their gaze gentle. “ god is your father, birdie. he is the father of all that lives and breathes, of all that creates and is created. for if it lives, it is because he allowed it, and there is no one right way to speak to your father, is there? you simply speak. prayer is a conversation. you can share what troubles you, or what happened in your day; you can seek his counsel and discernment, ask for signs and answers. but he … does not always speak as i speak to you, ” they professed in a steady tone, sitting beside her, one corner of their mouth curving slightly. “ do not expect to hear him loud and clear, but know that he is the deliverance, the whisper at the edge of your mind; he is the clarity, however it may come to you. ”

they allowed themselves a soft, humourless chuckle. “ i do believe the devil takes forms. i believe he is cunning and possesses a silver tongue, and that men, being creatures of ambition, fall prey to whatever promises gain. ” their hands folded, holding the rosary close, thumbs brushing over the back of their hands. “ i think riverman is just one more face of satan, one more of his soldiers sent to earth seeking souls, for he gains when he torments, when he leads others into sorrow and despair. ” they smiled. “ though you may not see a light at the end of the tunnel, it is there, because god is with you. ”

birdie  often  finds  herself  sitting  in  the  cathedral,  staring  blankly  at  the  large  cross  on  the  wall.  it's  often  late  when  she  comes  in,  often  after  her  shift  at  the  secret  garden,  often  when  no  one  is  there.  she  likes  it  when  no  one  is  there,  and  all  she  can  hear  is  the  sounds  the  church's  infrastructure  makes.

 she  tries  to  hear  god's  voice,  but  she  hasn't  heard  it  yet.  she  wonders  if  she  ever  will.

sitting  in  a  pew,  hands  shoved  in  the  front  pocket  of  her  hoodie,  she's  wearing  loose  athletic  shorts.  not  church  apparel  by  any  means  but  her  shift  just  ended,  and  her  work  "clothes"  would  be  less  appropriate.  birdie  tilts  her  head  when  the  reverend's  voice  fills  her  ears,  chuckling  under  her  breath.  "they  come  here  looking  for  the  riverman,  father.  not  answers.  just  desires."  just  saying  his  name  sends  a  chill  up  birdie's  spine,  her  skin  pricking  up.  she  sighs,  looking  at  the  man  for  the  first  time.  her  grey  eyes,  once  her  favorite  feature,  are  now  empty.

"just  looking  for  some  peace...i've  been  trying  to  hear  god,  but  i  fear  i'm  no  good  at  praying,"  biridie  tells  him  lamely.  "do  you  believe  in  the  riverman,  father?  is  that  the  right  term  for  you?  i  don't  know  much  about  the..."  her  finger  spins  around  as  she  tries  to  think  of  the  proper  term,  "the  church  rankings  and  whatnot."

[noirmorose]

silas's father said, and here they quote, “ the lord is close to those who have a broken heart and saves those who are crushed in spirit, ” and so shall it be, according to the will of the creator, your father. the bible is freed from their hand, and silas’s hands find the woman's thin arms, supporting her weight as her pain pierces them, tearing at their soul and prompting prayers to their own father. " my dear lamb, god has purposes our human eyes are incapable of seeing; there is a plan for you, and all this pain is not in vain. psalm 147, verse three says, ‘ he heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ’ ”

the reverend leads her inside, seating her on one of the pews while clasping her hands in theirs. " those who mourn shall be comforted, for god will wipe away every tear from your eyes. there will be no more death, or mourning, or crying, or pain, for the former things have passed away. " their gaze remains on mabel for a long time, understanding how the loss of her husband has shattered her. yet, as a devout believer, they trust in their father’s justice and mercy, knowing this is not a tribulation beyond her strength to bear. they believe she will emerge stronger from this trial, as long as she keeps her faith, prays, and waits upon the lord. " you cannot allow sadness to cloak you as if it were a sacred mantle, mabel. how many days has it been since you last slept or ate properly, my child? " their tone is gentle and paternal, applying reassuring squeezes to her hand, the concern for her state clear in their steadfast eyes.

                  weary,      become   a   thin   and   wilting   creature.      the   husk   of   a   woman   once   called   mabel;      she   is   more   shade   than   body   this   night,      haunting   the   steps   of   saint   vladimir's.      ❛      yes      .   .   .      so   many   questions,      i      —      ❜      a   sudden,      choking   breath.      she   finds   she   cannot   pretend   the   part   of   pleasant   company,      no   sense   for   levity   or   evasion.      buckling   there,      near   to   falling,      her   small   hands   tearing   at   the   skin   of   her   eyes.      ❛      reverend.      ❜      a   plea   pinned   high   and   breathless.      ❛      i   don't   know   what   to   do.      i   don't   know   how   i'll      survive      this,      i      —      oh,      god!      how   do   i   survive   this?      ❜

[noirmorose]

his dark eyes grew contemplative, his expression an unshaken mask of ataraxia, while something within him became troubled, almost feverish. in a haunting stillness, his eyes questioned chloe, as if asking whether she was losing her faith, letting it slip through her fingers like grains of sand. yet, it might have just been his need to understand, as if everything demanded his knowing. after all, having knowledge was not the same as truly knowing. “ i must disagree, ” his voice echoed with the weight of an elder’s wisdom, though he knew that the flow of his words was like water over a rocky riverbed—noisy, but doing little to truly grab attention. “ i can’t agree that everyone searches for the same thing, but everyone is searching for something. sometimes, it’s simply the hope that there’s something out there, something bigger than you, me, or them, something that watches over them and gives them purpose. after all, without purpose or faith, we become lost, and that … is a step toward eternal damnation. ”

there was conviction in his sentences, but suddenly, he fell silent. his lips curved into a polite smile, and in a gesture both respectful and paternal, his hand lifted to her shoulder, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “ i see you, chloe. your father sees you. and he’s proud of the daughter you are, but … ” his gaze fell back to her smile, then locked onto her eyes, looking at her with the same love that god had taught him to hold for others. “ if you want to be seen, you must reveal your heart, what’s inside, your truth. otherwise, what is there to see but the surface? how much do you long to be seen for who you are, and how much of that is tied to the adoration that comes with the title? ”

he was referring to her title of ‘ miss, ’ and a soft chuckle danced on his lips. it was one of his favourite pastimes, teaching the young and the innocent, guiding them on a path of blessings and protection. but he also knew that the kingdom of heaven belonged to those like them, children, and when a man lost his essence of purity and goodness, the gates to the creator’s kingdom were closed to him. the reverend allowed his hand to drop from her shoulder, meeting hers to help her up the steps, offering her his arm in a chivalrous and respectful manner as they walked inside, towards the worn mahogany pews. “ what story do you long to hear? i can offer you a better answer if i know what lies in your heart, or, if you’d rather, i can let god guide my words. ”

      𝙰   𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙼𝚃𝙷   𝙾𝙵   𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃   against   the   town's   perpetual   sadness   ,   chloe   carries   herself   with   a   certain   confidence   that   feels   more   pompous   than   endearing.   the   former   miss   universe's   reputation   as   a   micro   -   celebrity   must   have   gone   to   her   head,   but   who   could   blame   her   ?   she   approaches   the   cathedral   with   the   intention   of   fulfilling   the   duties   her   previous   title   implied   :   to   be   a   role   model   and   a   pillar   in   the   blackwater   community.

      𝙲𝙷𝙻𝙾𝙴   𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙴𝙳   𝙷𝙸𝙼   𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷   a   cool   stare   ,   the   weight   of   his   question   hanging   between   them.   her   lips   curved   into   a   small   ,   almost   detached   smile.   "people   like   to   think   they're   all   looking   for   different   things   but   at   the   end   of   the   day   ,   we're   all   chasing   the   same   mirage   ,   aren't   we   ?"   she   paused,   glancing   briefly   over   her   shoulder.   "maybe   i   am   looking   for   answers,   or   maybe   i   just   want   to   see   if   a   place   like   this   can   hold   more   for   someone   like   me   —   a   person   used   to   being   looked   at   but   never   really   seen.”   the   weight   of   her   words   settled   between   them   before   a   more   polished   ,   practiced   smile   grew,   "or   maybe   i'm   here   for   story-time,   with   the   kids   …   so be   a   gentleman   and   lead   me   inside."

[noirmorose]

NATIONAL CLERGY APPRECIATION DAY - October 8, 2023 Favorite Paul "priesting" moments from every episode of Midnight Mass

[noirmorose]

MIDNIGHT MASS | 1.02 "Book II: Psalms"

[noirmorose]

WHERE: st. vladimir’s cathedral. WHEN: late night, 19th october. WHO: reverend silas & open | O3/O3.

silas leaned back against the stone wall of the old cathedral, hands buried deep in the pockets of his long, heavy black coat that cloaked him like a shroud of darkness. his eyes, sharp and watchful, glimmered in the twilight as they fixed on them. nine years in blackwater, yet he still carried that air of someone not quite belonging to this world, though no one would guess it by how seamlessly he blended into the town's quiet chaos.

“ funny place, blackwater, innit? people come 'ere lookin' for answers, but al l they find is more bloody questions, ” his head tilted slightly, the shadow of a smile lingering on his lips. “ so then, what brings you to my door? after a bit of salvation, or just lookin' for some peace in this mess? ”

[noirmorose]

silas is a good man, he knows it, and anyone would say the same about him. but when he spots joel in his uniform, with a funeral-like expression that practically screams 'make a donation or jog on,' he can’t hold back his laugh. the bible lifts in front of his face, masking his amusement. he makes his way over in short, fluid steps, greeting the children and residents, blessing them and reminding them how much he looks forward to seeing them in church.

his eyes meet joel's, and he shakes his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “ sadly, my god says hard work is rewarded, and here i am, helping you reach that reward, ” he quips, though he knows full well he’ll donate anyway. “ tell me, my dear sheep, how can i stop my church and its grounds from burning down? ” there’s a gentle smile on his face, though anyone not familiar with him might catch a trace of irony or sarcasm. “ you lot been dealing with many fires lately? ”

OPEN STARTER ft. joel @ the fire department's booth at the apple blossom celebration !     ( please feel free to assume connections ! )

joel hates when the fire department does educational outreach. it's fine when it's teaching children not to play with matches or stick forks in electrical outlets, but being dressed in half of his uniform behind a booth at the apple blossom celebration feels like borderline torture. when someone approaches the booth, joel clears his throat, straightening up in his chair he was leaning way too far back in and flashing the fakest smile he thinks looks genuine.

"hello, would you like to learn how to protect your home from fires?" while speaking without breaking eye contact, he reached for a pamphlet and held it out to them. joel nods towards the black wooden box with red cut out letters taped to the front that read: DONATIONS.

"or you can save us both some time and make a donation to your local fire department. we really need some new jackets."

[noirmorose]

silas couldn’t regret his choice of attire — the usual sacred black of his cassock, though it was more of an overcoat. darkness seemed to cling to his garments, with only the white collar marking his profession and standing in the community. his once kind eyes, now stern, gazed out at the crowd with a dull mix of reverence and veiled judgement, loathing the horrors that would come with nightfall. how, as the hours passed, a simple, familiar festivity would morph into something sinful and vulgar, a celebration of the macabre.

“ judging by the time, and knowing that by three in the afternoon the heat tends to be unbearable, ” he mused silently, the rosary in his free hand so tightly wound it could’ve left marks on his skin, his thumb brushing the cross pendant. “ i’d give it about forty minutes. too many people moving about, talking. the heat’ll become suffocating. ” he nodded in greeting then, lowering his head slightly. “ i’m surprised to see you here, mikala. god bless you for gracing us with your presence. ”

OPEN STARTER FOR: Anyone, everyone even.

WHERE | WHEN: Apple Blossom Celebration, near the face painting booth, mid-day.

He's pretty sure he's lost the plot at this point, having been there for roughly an hour—decidedly too long for the token grumpy old person. Still, Mikala has a beer and cigarette in hand, with enough tact to stay away from the general crowd of attendees.

That doesn't seem to stop someone from invading his metaphorical bubble. So, he might as well strike up a conversation.

"How long do you think it'll take for these people to sweat off all that grease paint?" Half-joking, half-not, with his tone mostly flat. "I'm giving most of these people an hour before they look truly ghoulish."

[noirmorose]

ᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤ ᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤ♰ ⠀⠀ֵ⠀ ⠀ 𝄒 ⠀his skin ﹔ ⠀dark ， moon—kissed and ᅠㅤ𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻—𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁.⠀he's an A͟R͟C͟H͟A͟N͟G͟E͟L and he knows it. ❜⠀⠀

ᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤᅠㅤㅤᅠㅤᅠᅠᅠㅤhere they come, one of blackwater’s finest— silas hyuk astor. everyone thinks they're so allocentric and insightful, but i know that they’re really intolerant and inflexible. whatever the case, it seems like weird stuff happens wherever they go, ever since they got here nine years ago, especially at their job as a deputy reverend at st. vladimir’s cathedral.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤbasics ٬ stats ٬ analysis ٬ mobnav ٬ wc ¡!

ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ𠥼 𝐰. 𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗿𝘆¡!

ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤsunday service: 10 AM - main sermon on resilience in dark times. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤmonday night vigil: 8 PM - prayers for the souls of the lost. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤtuesday study: 7 PM - scriptures on supernatural defence. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤwednesday evening confession: 6 PM - personal spiritual guidance. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤthursday healing session: 9 PM - exorcism & blessings. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤfriday midnight mass: 12 AM - special protection rites. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤsaturday meditation: 10 AM - inner strength for facing evil.

ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ𠥼 𝐬. 𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀¡!

ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤsilas hyuk astor is his name. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤtwenty nine human years. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤINTJ is his mbti. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤ1w9 is her enneagram. ㅤㅤ✶ ៹ㅤhe’s pansexual demiromantic.

ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ 𠥼 𝐡. 𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀¡!

silas often finds himself drawn to objects that reflect light—like crystals and stained glass—because they trigger faint memories of his celestial past. he keeps a small collection in his living space, hoping that they will help him remember.

at night, silas experiences vivid dreams filled with celestial imagery—flashes of light, ethereal voices, and serene landscapes. these dreams both comfort and haunt him, leaving him with a sense of longing for something he can't quite grasp.

as a deputy reverend, he's particularly known for his compassionate listening skills. he often spends long hours in confessionals, helping the townsfolk with their spiritual crises. his empathy sometimes leads him to take on their burdens, making it hard for him to let go of others' pain.

although he has no memory of his past, silas has an innate ability to play the piano beautifully. this talent surfaces unexpectedly when he hears certain hymns, and he often uses music to calm himself and connect with the community during services.

animals are drawn to silas, and he often finds stray cats and dogs seeking his attention. this connection is a reflection of his kind nature, and he secretly considers them his companions—he even has a soft spot for feeding the local strays.

he has a fascination with human customs and modern technology, often asking questions that seem naive to others. for instance, he has no idea how to use a smartphone effectively, and it leads to funny mishaps when he tries to take pictures for the parish website.

has an instinctual need to protect those he cares about. he often puts himself in danger to save others, believing it's part of his duty as a celestial being, which sometimes leads to reckless decisions.

while he exudes a serene presence, silas' somewhat clumsy in his movements. he often trips over things or spills tea during community gatherings, which endears him to the townsfolk, who see him as adorably human despite his angelic aura.

silas' an avid reader of ancient texts and religious scripture. he often loses himself in libraries or dusty old bookstores, seeking to uncover lost knowledge and truths about his own identity, though he sometimes finds the philosophical debates overwhelming.

occasionally feels a sense of longing for companionship and connection, making him open to friendships. however, he struggles to fully let anyone in, fearing that his lost memories might hurt those he cares about or lead to heartbreak.

believes that the perfect cup of tea can solve all problems, so he makes it a ritual to brew a different kind every day—unfortunately, he can’t remember which ones taste good and ends up with some truly awful blends!

despite his reverend attire, silas has no clue about fashion. he sometimes wears mismatched socks, claiming it’s a “celestial fashion statement” when in reality, he just can’t find a matching pair.

is overly dramatic when he tells stories, especially about mundane events. he might narrate a simple grocery shopping trip as an epic quest, complete with villainous shopping carts and heroic discounts.

he's completely oblivious to modern pop culture references and often mixes up famous quotes or character names, leading to hilarious miscommunications with the locals. imagine him quoting shakespeare when someone mentions a superhero movie!

silas has an odd habit of trying to pet anything fluffy—be it a pillow, a coat, or a townsperson’s hair—because it reminds him of the softness of angelic feathers, which often leads to awkward situations!