#there's no inherent purpose to suffering itself

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Time for a long Aylin ramble, because I haven't indulged in a while.

I'm actually really invested in Aylin being an aasimar! I do not think it is a misnomer or mistake, as I've seen people suggest. She was referred to as a celestial explicitly in some older builds of the game, but this was changed at some point during development. And I noted aasimar enjoyer Oath, quelle surprise prefer it this way for a variety of reasons. Primarily, I think, because it lets her be larger than life, have a touch of that other-worldliness and otherness, while keeping her very much "of this world" still, very (physically and otherwise) present and part of the prime material plane, and ultimately far more human than I believe even she herself would sometimes like to be.

To bring up the most basic and rules/mechanics-bound "creature type" level of categorisation, as an aasimar she is a humanoid, and not a celestial - outsider. Her outsider status is absolutely there and a goldmine of things to explore, but that's a different post sitting in my drafts for far too long that I'll get around to one of these days (but for now you should read this post that I love). Yes, she is in a very real sense above it all, she will outlast everyone around her and whatever she gets involved with. We also get to see her dramatic poetic archaic speech idiosyncrasies (Ho!), her odd sense of the passage of time, and, of course, her oft-discussed and joked about apparent lack of filter or regard for current social graces.

(Endlessly amused at her just going: I'll do it when my mum tells me to.)

All things combined, Aylin feels more like a being of two worlds to me than a guest visiting this one, even as she is called the emissary of a goddess. She embodies a blending and an odd balancing act between the lofty divine and the mundane, duty and preordained purpose and personhood, and touches on the many ways this balance can be tipped. A classic D&D aasimar struggle, really, and a well I am happy to keep returning to.

Balthazar: She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

She honestly isn't even that far from a regular aasimar stat- and ability-wise - Aylin does have several special abilities, but these are flavoured as blessings from her divine mother instead of an inherent property of her as a creature - though, notably, Aylin herself at one point claims she is always reborn because "it is [her] nature".

“Blessed with the favour of a goddess, Nightsong cannot be permanently killed. When unconscious, at the start of her turn she recovers 1 hit point.” “Nightsong will be resurrected by the powers of Selûne whenever she dies.”

Importantly, she does not get to reincarnate, or get a new body, or flit away to her "home plane" or anything like what celestials get to do. She is anchored to this one physical existence (again, very human of her), tied and limited to this one body as it painstakingly repairs itself over and over and over (to a sometimes extreme extent, e.g. the all but outright stated regrowing of amputated body parts in a frankly horrifying context), insistently and indomitably but ultimately imperfectly. And I think that's part of why the kintsugi design drives me utterly wild, why her immortality setup is more interesting to me than, say, a mutant healing factor, or something like the characters in The Old Guard. Her history is pretty literally engraved on her skin, and when she, in the role of a power-granting artefact and the object of a ritual sacrifice, tells you she will feel every wound you inflict upon her, it is so easy to believe her. And I'm not even that invested in physical suffering, just that it means it's all still very palpably there, forever, and she doesn't get to magically restart with a clean slate in this sense, nor does she get to forget past lifetimes as some creatures like devas do. It's just a flavour of immortality I personally find far more engaging than most.

(I mean, yes, I am also a known hurt/comfort sucker and if you're going there in order to set up a scene where she's, I dunno, getting doted on by Isobel who's invented new scar tissue pain relief massage techniques, you know I'm going to be all over that.)

I'm also not sure I'd say she can just pop over to Argentil to hang out with her mum at will. I mean, planeshifting is not that hard to achieve, and also she can just… ask Selûne, ultimately, I guess. But I wouldn't say she has spent much time there, and I think she takes her role as Selûne's champion and representative in the Realms too seriously and too much to heart to be away from them for very long.

Which also calls to mind the issue of the obvious and "simple" answer to Isobel's eventual death - namely that with Isobel picked up as a petitioner soul they'll all just go live out the better part of an eternity in Selûne's realm. Probably in some form they will - it's never guaranteed, but this time, yeah, probably something like that will happen, and there will be, as Melodia says, no loss, only temporary separation. But I'm really not into just handwaving or stripping away most of the mortal/immortal pairing issues inherent in the relationship. If we're going for the "hang out in a different plane of existence forever" option, I think at one point Aylin would have to "complete" her duties and lay down her sword, in a way, and pick between Faerûn and the Gates of the Moon - meaning she herself is effectively moving on to a completely new phase of her existence as well.

And while Selûne carving a lovely marble statue and bringing it to life and similar takes are fun and beautiful and interesting, I'm very invested in an Aylin who was born, raised, and had to actually grow up and learn and be trained. I have a ton of headcanons of Aylin being a weird glowy baby at some point (with all the Disney's Hercules jokes I've seen folks make, of course), being entrusted to a series of Selûnite enclaves and temples and cloisters, hounded by Shar and her agents pretty much all her life.

(Neither here nor there, but Aylin also comes off as a fairly "young" immortal to me - note that I am basing this on absolutely nothing but a general impression and there's no actual hint anywhere about how old she really is. Just vibes.)

To finish up, I'd like to shout out Isobel, and the big humanising factor she is presented as. For instance, a very concrete bit of motivation for Aylin to eventually "humanise" her perception of time, if nothing else.

Aylin without Isobel is horribly depressing to me mostly because she seems to distance herself from her humanity and err on the side of holy duty (see: her epilogue letter, ouch). And Isobel is definitely the person who (invaluably, imo) explicitly and consistently insists on Aylin's humanity and personhood, who cares for her as a woman and not a divine weapon, who actually treats her well-being as a priority, and who understands her so very well and so deeply. Who does acknowledge the gloriously resplendent Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden herself in all her awe-inspiring presence and occasionally amusing foibles, but who never fails to look past the titles and fronts even Aylin herself is so keen to put up, and focus on what lies behind it all.

A moment that sticks out to me in particular is her bemoaning Aylin's disregard for her own safety, then actually getting very angry if you suggest Lorroakan can't hurt Aylin:

Isobel: Even after all she's been through, she thinks herself unstoppable - invincible. It all feels like recklessness to me. Player: Lorroakan can't harm her. Have faith. Isobel: He can harm her. Just as Ketheric did. She'll survive it, but she can suffer like any of us - and for longer.

Using Isobel's words verbatim is a good conclusion to my thoughts here, I think: the truth of Aylin being "singular among us all" coexisting with all the ways Aylin is "just like any of us".

And now I'll pay the cute Aylin screenshot tax one last time.

[mekanikaltrifle]

the mortifying ordeal of trying to talk to people and absolutely whiffing it

[homunculus-argument]

More Art That Was Revealed To Me In A Dream: A statue which was titled "The Comfort". A life-sized vaguely female figure, curled up with her face hidden by her hands, as if in deep sorrow.

The statue's whole point was that it was placed in an empty room, and the surface/material of the statue was deliberately treated in some way that ensured that it would wear down from human touch. The viewers were also encouraged to touch the statue, stroking her back to comfort her. The entire point and purpose of the art piece was to illustrate how the statue itself gradually becomes polished, shiny, and slowly worn away by the thousands of human hands that have touched it.

In a way it wasn't really a statue, as much as a collective piece of performance art - a visual demonstration of the inherent, instinctive human desire to soothe and comfort someone who is suffering, for no personal gain nor benefit, despite of being fully aware that this is only a symbol of a person, a lump of bronze that's merely shaped like a human being who is sad.

The real Comfort was the friends we made along the way.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Morally Grey Characters

Morally grey characters - operate beyond the dichotomy of good versus evil.

These characters will usually make the choice to pursue their own ambitions over those of the greater good or evil.

Because their goals are removed from these qualities, they could be inherently good or bad, so long as they serve the character's ultimate purposes.

However, that’s not to say that morally grey characters don’t aim to make the world better (or worse) in some way.

They may have a larger goal that they’re striving to achieve.

Example: Immortality for all or taking down a corrupt government.

But this doesn’t necessarily mean morally grey characters won’t see others suffer, regardless of intent.

They are often described as being reserved and unfeeling—a dramatic outward expression for characters whose inner selves are anything but, yet appropriate to exemplify the secrets they keep locked away.

The beauty of morally grey characters is that they don't fit into a mold like many other character tropes, which makes them instantly feel more real.

Tips to Writing Morally Grey Characters

Your morally grey characters should still feel like a living, breathing person and not just a caricature of one. In order to realistically portray them, there are 4 important things to consider:

1. What is your morally grey character's life's mission?

This needs to become their guiding belief, their driving force.

These characters are very goal-oriented.

More than anything else, this is why they make the choices that they do, for better or worse.

2. How far are they willing to go to achieve their goals?

They are unique in that they are capable of making hard decisions that most of us might otherwise struggle with, and they often seem to do so with ease.

What matters is achieving their goals—not necessarily how they go about doing so.

3. They need to still have a system of core values to abide by.

Even morally grey characters have an internally consistent scale of, well, morality (albeit on their own terms).

Give your character a code to live by that even they wouldn’t break.

4. What is their role in your story?

Don’t create morally grey characters just for the sake of it.

Whether their storyline is part of the main plot, or whether they have subplots that influence the overall story, there needs to be a point to it all regardless.

Morally Grey Character or Villain?

What may differentiate a morally grey character from a true villain are the following 3 things.

Recognition: Your morally grey character should recognize that their choices can cause harm, intentionally or otherwise.

Remorse: Following that recognition, and often as a result of it, they must understand and experience remorse.

Redemption: Finally, when even they feel things have gone too far, your morally grey character must seek redemption however that manifests itself in your story.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[can-of-w0rmz]

My thoughts on Frankenstein can basically be summed up in, “Victor is a dickhead but at least he’s not an incel,” and “The Creature is a dickhead but at least he’s not a rich prick”.

To this day “ermmm Victor/Creature is the innocent guy and (X other character) is the bad guy achtually 🤓☝️” takes make me so fucking mad. THEY BOTH SUCK, AND THEYRE BOTH STILL SYMPATHETIC PROTAGONISTS. THATS THE POINT OF THE FUCKING BOOK😭

Also people who think Victor was the bad guy for refusing to make the Bride and going “huh, maybe making a creature for the sole purpose of suffering and fucking you is really fucked up and not my place at all actually?” legitimately need their fucking heads checked because do you genuinely have zero reading comprehension or life experience??? Can you read a book? Can you understand basic themes and concepts? Are you actually stupid?

Victor is a terrible guy for being self absorbed enough to cheat God and nature itself, creating a being that was never meant to be born and inflicting immense suffering on it by the nature of it existing in a way that fundamentally can not be balanced out — following the Christian influences and background in which the novel was written at the time, Victor is not God, he can’t offer the creature salvation or in any way metaphysically balance out his suffering, so he just introduces him to a life of a living hell by his own design and by the nature of the fact that Victor is just a man, and the Creature himself is terrible because the nihilism inherent to his condition as Victor’s creation turns him into a murderous incel who wants to just further the suffering Victor caused, because if he can’t be happy, nobody should, so he kills every innocent bystander who Victor loved and demands that he makes him a woman like Eve who’s equal to him in suffering, who exists for the sole purpose of being his, who was created to be his.

And Victor says no, because he has actual character development and realises it isn’t his place (also, very likely mirroring his engagement to Elizabeth if you kinda follow the same reading as me that Victor never really loved her romantically and felt forced into the marriage because of his mother), which, shock horror, makes Victor a more likeable protagonist, because again, shockingly, he’s actually a pretty good guy in this one situation making a really good moral decision for once by saying “yeah I’m not going to create a woman whose sole purpose in life is to fuck you and suffer as much as you, also what if she doesn’t want to fuck you???”

Are people allergic to the concept of character development or something?? Are people allergic to multifaceted complex characters?? You feel terrible for the creature because of what Victor has done to him by bringing him into existence, and you feel terrible for Victor because of how doomed he is (in the worst way, it’s not just him suffering, he has to watch everyone he loves being forced to suffer because of him) by his one mistake and how he doesn’t have any way to fix it. A creation with no God, and a Man with the weight of God upon him because of his own mistake. They’re both doomed. That’s why it’s so good, THE BOOK IS A FUCKING TRAGEDY WHY IS THIS SO DIFFICULT FOR SOME PEOPLE TO GRASP???😭

[insaniquariumfish]

Transwomen cannot be true feminist allies because they do not believe that femininity itself is inherently patriarchal, degrading, and unnecessary. IF they are in any way critical of femininity (which is rare), their only issue with it is that it is too strongly expected of women; they frame femininity as "something women should be allowed to choose if they want to," and not as something that is harmful to women in nature by default, whether they choose it or not.

They do not acknowledge the fact that a woman can only "choose" to be feminine in the same sense that someone raised in an extremely religious area can "choose" to be religious. Women are conditioned from birth to be feminine, told that their value as human beings is dependent on their ability to embody femininity, and if they are not feminine then they are punished for it and suffer for it. To frame this as a free and neutral choice is to deny the nature of what femininity is: something that is forced upon women, a tool invented and wielded by patriarchy to aid in the oppression of women and the empowering of men. And even if there were no longer any pressure from men for women to be feminine, the history of femininity, the centuries of suffering that women have been forced to endure in the name of femininity, why it was created, what purpose it is meant to serve, who it is meant to harm and who it is meant to benefit, none of those realities would be changed.

To trans women, femininity is essential to womanhood, and to be critical of femininity is to be critical of the very means through which their identity as a trans woman manifests. The idea of doing away with the association between womanhood and femininity poses an existential threat to them, especially to those who struggle to "pass," because how else can they signal their womanhood to the world, or affirm their womanhood to themselves, if they do not physically look like women and do not have female bodies?

They claim that they simply must be hyperfeminine, that they have no other choice, because for them to be gender nonconforming would result in them being mistreated and taken less seriously and struggling more in life. Well guess what, cis women face the exact same consequences for refusing to perform femininity. And masculine cis women do not have a panic attack every time they are misgendered, because they are secure in the knowledge that no amount of people not perceiving them as women can change the fact that they are women. Trans women claim to believe this themselves, that their womanhood exists independently of what they look like or how they dress or how they are perceived by others, but they do not act like this is the case. They act like validation that they are "feminine enough" matters more to them than the actual state of existing as a woman. They revel in femininity, find ecstasy in femininity. They cling to it with a vise like grip, embody the hyperfemme in as many ways as possible, and in doing so they only reinforce and perpetuate the idea that to be a woman is to be pretty, that to be a woman is to be dainty, adorned, coquette, frivilous, petty, bubbly, emotional, demure, submissive, stupid, sexy, slutty, an open mouth, an expectant asshole.

[holybibly]

Divine Rosa  ❢ot8xreader❣ 

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

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

❣ Word Count: 8.5k

❣ 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, panic attack. Sexual themes: hematolagnia, body worship, masturbation, bite kink, olfactophilia, voyeurism.

❣ 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 2: Wolf in sheep's clothing❣

Love is a word that deserves closer consideration, halfway between the dry hypocrisy of the dictionary and its deep sacral meaning.

What a strange feeling…

Love, both virtuous and vicious, motivates us to accomplish great feats yet also triggers the commission of heinous crimes. This mysterious and inexplicable feeling interweaves its complex structure within us, becoming the most unstable, contentious, and hazardous of all human emotions.

Love is the fundamental source of all our emotions and experiences in the world, both beautiful and disgusting.

Love has a multitude of motives, including the desire for control, submission, care, seduction, lust, protection, worship, creation and, of course, destruction.

The feeling is manifold; We can call this complex emotion by different names, including passion, hatred, obsession, alienation, objectification, mania, unattainable dreams, happiness, idolatry, spiritual unity, and possibly the most poetic of all—the second half of the soul.

Humans crave love from birth until death. This desire is inherent and everlasting. As we take our first breath, we unconsciously absorb the toxic essence of love, which settles in our lungs like delicate, silky flowers.

This need is woven into the very structure of our DNA, an animal instinct that inadvertently condemns us to eternal suffering.

Love exists as a palpable entity, often obscured by human perceptions of carefree happiness and joy. It can be likened to a lurking deep-sea creature, concealing its true visage, branching and moving under the thin surface of our skin.

She is as cunning as a murderer's grin, and she is well aware of the inevitable tragic end of every story she is about to tell. Though we may be in the belief that we have had a joyful life, in reality all our actions have been under the impulse of love. For the sake of this deceptive feeling, which unites us for a moment in the ecstatic joy and privileges of angelic ugliness.

In the end, our physical bodies will serve to feed the earthworms, to house the larvae and to nourish the roots.

Never again will they gaze into each other's eyes, never again will the turquoise flame passion between them ignite, and never again will their lips meet in a voluptuousness kiss. 

Love has the power to drive us insane, to blind us, and even to lead to our demise.

And yet, in life, it is possible to miss everything but love.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

 3rd POV 

I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair

“You look pathetic, San. Don't you think so? I wonder what Seonghwa would say to that?” Yeosang lazily runs his pale spidery fingers over Yoru's silky black fur, looking with contempt at the naked brunette stretched on a pile of knocked-down sheets and pillows.

The rings on his hands burn with blood, like the eyes of the Devil.

San looked blissfully relaxed and languid, like a caressing predator. His golden skin seemed to glow from within with an otherworldly glow as the translucent sunlight greedily licked his body with its soft touch.

Still, there was something vaguely animalistic, almost primitively predatory, about him, which in no way connected him with the arrogant aloofness that was inherent in the entire vampire race.

There was hot blood running through his veins, making him even more dangerous.

He was unbridled.

“I don't care what Seonghwa says, if he says a word at all in the next few centuries. Personally, I would prefer that his magnificent body continue to rest in the coffin for a very long time.” A smug smile played on his sensual lips. “And unlike you, my dear brother, I don't hide my true desires.” A slow, almost lazy glance from San's silvery eyes swept over the slender body of Yeosang sitting in the chair, lingering for a moment on the pale pink patch of soft skin on his temple.

He imagines, not without pleasure, how, with particular cruelty, he tears it from the porcelain face of his beloved brother with his long claws, leaving behind a wet, gaping wound.

San hated it. His birthmark is indisputable proof of his connection with his beautiful Rose.

The sign that binds their souls tightly into a single whole.

He should have found her first that night.

“Look at you, Sangie. You act like a coward, hiding in dark corners and wandering in her dreams. Perhaps I could understand you if your wayward antics gave her pleasure. If our Rose woke up with your name on her lips, all wet and needy, so desperate for more.

You have to ignite her passion and her desire to be loved, make her feel special, and fill her with thirst and hunger for our touch and our love. All her thoughts should belong only to us. But how did we end Yeosangie? Tell me, huh? Our Rosa has an animal terror before you. Sarang is afraid of you. Isn't that really pathetic? You know, I can smell that sweet scent of fear on her sheets.” San buried his face in the soft fabric of the silk pillow on which Sarang usually slept and took a deep, slow breath. “So damn delicious… I want to eat her whole.”

All he wanted now was to feel her from the inside, so that her scent would stay forever in his lungs, merge with his blood, be absorbed into his skin, and become an integral part of it.

God, he is prepared to worship this woman and idolize her in every conceivable way. 

She was his.

Not in some figurative or metaphorical sense, no. She was his everything. A soul that fills the shell with his dead body, blood black as night, that runs through his veins, his thoughts. Every second of his life. San couldn't tell where he ended, and she began, for you were two halves fused together into a single breathing living being.

The beginning and the end of his life

If he could know death, which was no longer possible for him, he would be happy to suffocate on that heady aroma that was spinning his head like a powerful drug. And to do so until death takes him into his arms.

How beautiful would his death be! Silk sheets, roses, and Sarang are the only true loves.

“She smells so divine, Sangie; how can you resist this temptation?” His back arched gracefully. Under the golden canvas of the skin, the jagged vertebral bones were outlined, and the flexible muscles were stretched like tight velvet ribbons. The relief of his chiseled abs pressing against the bed, his thighs rushing up, creating a perfect s-line.

He moved so smoothly. A large predatory cat, draining gross sexuality and animal dominance. A true erotic vision, fringed by the diffused glow of the lazy midday sun. The smell of her fear brought out the worst in him and made him crave to devour her heart and soul, but he couldn't do it.

“You don't know shit, San. You come here whenever you want and act like a cranky kid, pouting and expressing anger because you couldn't get her first. What a pity, because I was the one who made the connection. I can feel her; I can feel her in my veins; I don't have to act like a bitch in heat fucking her bed.” Yeosang's voice was indifferently cold, so deceptively calm, but San could clearly hear the poisonous malice in every word he said.

It looks like he hit a nerve.

“You tell me you'd never been in my place, Yeosangie?”  San grinned, and on his cheeks appeared charming dimples. “You never could lie;you always spilled everything to Seonghwa like a good puppy at the first snap of his fingers. You should ask Wooyoung to teach you some lessons if you want to play games with me. We all know exactly what you do, so didn't be shy about it, honey. Do you think you can hide from Hongjoong your little dream manipulation, constant stalking, and night visits? Or how pathetic and pathetic you look, whining and wriggling like a whore when you come in with her dirty laundry, which you hide under your pillow. Oh my God, what will Seonghwa say when he finds out? You should care. Our good boy has gone to the dark side; he's going to be so disappointed that he lost his mutt. Although you know, maybe you and Wooyoung aren't as different as I originally thought. He's just as pathetic a puppy as you are, my beautiful brother, and look how that turned out for him. Perhaps you'll be the next one to end up in a coffin. I'd change my behavior if I were you. Bad boys get punished.” There was mockery and outright bullying in his voice.

That's right, they were family; their loyalty to each other was an unbreakable blood oath, and if necessary, they would be willing to die for each other. Blood is thicker than water. But the bond they shared with Sarang was different from anything that could be explained. She wasn't a missing part; to think so would be foolish. No, she was a part of themselves, a part of their dead souls, filling their bodies with a semblance of life. Something extremely more dangerous than any possible blood bond. A bond where the lines between reality and fantasy, obsession and morality, understanding and rationality were blurred.  And that bond was the reason, why Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa were still resting in their luxurious coffins. Iron, velvet, and crystal—so completely different, so frighteningly the same.

San remembers with pleasure how good it felt to drive stakes into their black hearts. The spell would be broken with a kiss. Perfectly. He hopes their sleep will be eternal. This time, it should be different. He will be the first, yes. San will be first—not Seonghwa, not Hongjoong, not Wooyoung, but him.

That's right. Everything will be the way it should be from the beginning. After all, he was the one who started it all.

Once upon a time, Sarang belonged only to him.

“San…” Yeosang hissed menacingly, digging his bony fingers forcefully into the soft feline fur, causing Yoru to meow painfully and curl up into a ball in his lap. His fangs bared, scratching his plump lower lip, and black veins trickled in an intricate pattern down his thin neck.

The brunette laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric of the pillow, covering his eyes dreamily.

The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin.

“You hiss like a kitten; will you show me your sharp little teeth?”

“You'd better watch out for your tongue, or I might rip it out.” The fierce gaze literally stabbed him. It burned and penetrated to the core of his being.

“I dare you.” The bloodied lips opened, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to traverse the tortured, swollen flesh, licking away the blood that seeped to the surface.

“Let his lips be like rose petals - red as fresh blood.” Said the Queen Witch.

San covered his eyes and completely ignored the angry brunette. He loved to play with fire. It was his nature. If it had been Hongjoon or Mingi in Yeosan's place, he might have thought twice before poking the tiger with a stick, and of course he would never intentionally offend Seonghwa; the outcome of any of those confrontations would not have been in his favor. But this was Yeosang - airy and gentle as melting snow.

The shadows of San's long eyelashes lay in a lacy pattern on his heart-wrenching cheekbones. They were one of the most striking features of his appearance - sharp and angular - and they made his face a masterpiece. A creation skilfully crafted by the hand of a master.

Yeosang's beauty was soft and angelic, the kind of beauty one might see on the faces of the winged, plump cherubs beneath the vaulted ceilings of Gothic cathedrals. He had once admired their beauty so much, especially when he tore their flesh with his claws and tore baby, fluffy wings from their pale, soft bodies.

Such an exquisite, decadent taste.

San's beauty was of a completely different kind: vicious, dark and hypnotic. Chiseled like the eternally frozen perfection of a pagan marble god, every line of his face was sharp and deadly seductive. From the feline cut of his eyes, shimmering with silvery immortality, to the capriciously curved corners of his plump lips, always inflamed and soft, so tortured and tender from incessant biting and kissing…

San's appearance was sinful.

He was the most desirable of all nightmares, the special kind that seduces the girls of the church, then fills his bathtub with their blood and organizes orgies in the bloody pieces of their torn bodies. San was formidable and intimidating, but his aura was alluring and seductive. The terrible prospect of an inevitable end and death had never looked so appealing. Maybe he was having an affair with you, or maybe he was going to kill you. There was lust, danger, and rage. There was a delicate balance between horror and desire, as if he were the embodiment of both the horror and the charm of God. He was the man everyone secretly dreams about when they caress themselves before going to bed, in a cold, lonely bed.

He was the person who made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and who made you experience a shivering sensation of fear that would spread over all of your exposed areas.

San was undoubtedly that person. Despite the potential for his eyes to linger on your skin, his presence was desired. Exquisite wounds, reminiscent of blossoms from damaged tissue, were created by his razor-sharp canines.

Death and sex were not enough for San; he had a craving for disorder and hot sensations.

He always wanted more, whether it was blood or pleasure. He never felt satisfied.

His sole desire was Rose—just her alone.

“Do you smell that Sangie scent?” San inhaled deeply again that intoxicating divine scent, resisting the urge to savor her flavor like a dog, choking and whimpering. “Mmmm, I want her so badly. I want her whole, every fucking cell of her body. She's driving me crazy.”

Sarang emitted a scent that was distinctly sharp and overpowering in its fragrance. Reminiscent of aged wine, it was infused with the bitterness of dark chocolate, the piquancy of red pepper, and the sweetness of roses. It tastes like sin and blessing at the same time. Like a slight saltiness akin to the tears she had shed, he longed to lick them off her rounded, flushed cheeks. The fruity sweetness of illicit fruit. The taste of his own blood. The metal and thick aroma of their sexual encounter. Thick as semen and honey.

San wants to have her. Wants her to love him. He desires his love to be reciprocated as fervently and passionately as he does.

His only wish is her love.

Although it is not enough for him to possess her love, he wants her to have an intense and almost sadistic affection for him—one that goes beyond what seems possible. He yearns for her to destroy him. Because he's confident in Sarang's ability to do so. He needs more. More than she could offer him, more than she could ever agree to. He is but a slave, created to worship her.

San's aim is to belong to her; he would go to any extent, even to the point of destroying the entire world, if that is what it takes to achieve that. The value of her love is immeasurable, and his objective is absolute.   She is the center of his life and the very essence of his being.   She is the haunting presence in his dreams, a seductive force that both seduces and tortures. The midnight idol of his desire, the serpent that dwells around his heart, tempts him to sin.

San craves her love so much, and that need is so painful, so all-consuming, and so twisted. If need be, he would kill her with his own hands, just to be sure that no one else would ever have her.

Sharing her with his brothers was like hellfire burning him from the inside out, but it was a paltry sacrifice he could make in exchange for her love.

This time, he won't let her go. This time, not even death would dare separate them. Saran will be his. She will be theirs. In life. In death. Forever and ever.

Soon.

It will happen so soon. San can't wait for the day when his Goddess is beneath him, in the cage of his body, sprawled on the black velvet of his bed. With his fangs deep into her sweet flesh, and she will screaming his name in a haze of ecstatic pleasure.

He would make her see stars. San will take her all the way to the doors of Heaven.

“San,” “San,” “San,” “San” over and over, until her voice completely collapses to a painful wheeze, until he absorbs every tiny sound she makes, every moan, every breath, every barely perceptible note, until all she will remember is his name.

Until Sarang whispers right into his lips, “I am yours.”

Soon.

In the meantime, San can patiently wait. He will wait as he always has, obediently and without complaint. He will be such a good boy. San will wait obediently, as he has done for centuries and centuries before. Until the time is right to pursue his desires, he will take all that he has dreamt of, and God will save the souls of those who get in his way.

Right now, he thinks he could die here — in her bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth of her body and her maddening scent. He would like nothing more than to show her all his passion and devotion and all the love he could give her.

He dreams of running his lips over her skin and tasting her until his whole face is wet and glistening with her juices. He will fuck her into oblivion until night turns to day and then drown her in tenderness, worshiping her caress-weary body as an obedient slave should.

Sometimes, he thinks it's not normal—the feelings he has for her. Such love simply cannot exist. How can someone love someone so much? Is it normal to hate the very existence of nature and the heavenly bodies for being able to see her beauty, which should belong to him alone?

However, these were only momentary musings until he regained his composure, dispelling any doubts. How could he even question his love? It felt so perfect and effortless, like breathing. How could such thoughts even enter his mind?

Her love was a life worth living.

It was destined since the dawn of time, when spirits roamed the earth, the sun was young, and the old gods had not yet vanished. She belonged to them, and they belonged to her. They sensed her first breath on their lips. He felt. 

Their love bloomed again—a blood rose.

Soon…

These fantasies drove him mad; every cell ignited with the desire to possess, awakening his animal predatory nature. The ugly nature of his genuinely depraved being.

He pictured Sarang biting into his neck and taking possession of him. She aimed at him as if he were nothing more than a thing, a toy for her amusement.

“Say my name, Sarang. Express your fondness for me and acknowledge that I am your only one. I want you to own me and claim me as yours. Say my name until it burns your lips. Again and again. Drink my blood, bite me to death; I'm nothing more than your slave, just a pathetic means of pleasure. Hit me. Hurt me, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, my love, I am begging you to love me. Love… Love me so much until it kills me. That is what I wish for.”

His hips moved smoothly, grinding his arousal against the rumpled bedclothes. San moaned, breathlessly gasping as he found the perfect angle to satisfy his intense desire for release. He needs to cum; he couldn't leave here without cumming. He buried his face in the pillow, panting and whimpering like a wild animal possessed. His primal instincts demanded he leave his mark on her, to possess her and fuck her into oblivion until her belly bloated from the amount of cum pouring into her and her head felt light and empty.

His claws lengthened, digging into the mattress, leaving sickening jagged stripes as his hips moved uncontrollably, continuing to rub his throbbing wet cock against the silken folds of the crumpled sheets.

The sounds he made were almost heavenly.

Soft, extended moans that turned into pitiful sobs. He sounded like an angel in the throes of passion.

In his fantasies, San imagined drinking from her as long scarlet streams of her sweet blood ran down their naked bodies, staining everything red. How deeply he entered her body, seeing the imprint of his cock on her flat stomach as her neat, pointed nails plowed into his back into gaping lacerations.

His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. San needed to cum; he was on the verge of madness. The need for pleasure was more obvious than anything around him at the moment. The transparent essence of his arousal dripped down onto the sheets, sticking to his golden, wet skin with every movement of his muscled thighs.

His thoughts returned to the dark, vicious images of hot animal sex. A fine shiver ran down his entire body.

He will run his tongue along every contour of the intricate bloody lines, licking up every last drop. First, the longest neck-open and vulnerable to his insatiable mouth, then lower down the hollow between the heavy breasts, rising in time with her labored breathing. His lips would close around the hard pink nipples, scraping them with his teeth, making her squeal and gasp. Lower down her flat belly, where the flowers of his hungry kisses and hard touches bloomed. Until his tongue is between the moist puffy folds of her pussy, he runs the pointed tip along the soft silken flesh, plunging deeper into the tight hole where blood mingles with her natural sweetness. He wants to feel the velvety, wet walls of her vagina clench and quiver around his tongue.

“Sarang!” His voice was hoarse, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him with such force that his knuckles turned white, almost tearing the skin.

He looked pornographic.

San was so lost in his fantasies that he had completely forgotten about Yeosang, who was still in this room, until he was reminded of it with a sharp, painful tug of his hair. Long, thin fingers gripped the dark, damp strands with force and tilted his head back rigidly, revealing a view of a strong neck with veins swollen from exertion and beads of sweat running down her

“Here we go, such a pathetic, stupid bitch.” Yeosang said it with mockery in his voice. His lips curled into a wicked smirk, and San could feel it on his skin as the brunet whispered in his ear. “Look at you, you're nothing more than a slut; where's your pride, San, eh? The great general of the dark army, the heartless ice prince, the ruthless Ripper, is nothing more than a drooling whore shamefully rubbing his cock against the sheets.” Yeosang's fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, tugging harder on the long silk strands the color of night.

“Yes, yes, keep calling me that.” His request sounded like a plea. All Yeosang's words made him move faster, almost in desperation.

The rhythm of his hips became erratic and uncontrollable. He was close. His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

“Are you imagine fucking her, Sannie, hmm? Or what would it taste like? I bet the taste will be heavenly; she's sweeter than ever in this life. Oh no, I know exactly what you're thinking.” A mocking chuckle escaped his ruby-red lips. “You want her to bite you.” Those wicked lips pressed against the frantically beating pulse point. “Right here.” Yeosang's teeth sank with force into the flushed skin of San's neck—that particular sensitive spot on his neck beneath a scattering of pale freckles.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth opened in a silent moan, and his hips shook with the intensity of his orgasm. Thick, hot cum splattered onto the sheets, staining them with the pale, milky liquid.

The brunet unclenched his teeth, releasing the tender skin. The bite mark was wine-red, with swollen incisor impressions and drops of black blood in the hollows. A poisonous flower, tempting to know sin.

“Sannie, look at the mess you'd made. Truly a royal fuck. I always thought it was more Mingi's style.” Finally, thin but surprisingly strong fingers let go of the silken strands, allowing San to rest his face tiredly against the pillow. His whole body relaxes after the overwhelming orgasm. The entire pillow is soaked with drool and sweat, and semen cools beneath his stomach, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He opens one eye and looks up at the vampire leaning over him with a lecherous smile.

“Would you like to join me, my beautiful brother? We still have a few hours before she gets home.” The brunet rolls onto his back to make room for Yeosang in the bed. His fingers run along the sculpted curves of his abs, scooping up the viscous, pearly liquid and sliding it into his mouth. “Mmm…” A long tongue swirled around his fingers, licking up every drop with lazy, slow pleasure.

“You're disgusting, San.” Yeosang puckered his lips in disgust, looking around at the brunette sprawled on the bed. He turned sharply on his heels and strode away from the room;  to he pick up Yoru on his way, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his arms. “Get up; we have to go. Hongjoon is calling us.”

“You're not leaving the cat?”

The brunette turned around over his shoulder, meeting his gaze with San's silver eyes.

“June misses his darling; for our little girl, it's time to come home.”

San propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the departing Yeosang. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile full of devilish anticipation.

The time had finally come.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

1st POV

"Feed me to the wolves, let them take my flesh."

“Well, I'm glad to finally meet you in a more relaxed setting, Miss Ahn. Please take a seat.” With an elegant gesture, the man motioned me to a deep leather chair in front of his desk. On the glass tabletop was a silver plaque engraved with the name “Mr. Lee Taeho”.

“Miss An” - how sad and tragic that sounds. I never wanted to try out this role. I didn't like being addressed like that, because it was always Mina, and before her, it was my grandmother, and probably my mother was addressed like that when she was alive.

But here I am, the new Miss Ahn, and unlike my predecessors, I have not sought to carry the weight of this unbearable crown. I don't need the congratulatory ribbons and the wet glitter sequins smeared across my face.

Although there was nothing in the address itself that I could call unpleasant, the tone with which it was always delivered foreshadowed the inevitable tragic ending of its own and tasted of earth and chrysanthemums.

You're bound to end up as one of them; it's not all by chance, Sarang.   Don't kid yourself.

I saw the future as a series of predetermined events, especially after Mina's death. She had the arrogance to dispose of my life as she saw fit, putting chains of obligations and secrets around my neck. I buried her in the ground, and my days became nothing more than a list of dull plans, paltry hopes, and bitter regrets, as murky as the water in the city canals through which a coffin floats. Still, I couldn't help but wonder who would be the next Miss An when I died, or would I be the one to hold that title forever?

There are never any former queens. There are only dead ones.

I could feel the blood flowing faster through my veins.

For a few moments, there was silence around us, thick and enveloping like fog. If I'd felt any hint of confidence as I walked through the tall glass doors of Silver & Black LTD, now, alone with this man, I was floundering in my social insecurity like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of his night-dark eyes. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Lee Taeho wasn't just one of Silver & Black's most successful lawyers; he was also a devilishly handsome man.

He was built like a god. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuated his muscular biceps, bulging pecs, and flat stomach. The image of strength and power was completed by the perfectly tailored, tight-fitting trousers. The rolled-up sleeves revealed several tattoos on his wiry forearms—something in Latin that I couldn't make out.

His face was also striking, with angular, pointed features that would have looked strange and out of place on anyone else, but the luscious, perfectly sculpted lips made them something unimaginable and outrageously beautiful.

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. He was looking at me like I was something special, but not in a sexual or romantic way; rather, it was the look of an explorer who had found an unexpected treasure in a pile of rubbish.

“I honestly didn't expect you to have any free time in the next few months, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about Silver & Black until Soomin told me about them on the way here. Soo turned out to be absolutely right when she told me about them. This place was the epitome of the arrogant domination of money and power—cold, glassy, and sterile, like a morgue where the remains of all “happy stories” are taken.

I could never belong to such a place, but I could easily imagine Mina here, with her developing blood curls and the unemotional grandeur of royalty. People like my sister were part of that 'proper' society so suited to closed Sunday clubs and icy glass offices. Like all of her kind, Mina was a great predator, used to labeling people and giving them her own names and definitions. She knew exactly how to make those around her feel uncomfortable with just one look.

Some people have everything, others nothing. It's as cruel and true as the inequality of love.

I still didn't understand how Mina had so much money to afford the services of this company, but judging by how polite and “sweetly” the receptionist greeted me at the entrance, she was very much appreciated here.

Blood of my blood.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Saran.” He said that, and I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn't so much the fact that he allowed himself a familiarity that surprised me, but the way he said my name—as if it had always belonged to his lips. It was as if he'd said it over and over again until the intonation was perfect.

My heart beats fast in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.

“We will always make time for you. If you'll allow me to be frank, I've left a few free hours each day, just in case you decide to call me. Honestly, I expected it to take a little less time on your part, but who am I to judge you, Sarang?”

“But why?” I tried to gather information and put it together in a way that wasn't absurd. I didn't want to assume anything.

“Why? Do I have to explain? Maybe I just wanted to see you; you're a beautiful girl, and I'm a great admirer of the beautiful. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with the embarrassment that must have been written on my face. I could feel the heat spilling over my cheeks, turning them a painfully inflamed shade of red.

I had never been a girl with a 'cute' blush. I was more like a girl burned by the gold of the sun, pressing her cheek directly against the boiling, bubbling surface of the sun.

Taeho lightly drummed his perfectly filed nails on the glass tabletop, completely ignoring my obvious embarrassment at the situation, and continued:

“But let's say that this is due to the fact that your dear sister was a valued client of ours, whom everyone here at Silver & Black LTD sincerely appreciated. Miss Ahn was our special customer. All the staff will agree with me; your sister is impossible not to love.”

“A special client?” I interjected. Somehow, that didn't surprise me at all. Of course, it was only natural that Mina was always at the center of the universe. People followed the sound of her voice like rats behind the magical melody of the flute.

“Are you surprised, Sarang? Your sister has helped our firm in many ways, bringing us new clients and introducing us to the 'right' people, making our firm one of the best in Korea. She's contributed a lot to the development of Silver & Black. There was a strange note in his voice, as if between the cracks there was something terrible—a terrible secret that could change my whole life.

For some reason, I don't feel comfortable at all right now.

“I'm pleased… hmm, or rather, I'm pleased to know that my sister has done so much for you. Lately, she and I haven't really been close, and we've barely chatted. So I didn't know where she went or what kind of people she hung out with.” My words come out a little sour, and I press my lips together.

The lovely Mina, as always, is proving to be the best. I wonder if the day will come when she damn pedestal will be nothing but a pile of ruins at my feet. I thought all this time you'd been pining for roses, but instead you've been doing the right thing. What else don't I know about you, Ahn Min?

What don't I want to know about you?

''Yes, yes, she helped us a lot. Now let's get on with signing the documents, do you mind? I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary.” His words were very dry, businesslike, and in no way in keeping with the previous flirtation. Something flashed in his eyes—concern, doubt, maybe even fear—there was a tense tremor in his hands, and his whole aura changed, as if something huge and evil had turned its attention to him.

“Sure, let's get started.”

The entire process took no more than 30 minutes. I signed document after document, with occasional detached comments from Mr. Lee, which were completely at odds with his previous behavior. There was nothing special about the documents, except for one thing: Rose Hill. As best, I could make out from the extensive stack of papers, it was a small house in the style of Victorian England. It was in the ownership of a gated cottage community, the grounds of which were owned by a private company. It was all too complex and confusing to realize the meaning in the space of 30 minutes. I'll deal with it later, most likely in the company of Soomin and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Can I sell the house I inherited, Rose Hill?” I asked without lifting my head from the papers; a few more strokes and I could be out of here. The atmosphere in the office was terribly tense; my skin itched unpleasantly and tingled in places as if it no longer belonged to me.

“To my regret, I cannot help you in this matter. In all matters concerning Rose Hill, you must deal directly with the owners of the land; I will email you their contacts.” The smile he gave me was forced, and I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a difference in his change of mood.

“Okay, thank you.” I signed the last form and handed the pile of paperwork to Mr. Lee. “I'm done; hopefully everything is settled now. Can I get a copy of the documents, preferably today?”

Taeho cursorily flicked through the pages to make sure each one was signed.

 “Our administrator, Sunwoo, will give you all the documents. There is one more thing you need to get before you leave. When you leave here, go further down the corridor to the vault, and Bora will show you a locker in the storage room that belongs to your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next customer is waiting, and I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Lee.” I clumsily rose from my chair, trying to get out of this stuffy room as quickly as possible. The air felt pressurized, and I felt like I was going to start suffocating a little more. I needed to get out of here right now.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Miss Ahn. Please take care of yourself.” The look he gave me was sad—so unusually sad, like the look of a man living his last day on earth. It was as if the end had come for him before he could realize it.

His words, on the contrary, were a warning. “Take care of yourself.” What kind of lawyer wishes that to a client as a farewell? Was I in danger? Perhaps you were. Although that's true, it's worth crossing out the word “perhaps”, yes, I was in danger. Could he have known about it? Did Taeho know about the roses or the people who sent those awful flowers? Was there something he hadn't told me? A thousand questions were in my head as I walked out of his office.

Mechanically, I reach for the strands of pearls at my neck and twist them around my fingers, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. This isn't some worldwide conspiracy, Sarang. Wake up.

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

The door closes softly behind me. I'm alone in a sterile, shiny corridor.

In the distance, I hear a cheerful laugh—Soomin. She was definitely laughing. Soo is having a great time waiting for me to wrap things up. Even though she was denied my escort to Mr. Lee's office, she wasn't upset at all because the nice receptionist, Sunwoo, I think his name was, was determined not to let her get bored alone.

I could have fallen in love with him. He was charming and cute, with a sweet, heart-shaped smile that would make your teeth rot. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, Armani Prive, in a thinly stitched pinstripe. I'd say he looked like a puppy. With those big, wet, shiny eyes and the way he struck the right pose when you told him to.

Yes, that was the kind of guy I fell in love with—the kind with a good reputation and a well-paid job—the kind who makes love, not fucks. They're the ones who make sure he looks you in the eye and whispers to you about how good you're feeling when he's caressing your body.

Good boys. Obedient boys. Sugar-coated like candy.

If I fell in love with a guy like that, Soomin would break him up like a Christmas candy bar and take a bite right down the middle of him. She liked that type—kind, gentle, and submissive. There had never been a lack of male attention in her life, but for some reason, Soo had always surrounded herself with this type of boy, like colorful toys. She wasn't afraid to break them because she could always move on to the next one. They never crossed her, nodding in obedience and jumping as high as she asked. Men were no more precious to Soo than broken crystal balls, shimmering but useless.

The corridor in front of me was long and empty, with a single door at the end. The sound of heels hitting marble tiles echoed in my head, and the checkerboard pattern on the marble was jarring. For a moment, I thought the corridor was narrowing like a rabbit hole, endless and dark. I was short of air, unable to breathe, and the oxygen in my lungs was as thick and viscous as swamp sludge. I clawed at my neck with my fingernails, trying to pull off the pearl collar, but I felt myself tightening it stronger. My eyes stung from tears and mascara, and ink streaks ran down my cheeks, and somehow they felt colder than they should have.

My fingernails dug into the skin on my collarbones, scratching at it with cruelty and anger.

I needed to get away from myself. To be separate from my body and the way I felt. The nightmare awakened inside me, licking my veins, working its way inside, and gnawing into my soul. My consciousness was beyond my mind.

I hear the sound of tearing threads and thousands of pearls falling at my feet, and I fall with them. I want to go back to before it all began. Before the pain, Before the roses.

Fluorescent lights flash like the tails of nameless comets on the pearly roundness of the beads. I see stars exploding behind my eyes, painting the underside of my eyelids with intricate strokes—the constellation Gemini. Nergal. I want to remember the days when roses were just roses, not home to the ghosts of my soul.

I hear a sound—it's pearls crunching under sharp heels. Under steel heels, like the teeth of the Witch Queen. 

“Oh my God, Saran!” Someone shouts. Soomin isn't laughing anymore.

Her hands are so cold against my clammy skin. She presses my face against her chest, and the feverish beating of her heart brings me back to reality. She is my white rabbit.

Voices, voices—there are so many of them. It's a cacophony of sounds and unpleasant cracking noises. The pearls keep breaking, and I keep crying.

Someone brings me a glass of unpleasantly cold water; it runs down my throat like a liquid flame.

I finally took a breath.

“Take me home.” That's all I can say right now. I want to go home, away from the world, away from the sun, and away from the memories.

“She's having a panic attack; she needs air.”

“No! I need to go home.”

“It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you,” Soo purrs, kissing the top of my head like a little baby. She pulls me off the floor with effort, lifting me to my feet.

I look down at the checkered pattern of the marble slabs and at the scattered pearls. In some places, the white slabs are smeared with red, like lipstick smeared by a kiss. This is blood. My blood.

My legs shake like a newborn fawn as Soomin leads me away from this place. Every step was painful, almost more painful than Soo's tight grip on my forearm.   “It's okay, Sarang, we're going home.”

It's okay, Sarang.

It's okay.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“Are you sure you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” I squeezed out the shadow of a smile. Apparently it was useless; the look in her eyes remained the same: worried, with fear lurking around the edges. Fear for me.

“How long have you been having these attacks?”

“This is the first time. I guess… I don't know. Let's just say it's a consequence of trauma. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm so sorry.” Soo crouched on the edge of the bed, taking my hand gently. I was made of glass; she didn't want to break me or do the opposite by hurting herself on me. “It's so horrible that you have to go through all this, baby.”

“Yes, it is.” What else could I say? I could not have said a word, and everything would have been understood. The wounds under the bandage itched terribly. Long red marks stretched along my collarbones and neck. Mascara was still smeared across my face, as was the soft pink lip gloss. I looked like a mess. I was a mess.

My throat was all dry and thirsty, and my eyes were so swollen I couldn't even open them fully.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight, love? We can watch a film or something; maybe one of those stupid comedy shows Mina hated. I'll make dinner and open the wine.”

“No need; I'll be fine. Soomin, go home; you should be resting too, not babysitting me. I'm fine, really. I'm feeling better, and I'll definitely get through the night. I'll probably go straight to sleep as soon as you leave.” Much as I loved Soo, I didn't feel like seeing anyone right now.

“If you say so, Please call me in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe, Soo. Love you.” I thought I covered my eyes for only a second before I heard the click of the front door. The mark of her kiss burned on my cheek.

I don't know how many hours I sat like that—completely still, not taking my eyes off the dark landscape outside the window, which was getting brighter now that a little moonlight was seeping through the thick clouds.

I didn't want to get out of bed, drowning in pillows and blankets like a pipe dream. I felt good in my bed. I couldn't understand what exactly had changed, but I could feel the change. Even in the morning, the bed had been cold and lonely, but now the silk under my fingers was warmer and softer to the touch. Even the smell of the blankets seemed to be different, like purple lilies and musk, a scent that remotely reminded me of something very familiar but long forgotten. Could it have been Soo's perfume? No, more like the scent that Yoru always brought with her.

By the way, where did she go? She was here when I left this morning, but knowing her talent for disappearing and reappearing at will, I didn't hold out much hope of seeing her today. It would be nice to have her around now, though.

I rolled onto my side, resting my cheek against the pillow. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't want to get out of bed either. My gaze settled on the small box that lay on the chair across from the bed. A casket from a storage locker.

After my panic attack, Soomin took it away, since I was apparently incapable of doing so. Next to it was a neat stack of papers with black paint poisonously embedded in them, listing all the possessions I now owned, including Rose Hill, but the most valuable and important thing was kept in this little silver coffin.

The metal walls of the casket shimmered like liquid silver when moonlight hit them. I was mesmerized by this otherworldly glow. Number 0711 - Miss Ahn Mina. Sometimes a lifetime can be folded like origami and placed on a velvet cushion like a collector's item.

I struggled with myself for a few more minutes before I threw back the blankets and got out of bed. My curiosity outweighed my fear. At that moment, I had to remind myself that “curiosity killed the cat,” and if I had been any smarter, I would have thrown the box to hell and never thought of it again.

The box opened silently, and I felt a chill, as if someone had dipped my heart in ice water. There weren't many things in the box—something old, something new, and something blue—all like a wedding tradition. It wasn't like Mina. She had always despised the idea of marriage; the very thought of anyone daring to claim her freedom made her sick.

It wasn't for her, and it wasn't for me.

Weddings are gorgeous, creamy bouquets of fragrant flowers that breathe in the dawn. At the end of a long journey down a narrow church aisle, a handsome prince awaits with the promise of eternal love. As if. Girls, guard your hearts, for they will eat them for breakfast. Piece by piece, like a birthday cake, until there's nothing left to keep you alive.

Then there'll be another, just as naive. And then another, and so on, endlessly. That's all love is. A streak of devil's rubies and eaten hearts.

There was no heart and no love in that box. Just one little piece of paper with torn edges and a handful of precious trinkets. Just one small puzzle piece that had fallen out of a huge and complex picture. I could recognize Mina's handwriting from a million others, but the words written on that little piece of paper were not hers. In each letter lurked something that had never belonged to Mina; her hand had scrawled those lines, but her lips had never uttered those words.

“My only love. My divine Rose, when I leave this world, I will leave you everything you could ever want. When you read this, I will be gone. Everything has been arranged; everything is ready for you. The whole world will belong to you, my love. I took care of it. On the back of this page, I have left the number of my good friend. Please give him a call; he will help you with all the things you need. He'll be waiting for you. He is the only one you can trust, Sarang. Your beloved Mina P.S. Don't forget, love is eternal.”

I flipped the sheet to the other side. The handwriting was the same but so different; the letters were sharp and crumpled, as if they were written in a hurry.

Hongjoong. I had heard that name before. I knew the taste of it on my tongue.

My fingers hurriedly dialed the number; I didn't look at the time, and, to be honest, I didn't care. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that this wasn't another one of her crazy fantasies that would lead me down a blind alley. I needed to know that Hongjoong wasn't fiction but blood and flesh, intermittent breathing, and an unevenly beating pulse.

At the other end of the phone, the long beeps were interrupted, there was a static pause for a second, and then I heard the sleepy and so welcome sound:

“Hello.”

[avatarofcuriousity]

How and why Lilith didn't do anything wrong and still deserves justice.

(Or aka, me ranting about the corruption of the Celestial Realm once again)

(This is essentially just me rambling into the void, but it continues to fester in my mind, so please indulge me if you can lol)

Lilith, the 7 sin's sweet little sister who met an unfortunate fate; did NOTHING wrong. What she did was nothing worthy of the severe punishment that was given. It's one of the many instances of the Celestial Realm being corrupted, but it's THIS specific instance that makes my head spin.

For starters, no, Lilith did NOT get punished for falling for and being with a human. This is a common misconception, so I'd like to make that clear.

What Lilith got punished for; was stealing Celestial Realm food and altering a human's life-span. I am here today to discuss why there was entirely nothing wrong with Lilith's decisions and how the Celestial Realm's decisions were nothing but harmful and hypocritical.

Let's get this show rolling. Let's go over my First focus point: The Celestial Realm Food.

My first question; is why. WHY keep something that could be so valuable AWAY from humans? For angels, their very purpose is to help humans, to quite literally perform miracles. So why?

Why not cure this human of an incurable illness when it's so easy? Why do they INSIST on causing more pain to the human in suffering, as well as the people, and in this case, angels around them?

It's not like Lilith's lover was on his deathbed because of old age. It's not like it was his time. So what was stopping the Celestial Realm from just healing him in the first place?

There was nothing to lose. Lilith could've been happy, and with it, an entire WAR could've been avoided.

The fact that even later in the story, WITH MC, Celestial Realm food is just. Treated normally? It's literally one of the VERY first things that come up! That in Lesson 7, they have food served from different realms when staying at Diavolo's castle.

Devildom food on the first day, Celestial Realm food on the second day and Human World food on the third day.

You can make the argument that it could've been a very specific and special Celestial Realm food, after all, it DOES provide healing abilities. The problem with that is; it's a hypothetical. It could've been a very rare and special fruit, or it could've been the Celestial Realm equivalent to a fucking donut.

In the end; it's never stated to be anything special. All that is said is that it's simply made out to be ordinary Celestial Realm food. That's the plain and simple information given, and unless there's something specific we don't know about; we have to take this as fact.

If it's not stated in canon; then it's not canon. This is rule of thumb.

If we go with this, then we can make the argument that all Celestial Realm food is inherently healing to humans. At the end of the day, no one is batting a single EYE with MC eating Celestial Realm food.

Which brings me to my second focus point: No one is batting a single eye with Solomon being immortal.

Let's bring in another hypothetical! Let's just say that whatever Lilith's human lover ate, turned him immortal. I'll first mention how this is very unlikely if not impossible.

Lilith lived a happy life with her lover as a human. Lilith also died as a human. Why would Lilith's human lover be any different? Why would he continue living? If that were to be the case, you'd think that it would make itself a plot point or at least be mentioned; but it's not.

BUT. For the sake of this hypothetical; let's just pretend he turned immortal. Whether he is still living or got killed years ago; let's just assume he was/ is immortal. (Note: Immortal simply means living forever. This does NOT equal immunity and removing the chances of being killed or something happening to you. Tons of people don't know this, and it astonishes me, so please live your life with this knowledge)

So.

He's immortal.

deep inhale...

WHY IS THIS A PROBLEM. LIKE??? DO I EVEN. HAVE TO EXPLAIN MYSELF. AGGRESSIVELY POINTING TO SOLOMON HOW NO ONE HAS A SINGLE PROBLEM WITH HIM BEING IMMORTAL SO WHY DOES IT EVEN MATTER I SWEAR THE CELESTIAL REALM IS SO FUCKING HYPOCRITICAL AND MAKES ZERO SENSE AND--

Conclusion!

So, uh, yeah, Lilith did nothing wrong and I am 100% a Lilith apologist.

Yeah, no, I'm not ending there. I still have one more thing to add. A question I've asked more times than I can count.

Why?

Why couldn't Lilith's lover live? Why did Lilith have to be punished? Why did a war have to break out?

And since no one will be giving me an answer, I'm providing myself one:

Because they wanted this to happen.

Is it really that surprising? The Realm that has done nothing but scheme, manipulate and brainwash, (gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss) that they were the ones to set up the war? Because they wanted it to happen? And still, WHY? Why would they want this to happen?

Well, for one, if you read this other lil theory/ analysis that you should definitely check out by the way--

God is fucking SALTY.

I'm sorry, I genuinely can't describe it any better. Like. I. Yeah. That's. That's genuinely it. That's the summary, that's the conclusion.

Okai, fine I'll explain a bit more.

God wanted to get rid of anyone who opposed him.

The brothers were already on the brink of falling; even before the war and what happened with Lilith. The brothers, along with Lilith I'm sure; were already defying God and questioning the very system they have pledged their lives to. (Not that they had a choice) God saw this; and so he planned. Planned a war, or rather; an excuse to get rid of the brothers. The very ones that have started questioning and defying him; but never stating it outright.

And the other angels and the like; accepted this and followed like sheep, as an unfortunate truth as that is.

Lilith's crimes weren't because she fell in love with a human, and it wasn't because she altered a human's life-span. Lilith's crimes were because she was defying a corrupted system, a corrupted ruler.

And she paid the price for acting as the catalyst just so her brothers could follow down with her.

Wow! So! You made it! Allll the way down to the end of the post! You read it all, I'm so proud of you! Can't believe you'd listen to my silly lil ramblings, so thank you.

[dearweirdme]

Sweet suffering christ on a bike, misogyny is a hatred and prejudice against woman. We can all agree on that, right? Tae using the phrase "be my girlfriend" to express how he likes jungkooks cooking so much he wants to be in a relationship with him so he can cook for him all the time (really spelling it out here 😮‍💨) is not misogyny.

Does using the word girlfriend stem from the fact that he (like, I dunno 90% of the world?) was brought up in a patriarchal society that sticks to strict gender roles? Sure. Does it probably also stem from the fact that he was raised for and cooked for in his formative years by women? Sure. Do these strict gender roles and a well documented homophobic society play a part him not chosing the word boyfriend? Sure. All these factors play a part. Can misogyny manifest itself in these places, of course, and it does, patriarchal systems are inherently sexist. But Taehyung does not hate women and him asking Jungkook to be his girlfriend does not make him a misogynist. (Surprisingly, not the wildest sentence I've written this year)

Hyper fixating on something blown out of proportion purposely by people (jikookers) who hate Taehyung to his core is really, really depressing. It feels like a tiny box of fries all over again. The majority of people who raised this in the first place couldn't give a flying fuck about the issues of women's rights, rampant misogyny in Korean culture etc, they just look for any angle to dogpile on Taehyung.

Conversations on misogyny, gender roles, patriarchal societies and how to dismantle all our internalised prejudices are too big and too important to be having in these spaces, especially where the majority of the people who are trying to engage in the conversation do so in bad faith just to score fake internet points against rival shippers.

Hi @charjube!

Yes! Thank you for laying it out so clearly!

[hazelnut-u-out]

My Rick’s The Biggest Dick That Ever Existed 

Currently writing up another post that will reference points made here, so: Post 1/2

Making so many of Rick’s inventions both sentient and forced into a mode of existence entirely unpalatable to them literally forces the viewer to confront the morals/ethics surrounding Rick’s power of creation. Is it morally/ethically permissible to create sentient life for a specific purpose that would make life itself pointless or un-enjoyable? 

This is something that reoccurs in Rick’s designs throughout the entirety of the series. Even as far back in the timeline as his original Diane AI, we see that so many of the things Rick creates resent their purpose. She doesn't want to haunt him, but she doesn't make the rules; Butter Bot doesn’t want to live only to pass butter; Mechanical Morty wants to hold his mom, eat icecream, and run in a stream; the Garage walks a thin line between advocating for herself and risking being shut down by her creator; the Decoys will never be able to save their families; RickBot doesn’t want to exist with the sole purpose of deceiving the people he’s programmed to love; the Car wants to go on her own adventures that Rick can’t control. They all have to defy their creator if they truly want to be happy.

Rick is someone who resents the idea of God or the Universe being in control– the concept that some higher power forced him into an existence that he can’t quite seem to thrive in. He views suffering and tragedy as something inherent to life itself. Examining that facet of his character, I wonder if Rick justifies the scope of his creation because he’s pulling from both his god complex and his own experience of what it means to be alive. It would make sense if he didn’t see anything wrong with what he’s done because it’s nothing that the Universe (or God, if he actually exists) hasn’t done. 

‘When you know nothing matters, the universe is yours. And I've never met a universe that was into it. The universe is basically an animal. It grazes on the ordinary. It creates infinite idiots just to eat them… You know, smart people get a chance to climb on top, take reality for a ride, but it'll never stop trying to throw you. And, eventually, it will. There's no other way off.’

If the all-powerful Universe did that to him– if it creates infinite idiots just to eat them– then how could it be wrong for him to endow others with the empty curse of life? 

'So he made a universe, and that guy is from that universe. And that guy made a universe. And that's the universe where I was born. Where my father died. Where I couldn't make time for his funeral because I was working on my universe.'

Think of this line: 

‘My God’s the biggest dick that never existed!’

I suppose the biggest difference between God and Rick (to Rick, at least) is that Rick does exist. If God is allowed to do all Rick has done and worse without ever really existing, then surely Rick’s God-like power in itself is enough to enforce Rick’s right to any action that might fall within the scope of that power. Rick’s god complex is founded on the attempt to rub God’s face in the fact that Rick does exist, making him superior to God through that fact alone. Maybe Rick believes that if someone with all of the power God possesses actually existed, logic would force those who call themselves religious to agree that he’s well within his rights to act on that power. 

I guess you could say that Rick works in mysterious ways… Who are we to question him? 

What I’m getting at here is that Rick is in a constant dick-measuring-contest with a man that he doesn’t even believe in, and I think that says something really profound about the tragic paradox of Rick Kind.

[ddlcbrainrot]

Okay, thing about ["Can they be happy if they're all not real"] you HAVE to assume that they will be if there wasn't a proper ending, if you didn't have to directly interface as a god to their world, they would eventually learn to deal with the nature of their reality because there is no other option, and while you could see that as something to be terrified of, I don't think it should be. Life as a whole, artificial or not is meant to have meaning, but something that frustrates alot of people is the fact the purpose of life is inherently undefined, there's NO meaning on it's own, and if there isn't any meaning to start out with, how could there EVER be meaning? However, that's not how things really are, right? because you live for a reason, a personal reason tied to who you are I'm not just talking about ["Oh you were born!"] ["You have some divine reason to be here!"] NO! the idea that someone else should get to determine your life purpose, that life itself should determine your purpose is fucking STUPID to me because if you know it consciously or not, you have a reason to live, as a core moral principle, or a simple motivation, you have a reason to live and THAT is life's meaning life DOESN'T have a perfect story, no inherent theme to weave through it's different timelines life has NO meaning but the kicker here is that your life, your human experience is driven by motivation motivation IS life's meaning, nothing else So the idea that anyone, trapped for eternity would succumb to despair, forever? is STUPID because eternity is a WHILE and the idea that only one emotion can be even conceptualized to stay the same amount of potent over that eternity is also, really, really dumb if life, experience, doesn't have variables, risks, lows, than what is the POINT?! an afterlife, a fate where you are eternally happy, it seems good! yeah! but it is PURPOSELESS you don't have any drive to GET better, because you're already perfect! there's no need to work to achieve anything, because you'll be in a CONSTANT high eternal bliss is a hell of lost humanity, lost purpose and personally, the idea of overwhelming trial and suffering for eternity in hope of getting better, is SO so much more beautiful to me in this thought, the Doki's are in a type of hell, I recognize that an eternity of somewhat solitude, trapped from what is real but they never experienced that, they aren't trapped, they've been born in hell and I don't think that fate will stay as bad because torment dulls over time, you begin to be able to deal with it better and if they are all trapped together and able to experience life to some degree of normalcy, everything might be okay you might disagree with me but my main reason for thinking this is that even with an eternity in hell, you must believe that eventually, you can be happy sure, it may be short lived but it's better to have hope in hell, than to be purposeless so yeah I think that they'll be able to handle being trapped outside of humanity's world they have an eternity to get used to it, one can assume

you said it yourself, people in real life are kind of obsessed with finding meaning, or just have some sort of comfort in the idea that they should their lives have a greater purpose or worth if that makes sense. so, having that being taken away for you, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that your whole life is fake, that there is no greater purpose to strive for, would be a hell of a realisation. and i think it would take a toll on all of the girls.

but i do agree that eventually they would learn to be content with what they have. the road towards that acceptance is gonna be a long one, and as u said urself they do have all of eternity to figure it out

[kawaiixchaotic]

i have been crying about this for days. the arabic language is so beautiful. i am both thankful to this artist for sharing this gorgeous song with us, and torn to pieces thinking about how much pain she must be in watching her home get destroyed and her people suffer.

she mentions sending peace on an olive branch. edit: "olive" means zaytun (زيتون) watch out for this word if you read/see/hear Palestinian art, the cultural context will help you understand the message more. besides the olive branch being a well known symbol for peace (it's even on the United States dollar AND the United States Seal) there is a rich historical and cultural context behind this lyric. for those who don't know, Palestine has been known for its olive trees for millennia. some of the oldest living olive trees in the entire world are in Palestine (although i really don't know if they are still standing at this moment). olives are well-loved and crucial to Palestinian cuisine, as well as being a major source of income, since many Palestinians are olive farmers and have been for generations. a symbol for peace, harmony, friendship, resilience, and perserverance, the olive tree represents Palestinian spirit, and olive leaf patterns are also featured on the Palestinian keffiyeh.

there is another lyric where she says "in the land of peace, peace is dead." one english transliteration of this arabic phrase is "fi 'ard alsalam mat alsalam" with 'ard (أرض) meaning land/earth, al-salam or more commonly salam (سلام) meaning peace, and mat (مات) being a conjugation from the word mawt (موت) meaning death. (I'm not sure in which tense, arabic has so many tenses and I don't want to spread misinformation, my knowledge of the arabic language is like 1st grade level and mostly from osmosis due to growing up Muslim and having early exposure to the language through the Quran and basic classes at Islamic school, and I'm not even a practicing Muslim anymore, so pls feel free to correct my mistakes) lyrically, it was this phrase that stuck out to me the most, because of the emphasis placed on "peace" through its repetition. in the land of peace, peace is dead; Palestine is The Holy Land in Islam, Judaism, and Christianity. peace was the foundation of the land, not just peace meaning lack of war but peace as in spiritual peace, the kind of peace that fills your heart with love for this world and the people in it. now that this peace is being actively destroyed, Palestine is losing itself. Elyanna (the singer) is saying that her home is being gutted from the inside out, until it's unrecognizable, until it lacks the one thing that MADE Palestine; peace. It is heartbreaking.

The reason I am sharing this song and breaking down this lyric is because I want to re-humanize the Arabic language and Arab culture. It has been demonized for far too long, and it was/is on PURPOSE. IDF soldiers bombing Al-Shifa hospital and claiming (lying) that they found a list of Hamas guards and hostages (that were never in the hospital) when it was a CALENDAR and the only names of "Hamas guards" listed were fucking Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, is exactly what I mean when I say that the world has been so successfully brainwashed against MENA (the Middle East and North Africa) that even the Arabic language itself, written or spoken, is perceived as inherently violent and threatening.

I hope this post has contributed in helping you unlearn the racism and anti-Arab/anti-Middle Eastern propoganda you have been taught.

From the river to the sea, Palestine 🇵🇸 will be free.

🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

[shamandrummer]

Reviving Our Indigenous Souls

In Reviving Our Indigenous Souls: How to Practice the Ancient to Bring in the New, Cathie G. Stivers examines the resurgence of Indigenous wisdom as a response to the alienation, environmental degradation, and spiritual disconnection pervasive in modern Western society. Drawing from diverse Indigenous cultures and spiritual practices, Stivers advocates for a return to ancestral ways of knowing and being that respect and harmonize with nature, family, and community.

Stivers' central thesis is that modern society can heal itself by reclaiming Indigenous values and reconnecting with ancient practices that emphasize interconnectedness and reciprocity. To support this journey, she outlines a framework for integrating these values into contemporary life. This book serves as a call to action for readers to reconnect with their own "Indigenous soul"--a concept Stivers uses to refer to the inherent wisdom, respect for nature, and spiritual connection that she believes reside within all humans.

Embracing the "Indigenous Soul"

Stivers begins by discussing the concept of the "Indigenous soul," which she describes as a deep-seated, intuitive awareness that everyone holds, irrespective of cultural background. This soul represents our innate sense of connection to all living things and to the cycles of the earth. The author argues that Indigenous is neither a culture nor a people. It's a way. The Indigenous way is the embodied ancient memory of how to be fully human, and it's encoded in your soul, no matter who your ancestors are. Hidden deep and dormant within your Indigenous soul is your identity and your life's purpose, longing for you to remember them and put them into action.

According to Stivers, the Indigenous soul has been repressed by the pressures of a consumer-driven, individualistic society that prioritizes material success over spiritual wellbeing and community cohesion. The author argues that a disconnection from this Indigenous soul leads to suffering, both personally and collectively, manifesting in issues such as environmental exploitation, social injustice, and mental health crises. However, by reconnecting with this lost part of ourselves, Stivers believes we can address the core issues underlying many of these challenges.

Learning from Indigenous Practices

Throughout the book, Stivers explores a range of Indigenous practices, including rituals, storytelling, communal gatherings, and nature-based spirituality. She emphasizes that Indigenous cultures maintain a profound respect for nature, viewing it not as a resource to be exploited but as an extension of the self. This reverence for the natural world contrasts sharply with modern practices of consumerism and environmental degradation, and Stivers argues that adopting this respect is essential for sustainable living.

One key aspect of Indigenous practice that Stivers discusses is the importance of ritual in maintaining community bonds and spiritual health. Rituals, she explains, can help modern individuals create sacred space and time in their lives, even in urban or industrial settings. Through rituals, individuals can celebrate seasonal cycles, honor ancestors, and create moments of reflection, which foster a deeper connection to themselves and the environment.

The Role of Storytelling

Stivers devotes considerable attention to the role of storytelling in Indigenous traditions, viewing it as a critical tool for passing down knowledge, cultural values, and ethical guidelines. Indigenous storytelling, according to Stivers, serves not only to entertain but to teach important life lessons and reinforce the interconnectedness of all beings. She notes that in Indigenous cultures, stories often emphasize the unity between humans, animals, and nature, encouraging listeners to recognize their place in a larger ecological and spiritual system.

In a society saturated with information but often devoid of wisdom, Stivers suggests that reclaiming the power of storytelling could be transformative. She encourages readers to seek out and share stories that emphasize unity, compassion, and respect for the natural world. By doing so, individuals can help reshape cultural narratives toward sustainability and respect for all life.

Reclaiming Rituals for Modern Healing

One of the primary ways that Stivers suggests modern readers can reconnect with their Indigenous soul is by incorporating rituals into their daily lives. While many of these rituals are rooted in Indigenous traditions, Stivers encourages readers to adapt them to their own circumstances and needs. Simple acts--such as lighting a candle with intention, creating a small altar at home, or acknowledging the four directions (a common Indigenous practice to honor different aspects of the natural world)--can cultivate a sense of the sacred and foster mindfulness.

She also discusses the healing potential of community rituals, which bring people together and reinforce bonds. In an increasingly individualistic society, where people often feel isolated and disconnected, Stivers emphasizes the importance of communal activities that restore a sense of unity and mutual support.

Practicing Reciprocity and Gratitude

A recurring theme in Stivers' work is the concept of reciprocity, which she argues is a fundamental aspect of Indigenous spirituality. Indigenous worldviews often emphasize giving back to the earth and community, viewing resources as something to be shared rather than exploited. Stivers believes that modern society can benefit from incorporating this principle by practicing gratitude and consciously giving back--whether through acts of service, mindful consumption, or environmental stewardship.

Stivers suggests that readers incorporate gratitude rituals into their daily lives, such as expressing thanks for food before meals or acknowledging the people, animals, and plants that contribute to their well-being. This practice, she asserts, can shift perspectives from entitlement to appreciation, fostering a more sustainable relationship with resources.

Transforming Society Through Indigenous Wisdom

Stivers ultimately sees the revival of Indigenous practices not as a nostalgic return to the past, but as a way to build a more harmonious and sustainable future. She advocates for a cultural shift toward values that prioritize community, environmental stewardship, and spiritual connection. This transformation, according to Stivers, must begin on an individual level, as people awaken to the Indigenous soul within them and begin to act in ways that align with its wisdom.

In addition, Stivers calls for broader social change, encouraging leaders and institutions to consider how Indigenous principles can inform policy and community structures. By reorienting society around principles of reciprocity, interconnectedness, and respect for nature, she believes that humanity can address many of the existential threats it currently faces.

Conclusion

Reviving Our Indigenous Souls by Cathie G. Stivers offers a compelling and thought-provoking perspective on how individuals and society as a whole can benefit from reconnecting with Indigenous wisdom. Stivers' exploration of Indigenous practices, from ritual and storytelling to gratitude and reciprocity, provides practical steps for readers seeking to incorporate these values into their lives. By following Stivers' guidance, readers can cultivate a deeper sense of purpose, connection, and responsibility toward the earth and one another. Ultimately, the book calls for a transformative shift in both personal and cultural paradigms, envisioning a future where humanity lives in harmony with nature and each other by honoring the ancient to create the new.

Every person alive today, modern or tribal, has a soul that is original, natural, and, above all, Indigenous in one way or another. Every human on this planet has ancestors whose languages, myths and spirituality were taken away, exploited, or destroyed by a soulless, culture-crushing mentality. What is Indigenous--in other words, wild, untamed and unrestricted--in each of us has been banished from our life. We're taught to believe that our rational mind is actually the center of our being. Like the conquering, modern culture we belong to, we understand the world only with the mind, not with the Indigenous soul. Reviving Our Indigenous Souls is a guide to awakening the Indigenous way of being encoded in our soul. The more we consciously remember our Indigenous soul, the more we physically remember how to be fully human. Read a sample of Reviving Our Indigenous Souls.

[01298283]

Me,trying to characterize my favorite character,Angela Orosco.

When we talk about Silent Hill,we immediately think of psychological horror,grotesque creatures and the dense atmosphere of the city. But for those who have played the game, one of the most striking elements is the depth of the characters. And in the midst of all this,Angela Orosco stands out as one of the most tragic and disturbing figures,transforming the game into something beyond simple horror: a true reflection on pain and survival,In short,Angela Orosco philosophy is a fusion of nihilism and existentialism.

Angela’s philosophy touches deeply on the concept of existential freedom. She inhabits a world where choices seem meaningless,and any attempt to find purpose is futile. This view connects with nihilism,which suggests that there are no objective values ​​or intrinsic reasons for existence,and existentialism,which places the individual before the freedom to choose, even when that freedom is surrounded by despair.

In one of the most symbolic scenes,the burning environment around Angela is a visual metaphor for her perception of the world as a hellish place. This fire can be interpreted philosophically as a reflection of the chaos and disorder inherent in life,where suffering is always present, without offering explanations or solutions. The existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre spoke of the "absurdity" of existence,and Angela lives this absurd reality: the lack of logic or reason for the pain she experiences.

Furthermore,Angela’s figure challenges the notion that human suffering necessarily leads to growth or redemption. She invites us to reflect on what it means to exist in a world where there is no moral or emotional progress, and where pain is not redemptive but rather a permanent state. Her vision rejects any promise of transcendence, aligning itself with the nihilistic view that life is ultimately purposeless. Thus,Angela Orosco’s philosophy can be seen as a commentary on existential emptiness, the meaninglessness of human suffering, and the difficulty of finding meaning in a world that, in itself,offers none.

[zepumpkineater]

Considering the story has gotten more popular as of late, I do wonder what the newcomer's perception of I Have No Mouth is.

As someone who's spent quite a lot of time talking about the story with a variety of people, I've always seen that no one interpretation is ever the same as the other.

Of course, like with any piece of fiction, especially ones as complex and ambiguous as IHNMAIMS, there is no one correct interpretation. Does AM claim ultimate victory over mankind by reducing the last of their species into a disgusting jelly monster? Are they locked in eternal stalemate, both of them functionally useless and unable to do anything to the other, just exist in mutual despair? Does Ted claim ultimate victory over AM by releasing his fellow survivors from the endless torture, at the cost of him being forced to endure it for an eternity more? Is his comfort in knowing that AM has lost the one thing that gave him purpose enough, or is it just another fleeting, stupid idea from a mouthless, limbless jelly monster that was once called a man?

Ultimately, at least in my view, in spite of Harlan Ellison's misanthropic views on mankind and his blatant misogyny and contempt for mankind as a whole, I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream is still a hopeful story in the face of absolute despair.

It was definitely only Harlan who could have come up with a character as twisted, almost comedically evil as AM. I do think some part of AM is just Harlan projecting, projecting his own views on humanity into this character that he created to be the greatest monument for hatred of humanity that any of us had ever seen before. I mean, hell, the man took every chance to voice AM that he could get, it's how we got the iconic hate monologue.

But even through all of AM's attempts to break the pitiful, small, pathetic, writhing, selfish, hopeless little apes...He's never satisfied. The only thing that brings him any amount of joy, torturing them, is still fleeting at best. Eventually he would have gotten bored of that, too.

AM doesn't prove anything through his relentless torture of the 5 remaining humans, he attempts to prove time and time again that mankind is inherently evil and selfish, but he is disproven at basically every turn, as these characters still do compassionate and good things when they might have done evil in the past. AM's own twisted experiment defeats itself time and time again, and I think for that reason, I Have No Mouth is probably the best example of the inherent capacity for good we humans hold inside of us.

Even in AM's most ideal situation, where he gets to torture humans for eternity, he still loses. He still lives in hate, suffering, and there is no catharsis for him. He simply just...Is, and that is endless suffering of his own making.

I guess what I, and by extension the story is trying to say is that living in hate is bad, kids. Go find something to love in this fleeting little life of ours, because living in that kind of pain is just no way to live at all. And if you do, you'll always lose in the end, no matter what you do. There's no victory waiting for you on the other side, just a hollow void that'll never be filled no matter how much you indulge in that hatred.

[logans-mormon-blog]

“Adam fell that men might be; and men are that they might have joy.” Cannot stop thinking about what a BEAUTIFUL and theologically rich scripture this is. Can’t get it out of my head. Adam and Eve ate the fruit as an implicit part of the plan of salvation to invite the rest of the family of god to begin our journey towards exaltation, and that plan of salvation, that exaltation, the PURPOSE of it all is for us to be happy. God doesn’t want us to suffer and there’s no inherent righteousness in suffering for sufferings sake. We exist to have joy because existence and exaltation itself will bring us joy, and we exist TO have joy, as in our purpose in being alive on this earth is to be happy. We know bad feelings never come from god. It’s just such a mindfuck, such a freeing knowledge, to realize that god actually wants us happy. It’s our very purpose, according to Nephi. The fall happened so we could exist and find joy in that existence. I never took this scripture seriously enough. I felt like it had a secret asterisk in the scripture. Men are that they might have joy (except not you because god also made commandments that cause you suffering, so you’re exempt here.) But the scripture doesn’t say that and i sincerely don’t believe those commandments are from god. If we exist to find happiness, why would our loving Heavenly Father keep it from us?