#as i always say! LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT SIN CAST THE FIRST STONE!

[meatmensch]

The people that have abandoned me really need to stop talking to me like they have any right to tell me what to do, or I swear to God, I'm gonna get the FUCKING hammer.

[weclassybouquetfun]

It's always fascinating to see how various fandoms relationship with what is perceived as acceptable has changed over the years. I was never in the HANNIBAL fandom but as a HANNIBAL viewer I obviously knew of the fandom and how heavily invested they were (and remain) about the relationship between Will Graham and Hannibal. So what that Hannibal stabbed Will. Who cares if he sawed open Will's head. Let those without sin cast the first stone, I say. If Will can love Hannibal after nearly being gutted by him, who am I to judge?

It's why it's hilarious that nearly eight years later there are fans who need a fainting couches over the passionate, yet toxic (passionately toxic?) relationship between Lestat de Lioncourt and Louis Du Pont Du Lac in AMC's INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE.

It's even funnier when people who are on the fence about the depiction of Lestat's cruelty decide they want to read the books and then being even more horrified by that.

Live look at AMC INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE watchers trying to read The Vampire Chronicles.

Lestat being awful and his obsessive love for Louis is a large part of his appeal. Even Louis rolls with it - when he's not being emotionally drained by it.

And then Louis promptly proceeds to fight and f*ck Lestat right then and there.

Not saying everyone has to have the same level of tolerance. Not at all. Just that characters doing despicable things didn't seem as much as a deal breaker less than a decade ago for many.

The latest entry in this is TEEN WOLF. Nearly six years after the MTV series' finale, there is a Paramount+ film and due to a particular plot device, has reawakened the sleeping dragon that stirred in the subsequent years of the show ending. There are people who are just now finding out that one of the show's biggest ships is Stiles and Derek (Sterek, if you will) and they are shaking, crying, throwing up, needing fainting couches and smelling salts that, then, teenage Stiles was/is being shipped with adult Derek.

Stephen A., take it home for me.

*Amended because I abhor the royal "we" so I don't care. YMMV.

[my-heart-is-at-csilla]

I said this before but I will say it again. I will always love and support Thrawn even if he would hijack the Death Star and blow up half the Galaxy with it but that's just me.

I guess I have said that enough that most of the above post was completed using predictive text.

But seriously, people need to stop being so damn self righteous and attacking Timothy Zahn cause of Thrawn's background. Don't they realize that mostly everyone is complex? They are shaped by their upbringing, environment, life experiences, friends and loved ones. There is no black and white, it's a complex world of colors out there, and everyone is different. Maybe those who are being self righteous have lived in a 2 dimensional black and white world but at the end, is that truly living?

Thrawn is a highly complex character, one who serves the greater good, who might make choices that we might not like but at the end, no one is perfect. One can love a character without completely agreeing with all of their choices but yet understanding the whys and hows of why they made that certain decision is also apart of knowing that character fully, appreciating the beautiful complexity of his or hers being.

Those self righteous twats who are attacking Timothy Zahn and all of us who loves Thrawn needs to remember a certain quote-

"He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone"

[iamsorryiamaustralian]

Do you have a good in-depth list of hypnotic predators and missing stairs who do predator

TW:SA

Unfortunately no, there are a few reasons for this.

1) I have very little ability to actually scale influence over other blogs? I can't tell if I am relatively big on here and thus have influence that can do good or if I am smaller and so if I called out people it would just look petty. If I then look petty, other individuals with genuine evidence against these will then be lumped in with me diminishing them

2) I haven't been on Tumblr in about a year

3) I live on the other side of the planet compared to most of you. Essentially, all of the drama and Goss in the hypnokink community happens when I am asleep. I tend to often wake-up and realise that something massive happened. Additionally, because of the timezone difference I actually don't interact naturally with larger creators. Some of the bigger people have been called out like Neural Nets and Nimja. I think while we have these big tists being called out, the threat of mistreatment often seems to be from smaller tists due to their ability to go under the radar.

4) Other hypnotists and members do a great job at this, I am not skirting responsibility but relative to others, I am inadequate. I will always, always, always recommend @pruning-the-minds-garden. While I will always say be critical of who you follow and the posts the post, this creator often seems to have a solid ethical and moral guideline and effectively calls out toxic tists.

5) There is only one person I would ever want to call out who is a tist. I have had plenty of shitty subs and that's what it is but I complained about it in one of my files. This creator often posts videos or gifs of their hypnotic subjects. It seems they get the consent to post the videos and gifs while they are still in trance. After the tist is bored of the subs, they will block the sub but leave the gif and video up. I personally think you cannot get consent while in trance. I haven't named them because they seem to get the blog flagged and reported each month (good) however they just re-upload everything to a new blog. The evidence I have is circumstantial however I have been in this community long enough to know a bad egg. If you know of a tist who constantly needs to remake their blog, I guarantee it is because they have been reported for unconsentual posting of images and sexual assault

6) Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone. When I was learning to hypnotise, I did shitting things. I have never shied away from this truth, however I deeply regret it. I won't go into details but I have been a toxic tists at certain points without realising it. I feel I have learnt and changed but regardless the damage I may have caused has been done

Sorry for the rant, figured I'd say what I wanted to say

[irfire]

OK, wow do I want to talk about all the bible verses Tamsyn uses in her John chapters! But, first a disclaimer: I’m Jewish and have a pretty solid background in TaNaKh and Jewish textual criticism but basically none in Christian/second testament textual criticism. Despite my lack of knowledge in the second testament, I went through and collected each of the bible verses for each of John’s excerpts - along with in some cases relevant following lines - because I just... had to know.

Part of my fascination here is that in many of these verses, John’s experience parallels elements of Jesus’. But, the biblical John is a disciple, not a messiah-figure like Jesus. John blurs the lines between Earth’s disciple, and “god” figure himself. The blurring of the lines in Tamsyn’s verse choices are also particularly interesting following her most recent interview where she said she’s got like six christ characters all running around. Everyone is a christ figure - and they all do it differently. Even the characters that are supposed to just be a disciple find themselves trying to play at a christ or a divine story line. Anyways, what follows is all of the verses and some of my loose and chaotic thoughts. Curious what others are noticing. All translations are from the New International Version and compiled using Blue Letter Bible.

John 20:8 “Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed.”

Okay when I first opened the book and obviously googled this right away I got CHILLS. We open with a reference to reaching the tomb and believing. This both feels like it’s in reference to everyone seeing the Earth as a tomb and believing. As well as, of course, everyone who at the end of the book, will go to the tomb and believe. She begins, as always, foreshadowing the end. And I find that infuriating and incredibly metal of her.

John 5:20 “For the Father loves the Son and shows him all he does. Yes, and he will show him even greater works than these, so that you will be amazed.”

“Most of the bodies got the melt, like we thought they would... But, Harrow... all the ones I touched, all the ones I loved... they stayed incorrupti” (NtN 76).

Fascinated by what is either a careful writing choice, or a sloppy copy error to leave out the period after “incorrupti”. It’s as if Tamsyn whispers back at the scripture to add an ominous open ending to the “amazed”.

John 15:23 “Whoever hates me hates my Father as well.” And continuing to the next two lines “If I had not done among them the works no one else did, they would not be guilty of sin. As it is, they have seen, and yet they have hated both me and my Father. But this is to fulfill what is written in their Law: ‘They hated me without reason.’”

I’m still sitting with this reference. This is the chapter where U-- And T-- are renamed and John moves them from across the room. “If I had not done among them the words no one else did” feels tied here. John’s growing sense of self righteousness continues as he becomes more fanatic... curious what other’s think. It’s a juicy line and an intense chapter.

John 5:18 “For this reason they tried all the more to kill him; not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal with God.”

This is the chapter where they stream John’s necromancy. His journey towards presenting himself publicly as a “god” begins in earnest.

John 8:1 “but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.”

This is the story that even I’ve heard about where a woman is brought before Jesus and accused of adultery while he is sitting at the courts and he says “let those who are without sin cast the first stone”. John is beginning to present himself as a savior - people come to see him for their sufferings and their problems. John moves further into the public sphere.

John 19:18 “There they crucified him, and with him two others—one on each side and Jesus in the middle.”

“Anyway, we all had Interpol warrens... Anyone who wanted to go, I let them go (NtN, 220).” This is also where it becomes clear just how bad the situation is - the rich are leaving the Earth to be crucified. The lines are blurry between who is being crucified and is it the disciple, the executioner, or the divine being telling the story.

John 5:1 “Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish festivals.” Followed by 5:2 “Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades.”

Tamsyn also mentioned Bethesda in her article, and earlier on John does seem to get into a kind of faith healing. But the chapter this verse titles is when John begins playing puppet master to a dead world leader in exchange for money and nuclear weapons. This feels like such a sinister perversion of the healing waters of Bethesda, and in many ways this chapter feels like the beginning of the end.

John 3:20 “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” 3:21 continues “But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.”

OOF. What a fuckin’ verse to pair with John going full necromancer while he’s nursing a nuke under his floorboards. WHOABOY.

John 9:22 “His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders, who already had decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus was the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue.”

John does (his first?) mass murder. This is the moment of trial to his disciples. They are not thrown out, John manipulates them, and they stay.

John 1:20 “He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.” … And a few lines following in John 1:23 “John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’ ”

“I am not the messiah” titles the chapter where the bombs go off. The world is demolished - there is no going back. “I am the voice of the one calling in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way for the Lord’”.

The line from Isaiah quoted in John reads, reads: ק֣וֹל קוֹרֵ֔א בַּמִּדְבָּ֕ר פַּנּ֖וּ דֶּ֣רֶךְ יי יַשְּׁרוּ֙ בָּעֲרָבָ֔ה מְסִלָּ֖ה לֵאלֹקינוּ׃ “A voice calls out in the desert ‘Clear a way for G!d, straighten out a pathway for our G!d through the wilderness” (My translation).

OOF.

John 5:4 From Blue Letter Bible: “Some Greek manuscripts exclude this verse. The NIV related footnote for 5:3 states:

Some manuscripts include here: “wholly or in part, paralyzed—and they waited for the moving of the waters. From time to time an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters. The first one into the pool after each such disturbance would be cured of whatever disease they had.”

From time to time an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters. Alecto awakes. I wonder what disturbances and diseases she will take it upon herself to cure?

[rainuponme]

My wrestle

Reading 1 Tim 2 over two weeks ago during my quiet time with God left me in tears because of the harshness in tone and the implied blame upon women. It took me close to two weeks of struggle before I arrived at a resolution of sorts, and I wanted to put it here for the sake of posterity. Hopefully when I look back on it again, I will realise that I have, over the years, gained a deeper insight and revelation as God journeys with me through my womanhood.

What helped to sort of resolve my struggle with 1 Tim 2 was reading how Jesus treated the adulteress in John 7. The entire situation then was a classic example of a woman being unfairly blamed. For an adultery to happen, it required the presence of another man, and to be caught in adultery also suggests that a man was caught in the act of adultery with her. Yet the scribes and pharisees only brought the woman to Jesus, almost absolving all blame of the man while unfairly implicating her to be the main bearer of all blame and the sin of adultery, when the man also had an equal part to play. The fact that they brought her before everyone in the temple was absolutely humiliating for the woman, almost implying that her sinfulness was greater than those who were present, almost justifying the humiliation because she deserved the condemnation for the very sin she had committed. But Jesus turned the tables on them and returned the woman her dignity. He challenged their condemnation by having them examine themselves and their sinfulness - “who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.” In that statement, he brought into equality the states of the woman and those in the crowd, in that he challenged their belief/assumption of their own “holiness” above the woman and showed them that they were all sinful, just like the adulteress. Sure, by all means punish the woman, but only if you are absolutely sure that you are free of all sin. By that very statement, He turned the humiliation meant for the woman against the crowd, especially the pharisees and scribes. 

Jesus did not join in vilifying the woman, and instead, after all have turned away because no one could cast the first stone due to their own awareness of the sinfulness of their own hearts, said that He did not condemn her either. Of all the people who could condemn her, Jesus was the only one who could, but He did not, and in that act of mercy and compassion coupled with the way He overturned the humiliation upon her, restored her dignity. 

One of the reasons I was so hurt by 1 Tim 2 was because of my own hurt at home where I am always blamed for the mistakes of others, especially my brother’s. Even if I am not at fault, I will be blamed by my mother, for whatever reason she can concoct to place that blame on me. And all this while, I always held on to the belief that because God is different and does not behave like my mother or the world, I can always fall back into Him and be comforted that He is on my side. But 1 Tim 2 was phrased so harshly that I couldn’t help but take it personally. How could God allow Paul to say something like this and then have it be in the bible? It hurt me very much because I thought God was different. 

Why is the woman always told to submit and be silent, blamed for the downfall of men? Why aren’t men spoken to as harshly in the bible? Are we lesser beings? Where is the equality in this? Okay, if women are to shut up and not be given authority over men, then shouldn’t men step up to be worthy of the authority accorded to them? If not, there are plenty of women who are absolutely capable and even more capable than the men for leadership positions! So just because we are women we are told to step down? When Paul said that the woman was the one being deceived to eat the fruit not the man, it felt like he was blaming the woman for being gullible and stupid to be tricked into eating it. Then what, Adam has no blame?!

I was infuriated and hurt. The world blames women enough already, and now the bible too?! But as I was trying to process 1 Tim 2, I was challenged of my idea and belief of equality. I was made to face my secular understanding of it and the need to have it reshaped. Men and women are created for different roles, and the original design and natural order was for the man to lead and the woman to follow. But the world we are living in now is so fallen that I don’t know if I can ever really fully understand or see God’s original design for men and women to be completely good, but if there is any equality to hold on to, I am seeing more and more that it’s not about the roles we are given but the true treasures that we are given that reveals that God values both men and women equally. For both men and women, God did not withhold Himself and gave Himself for us, His sacrifice on the cross was for both, and both are heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ - we will all receive the inheritance set aside for us. The HS is given to both men and women in full, His love in full - all of Him is given to us in full. 

I am reminded of the parable of the talents, where it isn’t even about how much each person was given, but how each one faithfully sows with what has been given to them. Perhaps all this while, equality in God is really not about the gifts or roles we are given, but rather about His giving of Himself to us, man or woman, unreservedly.

I also tried to reconcile my understanding of 1 Tim 2. I realised that the reason the devil targeted Eve was because it wanted to overturn the natural order that God had created - it was a targeted deception. It wasn’t that Eve was more gullible than Adam that was why she was chosen. She was chosen because in order to overturn the order, she has to be the one who was deceived to eat the fruit, to “take the lead” in making that happen, and have Adam follow. And perhaps Paul recognised this, which was why he had to emphasise that it was the woman who was deceived. This would mean that the devil will continue to target women with its deception because its goal is to always stand against and create chaos to the natural order that God has originally designed and have deemed to be good. Perhaps this was why Paul wanted women to be silent and to not have authority over men, so as to uphold the good of the original order. I am still not the most pleased with what Paul said, but I am reminded to hold on to the heart of God—His heart demonstrated through Christ, through the way Christ regarded the adulteress—even when there are things that I do not currently understand. After all, on this side of eternity, all I know is in part, but I will eventually know in full when I see Him face to face one day. 

[leonbloder]

A Lack of Civility

There is a decided lack of civility in our culture these days that I find pretty disturbing.

By bringing this up, I probably sound like one of those "get-off-my-lawn" dudes, but people are just not as polite as they used to be. Too many of us are just one annoyance away from flying off the handle or worse.

If you spend any time on the Internet, you will likely see some of the many videos of people absolutely losing their minds at restaurants, parking lots, road rage incidents, airlines, and the like.

If you haven't, don't. If you have any left, it will chip away at your faith in humanity.

I have been mindful of my actions and reactions when I'm out in the world doing things because I desperately don't want to contribute to the negative energy that is so prevalent around us.

It comes down to being conscious of other people and curious about the situations you find yourself in.

Your slow service at a restaurant may not be the server's fault. They have too many tables because the place is understaffed.

That bored, sullen cashier might just light up the room with a smile if you compliment them on something or ask how their day is going and mean it.

The person who cut you off in traffic may not have seen you because, like you, they were probably paying attention to other things. Let anyone without sin in that category feel free to cast the first stone, am I right?

That hard conversation with someone you disagree with may be an opening for something deeper and real, a way to find common ground if you look past the bluster and frustration.

When we think of other people as opponents, antagonists, or simply the object of our ire, we really do reduce them to objects, gloss over their humanity, and forget altogether that they are a child of God.

And sometimes, our hard words or actions can have a lasting impact on others.

George Bernard Shaw once wrote:

It is easy, terribly easy, to shake a man’s faith in himself. To take advantage of that to break a man’s spirit, is devil’s work.

Many of us have had our faith in ourselves shaken by people who have said or done things that have broken our spirits. We know what it feels like to be filled with self-doubt because of ridicule, demeaning words or actions, and sometimes outright abuse.

I find that one of the best ways to keep from turning into a person who lashes out in anger, intent on wounding someone who has injured me, is to remember that Jesus forgave the people jeering at him while he hung on the Cross.

If those of us who say we want to be Jesus-followers would genuinely follow him, we need to bring that moment to mind whenever we are tempted to react with negativity to the frustrating things that people will do around us.

May it be so, and may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with us now and always. Amen.

[thewahookid]

Public

The 5 Main Messages from The

Queen Of Peace

The message of Medjugorje is a call to Conversion, conversion back to God. Our Lady gives us five Stones or Weapons, which we can use to overcome the power and influence of evil and sin in our lives. This is the "Message of Medjugorje". Our Lady's purpose for coming to earth is to guide each one of us back to her Son Jesus. She does this by leading us step by step toward a life of holiness through the hundreds of messages she has given to the world through the visionaries in Medjugorje. The time for decision is NOW!!. Our Lady's call is URGENT!!. We must open our hearts and begin to change our lives starting today, starting now.

Prayer | Fasting | Reading the Bible | Confession | Eucharist

Prayer

Prayer is the center of Our Lady's plan and is the most frequent message in Medjugorje.

"Today also I am calling you to prayer. You know, dear children, that God grants special graces in prayer... I call you, dear children, to prayer with the heart." (April 25, 1987)

To pray with the heart is to pray with love, trust, abandonment, and concentration. Prayer heals human souls. Prayer heals the history of sin. Without prayer, we cannot have an experience of God.

"Without unceasing prayer, you cannot experience the beauty and greatness of the grace which God is offering you." (February 25, 1989)

Our Lady's recommended prayers:

In the beginning, following an old Croatian tradition, Our Lady asked for the daily praying of: The Creed, followed by Seven Our Fathers, Hail Mary's, and Glory Be's.

Later, Our Lady recommended praying the Rosary. First Our Lady asked us to pray 5 decades, then 10, and finally Our Lady wishes us to pray daily, together or individually, the entire 15 Mysteries of the Rosary (Joyful, Sorrowful, and Glorious Mysteries).

See How to Pray the Rosary .

Everybody should pray. Our Lady says: "May prayer reign in the whole world." (August 25, 1989) Through prayer, we will defeat satan's power, and obtain peace and salvation for our souls.

"You know that I love you and am coming here out of love, so I could show you the path of peace and salvation for your souls. I want you to listen to me and not permit Satan to seduce you. Dear children, Satan is strong enough! Therefore, I ask you to dedicate your prayers so that those who are under his influence may be saved. Give witness by your life, sacrifice your lives for the salvation of the world... Therefore, little children, do not be afraid. If you pray, Satan cannot injure you, not even a little, because you are God's children and He is watching over you. Pray, and let the Rosary always be in your hands as a sign to Satan that you belong to me." (February 25, 1989)

The power of satan is destroyed by prayer and he cannot harm us if we pray. No Christian should be afraid of the future unless he does not pray. If he does not pray, is he a Christian? If we do not pray, we are naturally blind to many things and cannot tell right from wrong. We lose our center and our balance.

Fasting

In the Old Testament and in the New Testament, there are many examples of fasting. Jesus fasted frequently. According to Tradition, fasting is encouraged especially in times of great temptation or severe trials. Certain devils, "can be cast out in no other way except by prayer and fasting", said Jesus. (Mark 9:29)

Fasting is essential in order to achieve spiritual freedom. Through fasting, one is better able to listen to God and man and to perceive them more clearly. If, through fasting, we achieve that freedom, we will be more aware of many things. Once we are aware that we can enjoy the necessities of life without struggle, then many fears and worries fade away. We become more open to our families and to the people with whom we live and work. Our Lady recommends fasting twice a week: "Fast strictly on Wednesdays and Fridays." (August 14, 1984)

She asks us to accept this difficult message "....with a firm will." She asks us to "Persevere in ... fasting." (June 25, 1982)

"The best fast is on bread and water. Through fasting and prayer one can stop wars, one can suspend the natural laws of nature. Works of charity cannot replace fasting... Everyone except the sick, has to fast." (July 21, 1982)

We have to realize the power of fasting. Fasting means to make a sacrifice to God, to offer not only our prayers, but also to make our whole being participate in sacrifice. We should fast with love, for a special intention, and to purify ourselves and the world. We should fast because we love God and want to be soldiers that offer our bodies in the battle against evil.

Daily Reading of the Bible

Usually Our Lady comes to the visionaries happy and joyful. On one occasion, while talking about the Bible, She was crying. Our Lady said: "You have forgotten the Bible."

The Bible is a book different from any other book on earth. Vatican II says that all the canonical books of the Bible were, "..written under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, they have God as their author." (Dogmatic Constitution on Devine Revelation) This means that no other book can be compared to this book. That is why Our Lady asks us to separate THE BOOK from the other human books on the shelves. There is no writing even from a saint or inspired that can be compared to the Bible. That is why we are asked to place the Bible in a visible place in our homes.

"Dear children, today I call you to read the Bible everyday in your homes and let it be in a visible place so as always to encourage you to read it and pray." (October 18, 1984)

It is very rare to hear Our Lady say, "you must". She "desires", "calls", etc., but on one occasion, She used a very strong Croatian verb that means "must".

"Every family must pray family prayers and read the Bible." (February 14, 1985)

Confession

Our Lady asks for monthly confession. From the very first days of the apparitions, Our Lady spoke about confession:

"Make your peace with God and among yourselves. For that, it is necessary to believe, to pray, to fast, and to go to confession." (June 26, 1981)

"Pray, pray! It is necessary to believe firmly, to go to confession regularly, and, likewise, to receive Holy Communion. It is the only salvation." (February 10, 1982)

"Whoever has done very much evil during his life can go straight to Heaven if he confesses, is sorry for what he has done, and receives Communion at the end of his life." (July 24, 1982)

The Western Church (United States) has disregarded confession and its importance. Our Lady said:

"Monthly confession will be a remedy for the Church in the West. One must convey this message to the West." (August 6, 1982)

Pilgrims who come to Medjugorje are always impressed by the number of people waiting for confession and the number of priests hearing confession. Many priests have had extraordinary experiences during confessions in Medjugorje. About a particular feast day, Our Lady said:

"The priests who will hear confessions will have great joy on that day! (August, 1984)

Confession should not be a habit that would "make sinning easy". Vicka says to every group of pilgrims, "Confession is something that has to make a new human being out of you. Our Lady does not want you to think that confession will free you from sin and allow you to continue the same life after that. No, confession is a call to transformation. You must become a new person!" Our Lady explained the same idea to Jelena:

"Do not go to confession through habit, to remain the same after that. No, it is not good. Confession should give an impulse to your faith. It should stimulate you and bring you closer to Jesus. If confession does not mean anything for you, really, you will be converted with great difficulty." (November 7, 1983)

The Eucharist

Our Lady recommends Sunday Mass, and when possible, daily Mass. It has been reported by the visionaries that Our Lady has cried when speaking of the Eucharist and the Mass. She said:

"You do not celebrate the Eucharist as you should. If you would know what grace and what gifts you receive, you would prepare yourselves for it each day for an hour at least." (1985)

The evening Mass in Medjugorje is the most important moment of the day because Our Lady is present and She gives us Her Son in a special way. The Mass is more important than any of Our Lady's apparitions. Marija said that if she had to choose between the Eucharist and the apparition, she would choose the Eucharist. Our Lady said:

"The evening Mass must be kept permanently." (October 6, 1981)

She also asked that the prayer to the Holy Spirit always be said before Mass. Our Lady wants to see the Holy Mass as "the highest form of prayer" and "the center of our lives" (according to Marija). Vicka also says that the Blessed Mother sees the Mass as "the most important and the most holy moment in our lives. We have to be prepared and pure to receive Jesus with a great respect. The Mass should be the center of our lives" Our Lady is crying because people do not have enough respect toward the Eucharist. The Mother of God wants us to realize the extreme beauty of the mystery of the Mass. She has said:

"There are many of you who have sensed the beauty of the Holy Mass... Jesus gives you His graces in the Mass." (April 3, 1986)

"Let the Holy Mass be your life." (April 25, 1988)

This means that the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ must become our life, together with the hope of His second coming. During Mass, we receive the Living Christ and in Him we receive the whole mystery of our salvation that must transform and transfigure us. The Holy Mass is the perfect expression of the mystery of Christ in which we can fully participate in His life. Our Lady has said:

"Mass is the greatest prayer of God. You will never be able to understand its greatness. That is why you must be perfect and humble at Mass, and you should prepare yoursleves for it." (1983)

Our Lady wants us to be full of joy and hope during Mass and to make an effort so that this moment will "be an experience of God". Surrender to Jesus and the Holy Spirit is a very important part of the messages because it is the only path to holiness. To be open to the Holy Spirit in the Sacraments is the way we are going to be sanctified. In this way, Our Lady will obtain for us, the grace to become Her witnesses in the world to fulfill the plan of God and Her plan. Our Lady has said:

"Open your hearts to the Holy Spirit. Especially during these days the Holy Spirit is working through you. Open your hearts and surrender your life to Jesus so that He works through your hearts." (May 23, 1985)

[god-whispers]

mar 30

don't be wrong in your rightness

"the time is coming that whoever kills you will think that he offers God service." john 16:2

nobody likes to be wrong in their assessment of things.  we believe we know the truth and others are merely confused or worse still, seeking to distort that truth.  there should be no schism in the body of Christ.  we are all called to be one, as He and the Father are one.  and look at us now; all the denominations.  catholics and protestants, lutherans and methodist; the division nearing limitless because we can't agree among ourselves.

and then, of course, we have the charismatics; often given over more to the flesh than to the Spirit.  they too are often wrong in their rightness.  i would even go so far as to say, any identifying more with a denomination than they do as a believer in Christ and a fellow sibling of all, this person would also be wrong in their rightness.  Christ died for all while we judge their doctrine and find them wanting.

i see and hear so many fellow believers with differing views.  do they go quietly to their brethren and seek reconciliation?  do the meekly explain things as they see them and ask God to reveal the truth to both?  do they earnestly pray for revelation in others for the perceived error they imagine them to have?  no!  they rage and ridicule, all the time claiming they have clearer understanding of the scriptures.  they believe they are doing the will of God.  "out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing.  my brethren, these things ought not to be so." james 3:10  don't be wrong in your rightness.

what did Jesus admonish us about casting the first stone - he who is without sin?  who here can claim that?  who can claim they have proper interpretation of all scripture?  i know i can't.  we must always seek to "first remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye." matt 7:5  of course, it goes without saying, all should be done in love.  we are seeking reconciliation among our brethren; not to justify one over the other.

part of my daily reading is now in deuteronomy.  i found this scripture jumping out at me.  "corrupt men have gone out from among you and enticed the inhabitants of their city, saying, 'let us go and serve other gods' — which you have not known — then you shall inquire, search out, and ask diligently." deut 13:13-14

we are instructed to inquire, to search out and be diligent about it.  many are actively trying to sow discourse among the body while others are merely misguided, often leaning more to the law than the spirit.  and yes, some lean more to the spirit than to the law.  (grace is not just a pardon allowing us to continue as before.)  for justice to prevail the scales must be balanced.  it is love that will balance out the scales.

by all means, walk in the truth you know.  just make sure it is God's truth and not your own.  don't be wrong in your rightness.  "if this plan or this work is of men, it will come to nothing; but if it is of God, you cannot overthrow it — lest you even be found to fight against God." acts 5:38-39  yes, there will be those who are confident they are doing God's will even as they plunge the dagger in your heart.  "love will cover a multitude of sins." 1 pet 4:8  it will cover their "sin" as well.  if we are commanded to pray for those who spitefully use and persecute us, how would you suppose we are supposed to pray for our brethren.

i want to close out with a favorite writing of mine located in the psalms.  "behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!  it is like the precious oil upon the head, running down on the beard, the beard of aaron, running down on the edge of his garments.  it is like the dew of hermon, descending upon the mountains of zion; for there the Lord commanded the blessing — life forevermore." psa 133

[treadmilltreats]

He who has no sin, cast the first stone 

I remember when a very dear friend of mine got into some trouble and coming from a small town everyone had started talking crap about it and him.

People that didn't even know him were talking crap about him! Really? Why do people do that? Do you know him? Do you know what kind of man he truly is? Do you know how kind he is? 

No, most haters don't know anything about the person they are hating on. They just have their opinions and feel the need to tell it to you and the world.

They have to put their two cents in and jump on the bandwagon with the other idiots who can't help it or have nothing better to do than trash people. 

Even when things seem a certain way, you have NO IDEA what the truth is because you were not there! But yet you're still talking shit? Really? Is it because you yourself have never done anything wrong? That you never made a stupid  mistake? Really, are you that perfect? Is there nothing in your past that you are ashamed of or regret? 

The bible says "He who has no sins, cast the first stone" It is clearly obvious that most people must think that they have no sin, because they are so fast to throw stones at others.

I remember being mad and sticking up for him. I asked them if they knew him and what kind of man he was?

No, they knew nothing about how kind he is. How he would give the shirt off his back for a friend in need or help a neighbor out. That he had raised his kids on his own or that he would stop his day to talk to or help someone in need. They didn't know that he has the biggest, kindest heart of anyone I know. They knew none of this, yet they still condemned him.

This was a man that I have known for the last thirty plus years, who had put his family first and has had the same friends for just as long as I can remember. He is a hard working, kind man and yet so many wanted to crucified him without knowing all the details.

 

See I know all these things  because I know him. I know he was there for me at the lowest point in my life. He gave me the courage and confidence to go on. I could speak of his character because I know that he was always there for me with a kind word, an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.

It was this man that they were trashing, this man that saved my life, literally. 

I would have never just sat here quietly while others trash him because they  knew NOTHING of who he truly is.

This is what is wrong with the world today. That is what is wrong with social media and the "Cancel Culture''

You are so quick to throw stones, not knowing the full stories or even knowing the actual person. You condemn them, tear into them as if you yourself were so great and perfect. You don't seem to realize that words hurt, that you could be the cause of that person taking their life.

So today my friends remember, until each and everyone of you has walked in someone else's shoes and can honestly say you are without sin, then don't say a word. 

Remember, this could be you or your loved one that they are speaking so unkind about. We have all made mistakes, we are all human but let us not forget  "There before the grace of God goes I"

Meaning we all could or have been there.

"Be the change you want to see"

@TreadmillTreats 

[yandere-society]

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar​

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like   lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that’s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”,  Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

© unfurlingtwinklingstar 2020 | all rights reserved | do not re-post/translate

[the-nightmare-before-bucky]

everything i love about hunchback of notre dame

*the g-slur will be replaced with roma, romani, or something else and will have brackets ([ ]) surrounding it to indicate a word change*

Olim -  i love the build up at the end into bells of notre dame 

bells of notre dame -  ”and some say the soul of the city’s the toll of the bells, the bells of notre dame” the fact that it’s esmeralda singing it. we’re already off to a great start.  jehan’s voice is so nice it’s beautiful the foreboding saints after jehan dies and right into the “ahhhhs’ “and the saints regarded frollo from their stone facade and he felt their gaze as if it were the eyes of God” - the difference between the stone saints for frollo and quasi is so interesting. One sees them as terrifying, boring into his soul because of his darkness within, while the other sees them as his friends and aid on his journey.  the way frollo says quasimodo “now here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of notre dame” “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” - song by Quasi. It just makes me tingle, I love it.  the way this song sets up so many motifs is just so good

Out There -  the beginning is manipulation 101 (it is I alone, your only friend, how can i protect you, etc)  michael arden is an icon i swear. he is phenomenal. his e m o t i o n “but part of theeeeeem and Ooooooout there” “out there among the millers and the weavers and their wives”  “heedless of the gift it is to be them. if I were in their skin I’d treasure every instant” “i swear i’ll be content with my share. won’t resent won’t despair old and bent I won’t care. I’ll have spent oooone daaay out theeeeeeeeeere” Amazing, showstopping, what a way to open a show and introduce a character, I cry almost every single time

Topsy Turvy pt. 1 -  “somehow i can wander through this helter skelter without fear now. no one sees i’m here now out here in the woooorld!” ugh i love him  “on the sixth of januervy” too catchy

Rest and Recreation -  I used to hate this song but now i’ve matured and learned that it is amazing I just love the tune, idk, it’s so fun and catchy until you get to the bridge and that’s what i love “rest and recreaaaaaa- four years at the front...” that’s on ptsd “the air filled with a stench of bodies in a trench. whoever pays the most i call my liege.” just the bitterness when he says that line. Amazing.  “and whatever i do i’ll make sure this is true i will never go back again.” i literally adore this part so much. it gives him so much motivation. and then we go right back into him being flirty because he’s covering up his ptsd with fun “But for a few night fun is my mission” oh me oh my that’s very attractive he sounds so awkward talking to frollo im going to cry  “there is no time for rest and recreation,” poor guy

Rhythm of the Tambourine -  “flash of an ankle flip of a skirt...come see me dance, hey what can it hurt?” I just love how she sings this part its so well done the dance break music is amazing. it’s just so nice and a great vibe.  “this girl who is she” the layers!!!! all three of them doing it in rounds!!! I love it!!! “she dances like the devil//she dances like an angel//an angel” AHHHHH beautiful, great way to show the differences in characters “but with such fire// such fire” I am in love with this line oh my gosh. like frollo is thinking about hellfire and pheobus is just like heart eyes i am also in love with esmeralda thank you

Topsy Turvy pt. 2 -  “aren’t you going to join in on the competition?” she’s so cute and pretty and i love her “we asked for the ugliest face in paris and we found him, aye?” love  “eeev...ry..bod...y”  “Hail to the king....oh what a king...girls give a kiss...we’ve never had a king like this!” just so much fun to sing 

Into Notre Dame -  “how could you do this to me?” more manipulation  “like a begger recieving an alm.” i love a good simile “the light of notre dame” I love the way she sings this, it’s just so good 

God Help the Outcasts -  “were you once an outcast too?” i love this because the answer is yes. Jesus was treated as other because of His teachings. He was most definitely an outcast, literally cast out of so many different towns. And He does listen to her prayer and it just makes me so emotional.  i literally...there is nothing wrong with this song. everything about it is beautiful.  “God help the outcasts or nobody will” chills every single time “I ask for love I can possess. I ask for God and hos angels to bless me” right into “I ask for nothing, I can get by” I LOVE IT SO MUCH it’s so beautiful.  the chorus of this show deserves a raise “but I know so many less lucky than I” really helps to show Esmeralda’s character a lot I think. 

Top of the World -  such a beautiful song like I could write the entirety of this song here because I love it so much I love the saints part so much the part when the saints are singing and esmeralda are singing is just beautiful especially the part “here at the top of the world(E)//look at you sitting at the top of the world(S)” “the two of us sitting/the two of us sitting/the two of you sitting” right into “On top of the world!” one of my favorite parts of the entire show oh my goodness. The way Quasi, Esmeralda, and the Saints all blend together so well is just askjhfklafkj

Tavern Song -  I can’t not dance to this song oh my it’s so so so fun.  just like the melody especially during “in the dark of the night, in the dead of the winter...come keep me warm until morning” I LOVE  It gives me very much Jack and Rose vibes from that part in Titanic “with the taste of the wine, hold me close while we’re dancing, but I hear you sighing, winter is dying, you’ll keep me warm until morning” HER VOICE IS SO GOOD the cross between the tavern folk singing and frollo singing in the Hellfire tune is just so good. just so good. i’m going to cry this show is beautiful.  the fading “come keep me warm until morning”s is UGH so good

Heaven’s Light -  When I tell you how much I adore this song.... his voice is just so soothing. the little flute thing in the background is just so sweet the way he sounds so happy the first time he says “Heaven’s light” i love him so much “but” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i cannot  “I swear it must be heaven’s liiiiiiiiiiiiiiight” one of my favorite notes in the entire show i swear it’s so beautiful also the bells of notre dame going right into Hellfire....ICONIC

Hellfire -  One of my favorite villain songs ever. Especially in this version, you can really hear his inner turmoil over Esmeralda. and i just love it.  from the get go, frollo is trying to put him above everyone (”you know i am a righteous man”, “so much purer than...”) and yet he is still struggling with lust like everyone else...he’s still a sinner “i feel her, i see her, the sun caught in her raven hair, is blazing in me out of all control” SO GOOD  “Like fire, hellfire” go look back at what he says in rhythm of the tambourine because it’s the same thing and i just “is turning me to sin” blaming esmeralda for his own sinful thoughts. it is not her that is turning him to sin. he is sinning of his own accord. but also the desperate way he says sin is always so interesting  “it’s not my fault, i’m not to blame, it is the [roma] girl, the witch who set this flame! It’s not my fault, if in God’s plan, he made the devil so much stronger than a man!” I really really love this series of lines so much. I can’t really explain it, but especially that last part. it just breathes a supposed “holy man” who can’t accept that his sins are his own and caused by himself so he’ll blame every single other thing other than himself. i’ve known too many people like this. “protect me maria, don’t let this siren cast her spell, don’t let the fire sear my flesh and bone” just so good. I love the voices in the background.  “destroy esmeralda and let her face the fire of hell, or else let her be mine and mine alone” he would rather condemn an innocent woman than confront his own sin. again, so many people are like this today. it’s just so thrilling to see that mindset condemned in media. also, patrick page is amazing  “hellfire, dark fire” the tone switch from him being scared of the hellfire the first time he said it to now he’s using it as power (how many of us have had hell weaponized against us? raise of hands?) is just so frightening and amazing all at the same time “God have mercy on her, God have mercy on me” I cannot tell you how much I love this line. it is phenomenal, especially the way Page sings it. I think that it is one of the central lines to his character (along with the “wicked shall not go unpunished” which i’ll probably talk about later) just the emotion he has in his voice when he says this line....chef’s kiss. especially with the next line (”but she will be mine or she will burn”), it seems like he knows what he’s doing is wrong (hence why he needs mercy), but he’s going to do it anyway

Esmeralda -  easily one of my favorite songs in this entire show. what an amazing end of act song oh my  the trumpets!! at the beginning!!! I love it!! “being under suspicion of sorcery, witchcraft, and the arts of hell” that is not actually why he’s arresting her which doubly means he knows that what he’s doing is wrong the tune of this song is SO GOOD I LOVE IT “these are the flames of Esmeralda...” this dude is obsessed with fire feels very much like the mob song from beauty and the beast “with the might of Notre Dame” using God in such a vulgar manner is blasphemous and frollo knows it. he’s using God’s might and strength to hunt down an innocent woman because he can’t control his own desires. I’m losing my mind “but the madam, that whore, denied it and swore by the saints, the saints of notre dame” i have no idea why but I adore this line and i love the way that it was song. I used to think that the madam was actually just esmeralda in disguise which made the next part of the song seem all the funnier the little lute strumming after frollo says “very well, we’ll set fire to it” because pheobus is having a change or heart “and he held the torch that crackled like the [woman’s] voice....and he knew this was the moment he must make a choice” this is why i like the play phoebus and not really the movie phoebus very much. i just love it  the chorus singing God help the outcasts in the background...amazing...chills “you’d throw away a promising career” Frollo’s desperate attempt to get him to comply  “God help the outcasts, or nobody will!” I LOVE THIS PART WITH MY WHOLE SOUL IT IS SO GOOD sometimes i’ll listen to this song on repeat just to hear him say this “you’re relieved of your patrol” “consider it my highest honor.” Iconic. just...so good. gives me very much “thank you for your consideration” vibes  the way frollo says kyrie eleison here is just so good frollo’s little speech is very cool with the chorus in the background I love Quasi’s little frantic verse there. you can hear his desperation in “fire, fire, smoke and flame” and then “is that all that I can do?” he wants to help his friend but he can’t and I know how horrible that feels phoebus part!!!!! I love it!!!! his voice is so nice!!! “with my career and body left for dead” nice, good, amazing.  “out there...” AHHHHHHH YES MOTIFS “somewhere she is lost//somewhere she is lost//Esmeralda!” love this bit so much  “the flames grow tall and sharp as fluer de lis” what a good metaphor, so good, so nice, I love the chorus they’re all amazing “all paris burns for esmeralda” now we’ve got burning again. are we talking about how paris is literally on fire because frollo is insane or is it the mob mentaility that is “burning” inside of them? good question.  “and still it all comes down to her and me” says three people. I love the melodies here. chills. so many of them. I love.  “the devil dwells in esmeralda//oh esmeralda//oh esmerlada//oh esmeralda” AHHHH again AHHHHHHH i love this bit (yes I know I say that a lot but its the truth) “wake up the city and sound the alarm!” good yes they’re all singing different bits and it’s growing and your heart is pounding until.... “these are the flames of esmeralda”  and then it all falls apart again oh my gosh it’s beautiful  until “the bells of notre dam!” and the “ah, ah, ah”s that I adore so much I love this song so much 

Entr’acte I can’t imagine how fun this would be to sing. it’s just a vibe Flight Into Egypt - I used to skip this song but I have since learned the error of my ways because i love it “then Quasimodo you can too” love that, just like he says it “and she gave it to you because she knows you’re smart” the fact that these are just part of his imagination so it’s really him telling himself he’s smart and i’m going to cry I love him so much “and this jewel must show where we’re supposed to meet” love his voice so much “it’s a map. it’s a map!” he’s so excited. he deserves the entire world.  “I’ll save esmeralda, her angel will be me,” brb crying  “for her I will be strong” still crying I love the entire end bit how their voices meld and the music swells all up until Quasi sings the last bit. it’s just so amazing

The Court of Miracles -  I’ve always loved this song. it’s so fun, but also sad.  “brother you’re there” YES  “but the dead don’t talk so you won’t be reveal what you found!” dead man tell no tales vibes “Not terribly different from bees in a hive” I love how erik says this line. claupin would be so fun to play oh my.  “where it’s a miracle...if you get out alive”  “any last words....i thought not *laughter*” obsessed with this  “but we must protect at all cost our secret, it’s our lives or yours!” and that’s the sad reality. that’s what makes this song sad to me.  “So you’re going to hang!” a lighter note as an end. very nice. 

In a Place of Miracles -  a few notes in and i’m already crying this song is so beautiful and i adore it. it makes me sad in a million ways but it also makes me so happy. the play did such a great job of making me love pheobus and esmeralda but also feel so, so bad for Quasi “but somehow you have made me someone new” yup i’m definitely crying “now i’m asking if you’ll let me come with you” you can’t see me but the tears are real “though our lives are tattered and torn, all i’m feeling now is reborn. i must be...” AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH Pheobus and esmeralda’s voices just meld together so well im gonna cry it’s so nice and as soon as the first chorus is over, the tears of happiness turn into tears of anguish because Quasi pulls up with his heaven’s light reprise and it tears my heart to shreds my heart breaks for him esmeralda and quasi singing at the same time gives me very much eponine and marius vibes from a heart full of love (we love victor hugo so much /sar) like the parallels in what the both of them are saying is just phenomenal “no more need for a heart of stone//better to have a heart of stone!” AHHHH STOP I LOVE IT AND IT HATE IT AT THE SAME TIME “that holds no hope in heaven’s light” stop i’m so sad and then the chorus come in and it’s just so beautiful “will we reach a friendlier shore, will we find a haven once more, where we’ll be in a place of miracles...” it’s so gorgeous “where’s my place of miracles//in a place of miracles” that sound? yeah that’s me sobbing in the corner and it builds again and i love it so much it’s just so beautiful 

Justice in Paris -  this is the least played song on spotify (by like hundreds of thousands) and I think that’s so funny but i think the chorus does such a great job here, as usual, because they just have that menacing sound to them

Someday -  another of my favorite songs. this one is hauntingly beautiful and I have so many opinions. get ready.  esmeralda is just so sad and you can hear it in every single word she says. god my heart is already breaking.  “that i’d live to see a day of justice dawn” i haven’t actually seen the stage version so i’m not sure if they have the part where she cries out “justice!” when quasi is getting attacked, but this part just hurts me to the soul because of that specifically. she cried out for justice and now she gets none. “and though I will die long before that morning comes, i’ll die while believing still it will come when I am gone” this line just hits so, so hard. i can’t even talk about it. just imagining her singing this and pheobus listening to her with tears in his eyes...nope i cannot...i will cease to exist and then he joins in and i can just imagine her feeling no longer alone because she’s hoping that it comes “someday” and he’s echoing it, assuring her that it will. I can just picture her trying to stay strong as she says “Godspeed this bright millennium on its way” but she can’t and so her words fall out as she’s saying “let it come” and she can’t finish but pheobus finishes it for her. “someday” and I can just see her breaking down. she’s going to die and she never gets to see it, but he assures her that it’s coming. and he starts it up again. he starts singing again, and I think that it gives her the strength she then needs to finish.  “someday, these dreams will all be real. Til then we’ll wish upon the moon!” of all the lines in the entire play, this is my absolute favorite. the way the sing it, the power they hold, their voices blending together so smoothly and perfectly. i cannot handle how amazing it is.  “one day...some day...soon” and just like that, i am sobbing. beautiful beautiful beautiful beautiful. 

While the City Slumbered - i love this little song. it’s so pretty and fast and it just gives us exactly what we need to know. love. 

Made of Stone -  Now to the last of my favorite songs. (Finale doesn’t count because although I love it, it hate it). You wanna know which song has the top score of making me cry the most? That’s right. This one right here. Let’s get into it. the talking at the beginning is a yes from me. “I only make things worse!” felt that also, the sound of him sobbing ruins me. “how do you know what I believe, what do you know of me? what do you know of all the things I feel? you’re only made of stone” finally him acknowledging that they’re not actually real and all apart of his imagination. “who is it that you see, instead of seeing what I am for real?” imposter syndrome? I understand that. “this twisted flesh and bone” the EMOTION  “you’re a liar” bro i cannot physically handle this. i can’t. I will cry. I am cry “would that I were made of stone like you,” back to that place of miracles song. i just he’s just so desperate. the only thing he could ever trust has fallen. He has nothing left. he can’t even trust himself (because that’s really all the stone saints by) “shut my brain down, if I were senseless, I’d prefer it” i totally understand the feeling of this. so often when thing go wrong in my life, i would like to shut down completely and stop existing and I think that’s what makes this song hit so damn hard “another gargoyle on this turret, spitting rain down to the stones below!” there is so much passion in his voice I love it so much. michael arden deserves the entire world for this performance “i’ve waste my faith believing in saints of plaster,” OUCH “the only one worth believing in was my master,” OUCH AGAIN “he’s the one who never lied. he told me it was cruel outside. he told me that i had to hide. his words were cold as stone, but they were true.” i can’t describe how emotional these lines make me. because he’s right but also it is such a painful, hard truth. ugh, i  “not like you”  “take all the dreams you’ve stone, take all your lies and leave me alone”  “alright Quasimodo, we’ll leave you alone,” that one hurt because as someone who pushes people away when they’re self destructing, the most painful part is seeing them actually leave you. even though you asked them too. “you’re right Quasimodo, we’re only made of stone, we just thought that you were made of something stronger.” now that’s a mic drop That would cut so, so deep.  “never again to wonder what’s out there” m o t i f s  “let it remain unknown. and my one human eye forever more be dry until the day i die, as if I were made of stone”  such a beautiful, heartbreaking, real song that I think so many people can relate to. I know I can. I have cried to this song so many times. I love it.  also, he holds that note for so long i’m impressed.

Finale - this song is long so get ready for it.  the crimes that Esmeralda is guilty for are not the ones that she was originally hunted for. he switched up his story. “the sentence is death!” immediate kyrie eleison (which i think is for frollo and not esmeralda) she spits in his face like a freaking queen “esmeralda!” Quasi’s cry is just so heart shattering and emotional I am so sad “he could remain stone no longer” I love that “sanctuary! sanctuary!” with the victorious sounds in the background are just so amazing “hear me, people of Paris, how much oppression will you allow?” with the chorus singing Someday in latin in the background?? I am not crying again “someday, your patience will finally break. why not make someday come right now?”  that part is just chef’s kiss. I love it so much. also, that’s the last we hear of pheobus. I’ve always wondered if he died so someone whose been in/seen the play, could you tell me? quasi’s prayer to the saints is just so good. i just love it so much. so beautiful. and it being similar in tune to Heart of Stone and having the part “raining fire on the stone below!” is just so good and then the moment between quasi and esmeralda is just... “you are home.” “home.”  and then we go to the top of the world reprise. haha. haha. ha.  “in my eyes you are beautiful too,” comparing him to the beautiful morning “i don’t think...forever...” “you’re such a good friend quasimodo” “yes your friend” and then she freaking dies and i’m so sad and then the music changes so quickly and it makes my heart drop every time “because of you” cut deep “at last we’re free of esmeralda. now that she’s gone, a poison dies with her.” to the tune of esmeralda. bitch i would have thrown frollo off that roof too “here in our sanctuary...sanctuary” “sanctuary? no sanctuary without her”  “even...loved her.” “love? what do you know of love?” I adore this part because Quasimodo finally realizes that Frollo’s treatment of him wasn’t love. It never was.  “no. you are the weak one. you the wicked one. And the wicked shall not go unpunished!” I cannot explain the fire that this lights in my bones. it’s amazing. just so good. and then all the voices, like the saints, come in “the wicked shall not go unpunished. the heart of the wicked is of little worth. the wicked shall not go unpunished” and they’re no longer on frollo’s side (they never were) the rising voices as quasi picks up frollo and is going to kill him *chef’s kiss* “You don’t want to hurt me” “yes you do” so, so, so, so, so good. i can’t even explain. it’s just good.  in to the abyss below! damnation! “the world is cruel, the world is ugly” yes  “but there are times and there are people when the world is not” i’m not 100% positive, but i’m pretty sure that’s jehan again and that’s just so beautiful. “and at it’s cruelest it’s still the only world we’ve got” the bitter truth “out there” yup yup yup crying you can’t stop me The bit with the chorus singnig someday in latin and english...i literally cant handle it. it is so freaking beautiful. and the violin? the woman singing is an icon. the voices blend together so beautifully. I am overcome with emotion. i- Quasi singing the last “someday” and then the blending into the beginning song and ugh “but here is a riddle to guess if you can, what makes a monster and what makes a man?” with the entire ensemble? yeah, that one feels good.  and being left off with the “ah”s

yeah, brb, i’m going to go listen to it again.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

The Inquisitor’s Throne

I wrote this and realized it fits in with @14daysdalovers “Midnight Rendezvous” prompt. Cullen and Lydia Trevelyan, NSFW. Piece contains semi public sex, mild dirty talk, oral sex, and clothed sex all on a throne. Please enjoy! Also on A03

Dainty, delicate Inquisitor Lydia Trevelyan they call her. She can certainly play the part, look good in rich silks and swish her hand elegantly when she has to. It’s comes easy to charm a few nobles with carefully placed words, though she only does it if she must. Few deserve her sweet words, and one has them all.

Yet she had a cup, one she carries with her that no one else can see other than those closest to her. Sometimes it overfills. Sometimes it spills, and delicate, dainty Lydia can’t wear the carefully placed mask anymore. These are the times where all she wants is her lover to remind her she was more than some precious doll.

Maker. At Skyhold and past midnight, finally done with wearing the mask at this silly social, she wants him to claw at her, possess her, throw her on his desk of his and mark her. She wants him fucking hard.

Now.

Such primal parts of her sexuality used to frighten her. Tempered and tamed in recent years she found that primordial part of herself could bloom as easily as the part of her that loved with no reservation. Her lover, who inhabited his body like a lion cast spells of his own. He was a remnant of a time forgotten, roughhewn and forged with fire with scars to prove it. His fucking was a sweet restorative, and she craved it all throughout that dinner, all through Lord Farquar’s bitter speeches of fine women and the might of the Inquisition. Beautiful the Lord called her in her long red dress and pulled back hair, golden shoes on her feet. He eyed that silver Andraste at her collar and asked no questions mercifully. He demanded until she yielded, and she would not yield. She’d have no answers anyway. He wouldn’t deserve it if she did.

The great hall was filled earlier, yet now it’s midnight and quiet she slips inside the study Solas once used to frequent. Once Solas would have smirked at her, as he knew she took this route to her lover. Yet with him not there she makes the trip unnoticed, and she remains unnoticed when she opens the door to his office. His back toward her he’s out of his armor with a book in his hand. It’s one of those adventure novels he covets, one she’s picked up to read herself when she far away from him. When she’s away she relishes in the intimacy of reading the same words as he. Her heels click against the stone floor toward him before she wraps her arms around him, embraces him from behind as he dissolves against her, putting the book up on the shelves. She kisses the back of his neck before sinking her teeth there, laving the spot with her tongue. He moans before he turns around, cupping her face in his broad hands.

She looks beautiful, he says, tilting her chin up and kissing her. She certainly didn’t feel as such till he said it, till his arms are around her and she’s encased in his smell. He’s sweat and the sweetness of elderflower, earthy oakmoss and something distinctly man. She feels more woman when he grips her curves, when his stubble scratches her delicate skin.

 “Fuck me hard Cullen.”

His answer is a small “oh,” eyes wide. Maker he even blushes and she wants to laugh. He, whose taken her on his desk, who moved the mirror closer to their bed so he may watch her ride him. “Pick me up and take me upstairs,” she whispers as she kisses him once more, his cock growing harder against her. “Tell me I’m yours.”

“Rather take you to your room,” he says, kissing her neck. “Your mirror is there.”

“You’re so proud of how you fill me, aren’t you?” she asks, caressing his neck and lightly scratching her nails, her breath against his ear. “Then take me away.”

She leads him out of his office and into the empty great hall. It’s midnight and no one is about to watch the Commander take the Inquisitor into his arms and into a hot and searing kiss, a prelude to more. He tugs on the sleeve of her dress to pull it down, baring a part of her breast. His lips are warm against her skin as he cradles her back, pressing their bodies together. She hums, wrapping her arms around him, willing and wishing to dissolve.

“Turn around,” he whispers in her ear. She does so for him, wondering what he wants her to look at. All she sees is her large and expansive throne where she sits in judgement, silver moonlight casting blue and purple shadows against it. It is the seat of the high Enchanters’ gilded in gold and adorned with dragons along the side. A fine symbol for her role as Inquisitor, a seat only for her.

Yet she asks “Cullen?” as she strangely doesn’t understand, at least not at first. They’ve been brazen but this would be another matter entirely.

Still, he wraps his arms around her middle, presses his cheek next to hers. He says, “there,” and yes, he would be even more brazen.              

She gulps. He’ll rescind, she’s sure, but he nips at her neck and says he wants her spread open there, wants to taste her there. He can’t wait and he’d rather have her elegantly on her throne than in the hallway leading to her room or against the wall.  Judging by the way she leans against him, rubbing herself against his hardness, she can’t wait either.

“My dearest,” he says, his arms still around her, a warm hand slipping underneath her dress, touching her breast, and further pulling down the sleeve. It’s such a sweet endearment he says to contrast with such bawdiness. “Haven’t you ever thought of us there?”

“Yes,” she admits, gasping when he takes one of her pert nipples between his fingertips and squeezes gently. “But someone could see.”

“Has that ever mattered?

Fucking no, never. It is the final pull, because yes, she too can be brazen. Turning in his arms she lets him lead her to the throne. She sits there as she always does yet as an empress rather than Inquisitor, and he sinks to his knees, parts her thighs to sit between them. “That’s my girl,” he says as he kisses his way up her leg, Lydia gathering and pulling her red skirts up for him. She stares with unmasked, unashamed lust at his golden head, his scarred mouth open against her calf, moving upward to her knee and thigh. She helps him slide off her undergarment, crimson red like her dress, and when it falls to the ground next to them she makes a mental note to pick it up later lest someone see. She grabs his hair, twists the curls as her legs spread further apart. How many times has she sat on this spot, a crowd of people all staring at her and waiting for her to make a judgement or say something worthwhile. When she takes her lover’s mouth on her throne, his tongue lapping over her clit, she groans quietly, wishing it could be louder, wishing her cries of pleasure could echo through the room so loudly she’ll hear it again the next time she’s here and must remain nothing more than a pretty doll. She’s survived and lived and loved and fucked and it’s Cullen who she loves and fucks and makes her empress of lust, love, and want.

With one slow, sinful press he slides his forefinger inside, then another. She thrusts her hips closer to his face and he takes in her musky scent. She curses and thrashes as he builds on her growing frissons, compelling her to come on his face. With strangled breaths her thighs clamp around his cheeks, coming for him as he crooks his finger inside her. She reels in her residual waves, breathes and pants heavily as she comes back to earth. Hazy as she is however she’s still cognizant enough to push down his breeches and that tunic he’s wearing so’s bare in front of her on her throne. In the spilling moonlight he is baked marble from his time in the sun, silver from where his numerous scars have healed and dusted with golden hair on his chest and lower abdomen leading to his cock. All marble, gold, and silvered radiance, her hands grab his slim hips, her lips leaving kisses on his abdomen. Come take me fair knight, she thinks of saying as she strokes his cock, soft moans so sweet from his parted hips, but she has another idea.

Standing, skirts falling to her feet she throws her arms around his neck, kisses him and moves him over in front of her throne. She leads him down upon it and he smirks as if he’s some proud thane of a great hold. She sits astride him and he holds her ass, grabs it without shame and caresses underneath her cloths so the first thing anyone would see if they entered was the Commander’s hands on his Inquisitor on her throne. She hopes they know he touches her good. If she could she’d wear his love marks like tattoos.

She gathers up her skirts once more as he angles his cock toward her entrance. The skirts cover them as she holds his shoulders for balance, and he wraps his arms around her as she rises and falls and bounces on his cock, keeping her hands on his neck and keeping their eyes locked. He’s deep this way, full and warm and almost too much. But she can take him, take all of him. He never makes her cup spill or overflow.

“You feel good,” he says as his lips meet hers. “That’s my girl. You’re no one’s but mine.”

She told him earlier, tell me I’m yours. “Your mine,” she says in turn. “Cullen…”

“I know, I know…” She gasps as he sticks his hand underneath her cloths. “I love being yours.”

“You fill me up so fucking good…”

He chuckles as she moves, asks him if he ever thought she’d take him here of all places. “Maybe I dreamed of you here,” he says as he nips her neck. Someday they’ll leave this place and if the magic there is a strong as she has been told it is, the walls will imprint the memory of the Commander and Inquisitor fucking sweetly and adoringly, and a thousand years from now her words will still be etched in the stone, Cullen you fuck me so good…

He captures her in a kiss as she comes again on top of him with the beckoning of his fingers against her clit. A piercing cry would alert nearby guards, and as it is they’ve already had too much luck in this moment. They cling and he claws and they hold each other as the only thing that makes sense in the whole world. The way they lock and meet and join is what matters, not the show or the pomp or her mask as Inquisitor. This is real. Them.

He comes in her arms with her name sweetly on his lips. Her thighs ache from the movement, pleasant before yet not burning, and her are legs pressed against the hard stone of the throne. She chuckles when she thinks of how much his bare rear must hurt against it—it hurts her covered rear when she has to sit in judgement for long periods of time. Yet he keeps her in his arms when she tries to remove herself, burying his head in the crook of her neck. His lips are soft where his stubble is roughish, and it strikes her how even though he’s a strong man, a good man, and one that makes her feel safe, he too feels safe when she holds him. They dissolve into each other in their world together crafted in the great hall of the Inquisition.

They kiss when she cups his face in her hands, his lips moving down her neck and toward her exposed breast. He takes her sleeve and brings it back from where he pulled it down as she adjusts herself, removing her hips from him. His spend skims down her thigh and she can’t imagine the tailor in Val Royeux who sewed together such finery would have dared to imagine the Inquisitor using the long skirts it to wipe away her lover’s dripping seed. Reluctantly, she at last removes herself, Cullen hasty as he puts his clothes back on. They laugh and think they’ve won whatever game they decided to play on the way back to her quarters, laugh at their own place where they make the rules. They are unscathed. No one saw, as much as perhaps she wouldn’t have minded if anyone did…

At any rate, round two happens in her quarters, the bed softer on their bodies, their moans no longer stifled. Upon no throne, he makes her an empress still.

****

Cullen tells her the next day when she comes to him in his office that he got a note, blushing as he does. She reopens it at his prompting.

Dear Curly, Fire’s smalls are behind the throne. Might want to get them, though there is at least one Orlesian noble who thought it was kinky. PS: thanks for the inspiration. Shocked I didn’t think of it sooner for Swords and Shields.

“I…forgot my smalls,” she says as she scans the letter, her cheeks going how. “Marvelous.”

Though he blushes too, there is a smile that cracks on his face. “You know, maybe I’ll pick up Swords and Shields.”

“But you already have so many interesting ideas all on your own.”

He laughs before he takes her into his arms.

[sweeethinny]

Devil in Disguise

Potterverse Gift Exchange and I wrote this married!Hinny for @merrymagicalmenagerie i hope you like it! Clearly inspired by Elvis Presley's music! 

She walked like an angel. Wearing that white satin dress that made her ass look amazing, her back naked, her hair stuck in that elaborate hairstyle, the back of her neck also naked so that everyone could have an insane desire to kiss her skin, and those two red hair wisely falling in front of the face, shaping it as the most beautiful work of art in the museum. Her feet in silver high heels, so delicate, seemed to be part of her genetics, strutting around the room.

She spoke like an angel. Her voice was low and melodious, her lips painted not as dark as usual, her cheeks naturally flushed, and that little smile in the corner that made even a priest feel like sinning.

She acted like an angel. Being completely polite, holding the glass of wine elegantly, keeping her back always straight, even laughing at someone's embarrassing jokes... But Harry knew something they didn't know.

Harry knew she was the devil in disguise.

He knew this for several reasons, but the way she looked at him over her shoulder just to blink before returning to pay attention to the conversation that was being held, or how she made a point of touching him whenever they passed each other,  and even how her hand hovered purposefully on his thigh when they sat down to dinner.

She continued to speak normally to the wife of a guy that Harry didn't even remember the name of, but her hand played slowly up towards his groin, sometimes Ginny stopped and removed her hand, using it to adjust the loose lock of hair, or just putting it on the table, but it was not long before she returned to her place of before.

‘’Would you like to dance?’’ Harry asked, when dinner was over and their wedding music started to echo through the hall.

Her brown eyes were darkened by the evil he knew so well, and the long black-painted lashes cast a shadow over her irises, making them even more cloudy. He thought he would never be able to go crazy just looking at her, but Ginny was proving him otherwise.

‘‘Sure, I would love to.’’ She answered him, so sweetly that Harry thought that honey might drip out of her mouth.

She knew better than anyone how to look like an angel.

They held hands and she waved to the lady in front of her, who commented on how beautiful it was to see two young people in love. Harry, who just wanted to get out of there and touch his wife decently, said nothing, walking towards the middle of the room and holding Ginny's waist firmly, leaving no room for her to escape.

‘‘You look a little upset.’’ She smiled, leaving her right hand on his shoulder, her white painted nails poking him sweetly.

''You wish, don't you?'' They moved slowly, with each step, Harry tightened his hand a little more on her waist, bringing her closer and making her feel exactly where he was getting disturbed. ‘’It’s a beautiful dress.’’ He let his hand slip behind her back, perfectly on top of where the stitching started and hid her ass, his thumb touching the bare skin of her spine.

''Thanks. Made to measure.’’ Ginny also moved her hand, taking it to the back of her husband’s neck and scratching that sensitive spot that made him almost purr.

‘’The neckline on the back does something for you.’’ Harry raised his hand just to feel the bare skin, then returned to the covered curvature where her spine ended.

''I know. You didn't hide your fondness for that detail.’’ He shrugged, turning and pulling her away from a man who was looking too far behind her. ''Jealous?'' She said.

‘’No, just dancing.’’ Ginny laughed softly and bit her bottom lip, chin slightly lifted, as if she wanted him to kiss her. ‘’It’s a beautiful song.’’

‘‘As I recall, we already danced on another occasion when I was wearing white.’’

‘’And if all goes well, we’ll end the night the same as the first time we dance.’’ He blinked, smirking and bringing his face closer to hers. Just a little. But if Ginny wanted a kiss, she would have to grab him.

‘’Are you going to take me to the Maldives Islands again? Wow, it's my lucky day.’’ She raised her red eyebrow. In that way that made her seem a little more daring and less angelic, but still, a goddess.

‘’I thought about just finishing in the bedroom. But I can arrange a trip for us.’’ Harry lowered his hand slightly to her back, almost grabbing her ass, but still maintaining class.

‘’I’d love it. Maybe this time, you’ll let me swim naked.’’ She shrugged, and there it was, that devil that Harry knew so well.

That same evil angel who convinced everyone in the auror office that she urgently needed to talk to Harry, which was an important family issue, and made Robards let her in, only so that when she arrived in his office - with Harry very worried that it really was something important - Ginny would take off her overcoat and show off one of the sexiest pieces he remembered seeing her wear.

That other side of her, which only he had the great pleasure of knowing.

''Let's see how the night goes.'' Harry said at last, feeling her chest against his, her brown eyes burning even more. ‘’I like to surprise you.’’ He smiled genuinely, followed by Ginny, who turned her cheeks a rosier shade.

‘’I like it too when you surprise me.’’ They rolled over again, and this time, she raised her eyebrow at a blonde who was staring too much at Harry. ‘’Tomorrow, some will say that my biggest prize as the Chosen One’s wife is that he fills me with diamonds.’’ Ginny touched her own neck, where the necklace rested, also displaying their wedding ring, where there was a carved diamond.

‘’That was the worst story of all years.’’ Harry held back the urge to roll his eyes at the memory. ‘’As if the biggest prize wasn’t that you’re married to me.’’ He laughed, receiving a light pat on the back.

‘’That's what you think.’’ Ginny lifted her chin again, keeping them very close, noses almost touching. ‘’You are the lucky one that I accepted the request.’’

‘’I never doubted that.’’ Harry shrugged, being totally sincere. ‘’I am a completely unhappy man without you.’’

‘’Even when I trick you into sin?’’ She had that look again. One that everyone would see as something pure and naive, angelic, but that Harry knew how to see beyond. He knew she was nothing more than the Devil in disguise.

And he has never been happier to sin.

‘’Especially at those times.’’ He said.

She finally came over, giving him a chaste and quick kiss, but making sure to make him even more tense and hungry for her. The nails lightly scratched the foot of his hair, making Harry purr and press it even closer to her, groaning low in her mouth.

‘’Do you think you can get us out of here and take us as far as possible without anyone following us?’’ Ginny asked, looking quite affected too, eyes closed and pressing their foreheads together.

‘’Am I an auror or not?’’ Harry bit her lip lightly, listening to the music end and people starting to dissipate and talk louder. ‘’Give me five minutes and say goodbye to people.’’

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘’Where are you taking me?’’ Ginny asked, hands clasped in Harry’s who was pulling them into the Apparition area just outside the hall. There were few people around, and those who were, looked drunk or in too much of a hurry to notice the Potters running away like two teenagers.

‘’Didn’t I say I love to surprise you?’’ Harry put her down beside him, thinking of any place far before he Apparated into the middle of a forest, close to where the last Quidditch Cup had been.

‘’Hm.. Harry, I know you want and surprise but…’’ He laughed, denying and shaking their hands again, ignoring when Ginny tried to walk away, curious about the chosen place.

‘’Shut up, we haven’t got there yet.’’ He thought again, this time, visualizing the country house they had been building since Albus ’birth. Harry remembered the well-kept garden, the flowers in front of the house, the big front windows, the white stone exterior that Ginny liked and chose, and the sign that James and Teddy stuck in the grass in front of the path to enter the house, which said in children's writing '’Potter's Residence'' even though there were no neighbors within a radius of almost 5 kilometers.

Soon, they landed there, holding hands in front of the entrance door, the dark stone floor a little dirty from the fallen leaves, the cat that occasionally appeared there was lying on the windowsill of the room and was startled by the noise they made, before going back to sleep.

‘’I like surprises.’’ Ginny looked at the house almost ready. There were still some finishes like lamps, and all the decoration inside, but it was already a beautiful house. A beautiful, secluded home. ‘’But I thought we were going to swim.’’ She put her hands on his shoulders, smiling in the moonlight, before leaning over and kissing him. Just an inviting peck.

‘’And we’re going.’’ Harry finally grabbed her ass as he wanted from the beginning of the party, pressing her against him and listening to her sigh. ‘’We have a waterfall just for us.’’

‘’Oh, yea, I didn’t remember it .’’ Ginny gave him another kiss before turning and pulling him with her towards the waterfall that was a few meters away from the house. ‘’And why didn’t we go straight there?’’ She looked over her shoulder, the way she did at the party, still driving him crazy.

‘’I thought it would be best to apparate here first.’’ He shrugged, not quite able to think when Ginny was leaning over to take off her shoes.

‘’Hold this.’’ She handed him her bag, and the heels. ‘’It’s going to be awful walking on the grass with them.’’ Her face lost more and more of that angelic glow, becoming too treacherous for their safety. ‘‘Idiot.’’ Ginny laughed, much more Ginny than that perfect mask she wore at social events, running as fast as possible from Harry, letting go of her hair and making flying like a cape behind her.

He put her belongings in his extender pocket inside his jacket, and started running too, laughing at her loud laughter that echoed through the quiet yard, the moonlight making her look like one of those Goddesses they saw represented in the museum.

‘’You stole it!’’ He complained, really trying to reach her, but Ginny had an exercise routine that Harry couldn’t handle even if he had to do it in two days instead of an hour and a half.

‘’I’m smart.’’ She screamed, disappearing into the trees. ’’You are getting old!’’

‘’You’ll see the old man, Potter!’’ Harry replied, quickening his pace even further, getting closer to her, who was now laughing out loud.

She was so much more beautiful like that, free, being herself, without all the fancy gadgets that would make her envy even in a Queen. Running barefoot in the damp grass, her hair becoming increasingly tousled and bulky from the wind, looking much more alive than before.

Of course she was beautiful in every way. Harry loved her in every way. But something about Ginny being that evil little creature, tempting him, biting her lip with eyes burning with excitement; it made him feel like it was the first time he was seeing a woman in front of him.

‘‘I got you.’’ He whispered, grabbing her around the waist and burying his head in her neck, kissing her skin before picking her up like he did with the kids. ‘’You little devil creature.’’ She laughed, trying to escape into his arms but failing miserably.

‘’You don’t even think about it, Mr Potter!’’ She screamed as Harry moved closer to the waterfall, the noise echoing through the dark, silent forest.

‘’Call me Mr Potter again and I can think about it.’’ He raised an eyebrow at her, much happier than in the last 3 hours that they stayed at that event.

Her brown eyes burned and that little smile that Harry knew so well shone on her freckled and handsome face. ‘’Never.’’ She spoke defiantly.

‘’You asked for it.’’ He took the last step and felt the icy stones surrounding the waterfall, the cold making his body shiver. They had already swam there, it was Teddy's favorite place, and James had been trying to learn to swim whenever they went there. Albus didn't like to get in the water very much without Harry being holding him.

So Harry knew where to step and where he had cleaned and removed the stones so the kids wouldn't get hurt, so he just threw himself into the water with Ginny in his arms, the cold water making them cling to each other as they dived.

‘’Prat!’’ She said, splashing water on him as soon as the two emerged, her makeup smudged and her hair looking even more messy now wet.

‘‘Beautiful breasts.’’ Harry pointed at her nipples in view. ‘’No bra today?’’ He bit his lip, amused that she, even though they already had 2 children, blushed slightly.

‘’You don’t even know what I’m not wearing’’ She lay on her back in the water, swimming away from Harry with her face being lit by the full moon and the starry sky.

‘’I thought you wanted to swim naked.’’ He took off his wet clothes, throwing them on the grass and then diving to go over to where Ginny was, almost getting close to the waterfall that splashed water everywhere.

''That was before you threw me in the water.'' She stood in front of him, cold hands touching him in the face, the same eyes he had seen since he was 11 years old, now looks even more beautiful, even with all that makeup running under them.

‘’I love you.’’ Harry said, resting his hands on her waist, wishing that dress was out of her body.

‘’It won’t make me swim naked. You missed the chance to see that, Potter, you will have to convince me even if you want to kiss me.’’ Ginny looked at him defiantly, trying to get away from his grip but failing every time.

‘’It’s good that I know what to do then.’’ And then, more natural than any other movement, Harry dove, ready to get on his knees for that devil disguised as an angel.

[inside-of-a-fangirls-mind]

Waiting For You

Brief Summary:   Cullen had confessed his feelings when you returned to the circle to save him. However you did not expect to run into him after all these years

Words: 3,272

Warnings: Smut as always, your a mom, kinda sad. Drunken smut. I just love Cullen okay

Pairing: Female Grey Warden X Cullen

"This trick again? I know what you are. It won't work. I will stay strong..." Cullen’s voice faltered in the magic cage he was placed in.

"Cullen, don't you recognize me?" Your voice rang out clear, trying to reach him.

"Only too well... how far they must have delved into my thoughts..." His voice trailed off as he answered.

"The boy is exhausted, and this cage... I've never seen anything like it." The fellow mage spoke softly, "Rest easy help is here."

"Enough visions. If anything in you is human... kill me now and stop this game. You broke the others, but I will stay strong, for my sake... for theirs. Shifting through my thoughts... tempting me with the one thing I always wanted but could never have... Using my shame against me... my ill-advised infatuation with her... a mage, of all things. I'm so tired of these cruel jokes.. these tricks... these..." Cullen cried out, grabbing at his head to make all this stop.

"We are here to help." You yelled, trying to get it across to him that you were, in fact, real.

"Silence.. I'll not listen to anything you say. Now begone! Still here? But that's always worked before. I close my eyes, but you are still here when I open them." Cullen's voice shook, unsure of what to believe anymore.

"Makes you wish you hadn't said those things, doesn't it?"  You teased for a moment before walking closer to the magic cage.

"I am beyond caring what you think. The Maker knows my sin, and I pray that he will forgive me." Cullen stood upright and stared into your soul; it seemed. But did he really mean it?

You lie in bed thinking over that conversation, over and over again in your head. It's late in the evening, and yet sleep is the furthest thing from your mind. The only thing your thoughts seem to settle on is Cullen. The young Templar who you spent a lot of time with when you called this place home... If it ever was really a home, if it was ever more than a prison.

You stare at the ceiling in an unfamiliar room; you could still feel your mind uneasy from the games the sloth demon played on you. Maybe Cullen was apart of that game. You sat up on the edge of the bed, looking down at your hands. You could still feel the hum of magic from the blood mages magic drifting through your hands.

"This is crazy." You mumble to yourself as you stand up and throw on your night robes. "I shouldn't be leaving my room. They were kind enough to let us stay; I shouldn't push it." You sigh but open your door and walk out of the room without a second thought.

The cold stone under your bare feet takes you back to a fonder time, before becoming a grey warden before Jowan was a blood mage before Cullen had confused you. You run your hand along the wall, the red stains of blood still there as you ascend the stairs to the top of the tower. Whenever you needed a moment to breathe, the top of the tower was the place to go, the view was amazing.

You hummed softly to yourself as you walked the now unfamiliar halls recalling everything that happened there. The area where you and Jowan would race up and down the halls when you first ran into Cullen, the chantry where Jowan told you about his girlfriend, where you planed to save your best friend. You press a hand to your head, trying to will away all the memories of this place, both good and bad.

You open the door and walk up the last flight of stairs before being on the roof only when you heard a voice did you freeze.

"Who's there?"

You swallow hard before peaking around the railing side, seeing Cullen sitting on the roof knees to his chest. A soft smile came to your lips before jumping the railing and taking a seat beside him.

"Just me." You whisper before looking up at the night sky, the stars scattered like your thoughts.

Cullen didn't look at you, just staring straight forward into the night. He pulled his knees closer to himself but didn't move away from you.

"Look. I didn't think anyone would be up here, but since you are. I want to clear some things up." You sigh before glancing at him, then leaning back, so you laid against the roofing. "I know you weren't ever expecting to see me again, Maker knows I didn't think I'd see you again. But I- uh." You tried your best to get your thoughts together, but it was hard. "Hearing you say, hearing you admit that at one point you did too. Well, I just wanted to say thank you, thank you for giving me at least one fond memory of this place. I, I should get back to bed." You whispered and started to get up when a hand was placed over yours.

"I- I didn't know it was you, like the real you. I was just so tired of... everything." Cullen spoke his eyes meeting yours. "You, you were the best part of this place, and I just. I knew you were gone. That we, us, never could uh-" He was fumbling over his words.

You felt your heart swell and smiled at him, without thinking you put your hand on his cheek before leaning in and brushing your lips against his. He doesn't pull away quite the opposite; his arms wrap around you, pulling you against his body. You couldn't help yourself and let out a soft moan, swinging your leg, so you were straddling his lap. Deepening the kiss as your hands ran through his hair, his arm around your waist holding you close to him.

You break the kiss a moment later, pressing your forehead to his. "I never thought this would happen." You laugh softly before running a hand down his chest, his white shirt slightly unbutton as your fingers enjoyed the feeling of his warm skin.

"I only ever dreamed about it. Maker forgive me." He whispers before catching your lips again. You kiss him with a fever you didn't know you had, his arms tightening around you to make sure all this was real.

But then a gasp slipped past your lips as you felt a hardness pressing between your legs. Your eyes meet his as his cheek flush, and he looks away. His shyness only makes you smile as your hand cups his cheek. "Cullen." You whisper, placing hot wet kisses against his neck. "No one has to know about tonight. But I will be leaving tomorrow if there's anything you want you only need to tell me." You turn his face back to yours, eyes locking with his.

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a slight whimper when you shift in his lap. His hips lightly thrusting up against you as he bites down on his lip desperately. A moan slips past your lips before pulling him into another kiss, hips grinding down against his. Moan falling from his lips like prayers and pleas.

"Y- Y/N!" He moans out as your lips find their way to his neck. You hum softly, keeping your hips moving against his, softly biting into the flesh of his neck. His fingers digging into your hips with such strength, you know you'll bruise.

"Shush, Cullen. I'm going to take care of you." You whisper before sliding your hand between the two of you and slipping into his pants. Fingers slowly wrapping around his cock as you start to stroke him. He throws his head back, moaning out again, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, his heart ready to pound out of his chest.

You let kisses drop down his chest, at least what skin was exposed before he pulls his head up and buries it in your neck, letting out a loud cry of your name as he cums in your hand. You slowly work him through his orgasm before leaning back slightly and casting a cleaning spell over him to take care of the mess, then wrapping both of your arms around him, keeping him close.

"Cullen, I think I've always loved you. But this is where we must part ways." You manage to keep a steady voice even though tears roll down your cheeks. "The chantry needs you, and I have a blight to stop. But I will never forget you that I promise." You kiss the top of his head before vanishing before his eyes. His arms go to pull you closer, wanting you to stay, but they catch nothing but thin air.

If only you had stayed if only things had worked out differently. If only you hadn't helped Jowan, became a grey warden. If only, then maybe something could have gone differently, perhaps you could have had him.

Years later, the last thing you expected was your daughter to get caught up in the inquisition when you received letters from her about everything she's done and everything they are planning to do. Once you hear word of an archdemon, that's when you know you have to be by her side.

You quickly make the journey to Sky Hold, getting into the large base was the easy part. However, nothing about this next part would be as easy.

You shoved the large doors to the war room open with a crash. Everyone in the room drawing their weapons, preparing for a fight. With a quick flick of your hand, you caused all their weapons to fly to the other side of the room.

"Now is that any way to greet your mother?" You hum looking at your daughter with a smile. She stares at you before running into your arms. You laugh softly stroking her hair before looking around the room and locking eyes with someone you haven't seen in years.

"Y-Y/N?" Cullen's voice rang out through the silent room.

"Cullen..?" You responded as the two of you stared at each other.

Your daughter didn't waste any time to pull you away from the war room to get you set up in a place and question you.

"So, how do you know Commander Cullen?" Her wide eyes that reminded you of her father stared you down.

"Well, we grew up together, you could say." You smiled before stroking her hair. "Remember the Circle? Remember the stories of how I became a grey warden? Well, during my time training as a mage at the circle, your dear Commander was a young templar in training. He was nothing like the man you know now. Unsure of himself, shy, tripping over his words, but he held his head high and never let anything stop him from doing his job. It's one thing I admired about him..." You stopped yourself before you said anything else.

"Wait, did you and Cullen.... IS HE MY FATHER?" your daughter question before you laughed out loud.

"My darling, Cullen, and I never. We didn't... No. Your father was a great King. I know I don't talk about him a lot, but he gave his life to end the blight. He was a good man." You smiled down at her before kissing her forehead. "Alistair, I couldn't talk about him because it wasn't right for an Elf and a human to have relations, let alone a child. Cullen was a dear friend when I was no older than you. That's all." You knew that was a lie, but that was long in the past, and Cullen surely had settled down by now just as you had with Alistair.

"Okay, good. I did not want to start calling the Commander of my troops' father." Your daughter laughed before showing you around Sky Hold. Even pointing out the bar knowing you might need a drink to deal with all this.

"Inquisitor, Lady Cassandra has asked for you." A messager approached the two of you.

"Mother, I will find you later for supper. Please explore the grounds and show our new mages a thing or two." Your daughter teased before heading off with the messager waving at you like crazy.

You looked around the vast castle grounds before knowing what you had to do; you quickly find your way to Cullen's office. You opened the door and read him like a book; this was the last thing you expected.

"Y/N," He whispered as he dropped the bottle of liquor in his hand. You shoot out your magic to catch it and set it on the desk.

"It's been a while. If I- If I knew you were here, I wouldn't of..." You stop yourself before closing the door and leaning against it.

"So our Inquisitor is your daughter? H- her father? Is he here too?" His voice was a little sharp as he sat at his desk.

"Ah, no. King Alistair died defeating the Archdemon as you know..." You look over him as your heart starts pounding in your chest. How can a young romance still have you feeling this way.

"Alistair... Oh... Y/N I didn't- I'm so sorry." He whispered before running a hand through his hair.

"Cullen, don't. I know it's weird with me being here. I just need to make sure my daughter doesn't end up like her father. But it was years ago, everything was." You walk closer now, seeing the empty bottles of liquor all over his desk. How long after he saw you did he start drinking?

"I didn't mean-" He started before standing up and looking over you. "I wasn't trying to-"

You offer a smile before sighing. "It's alright. I should have sent word I was coming. I just. I never thought I'd see you again."

Cullen's eyes never left your face as he approached you, you backed up slowly. "Cullen?" You whispered as you were backed against the door.

"I- I didn't either. Y/N after all this time... I-" He stopped himself before opening the door, "Maybe it's best you just leave..."

"You can't just avoid me; My daughter is your boss." You straighten yourself a little. "Just spit it out, I'm sure you hate me after all these years."

The look on his face broke your heart. "Hate?" He whispered before shutting the door and placing his hands on either side of your head. "My dear Y/N, I've never stopped loving you."

You couldn't believe the words you were hearing, but without any thought, you crash your lips into his, his body pressing against yours in a way that has heat pooling between your legs. "Cullen I-" You start, but he only kisses your harder, his thigh pressing between your legs roughly.

"I'm not the same shy Templar I was when this first happened. And I won't let my imagination tease me anymore." He growled before his lips attacked your neck, causing you to groan out.

"Cullen!" You moaned softly hands ranking into his hair and giving a soft tug. "Let us not imagine then." Your voice was soft as you raised your hand and snaped as your robes disappeared before his eyes. His heart jumps to his throat as he takes you in, everything he's ever wanted was now in front of him.

Sure, you knew your body was nothing like it would have been when you first met him, now scattered in scars and stretch marks from childbirth. But the way his hands mapped over your skin it didn't seem to matter. You ran your thumb over the scar on his upper lip before pulling him into another kiss. He quickly slid his furs off and started to undo the straps on his armor. Your hands making quick work of his trousers as he grabs your hands.

"I'm sorry, my darling. But if you touch me, I know I will not last." He pants softly before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. You gasp before chuckling softly as he carried you up the ladder with ease.

Once in his loft, he throws you on the bed, quickly stripping out of his armor and clothing with ease, joining you on the bed, his knee slipping between your legs to push them apart as he settled between them.

"Cullen," You whisper, running your hands over his chest, noticing the years hadn't been kind to him either. "I wish I stayed by your side. I wish I could have been there." You place soft kisses on his neck, causing him to falter slightly.

He grabs your hands and pins them above your head before lining his cock up to your entrance. "We cannot change the past. Only the future." He said roughly before shoving his cock into you to the hilt. You let out a loud moan before throwing your head back onto his pillow. He gasps out his lips, finding your shoulder as he panted and set a rough speed.

You cried out your hands, desperately trying to break free to touch him, to feel him, but his grip only got tighter. His pants got rougher with each thurst; undoubtedly, if you hadn't been so strong, he would have torn you in half.

"Cullen! O- Ah! Maker, Please!" You moan out, looking up at the man above you, locking eyes with him as he bit his lip roughly. His brows furrowed together in pleasure. His hip thrusts quickly became erratic, and his free hand slipped between the two of you to rub circles around your clit.

You cried out his name repeatedly as your orgasm finally took you, back arching off the bed, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open. Just watching you enter pure bliss caused his orgasm as he spilled his seed inside you he let out a soft moan of your name.

After slowly riding out your orgasms together, he rolled off of you and placed a kiss to your shoulder. "I cannot believe you're here with me. After all these years. Maker finally answered my prayers." He whispered as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

You smiled at him before brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. "I'm sure you think that. But my dear Templar. I-" You sigh softly before getting up and redressing with a flick of your fingers. "I love you, Cullen. Please do not forget that come morning, though I'm sure this will be nothing but a drunken dream." You smile sadly at him, picturing the young Templar who had stolen your heart so long ago. "I sure hope you think of fondly of me in the morning."

And with that, you left, to retire to the bar to drink your sorrows away. Cullen, your first love, he was here fighting alongside your daughter. There was another Arch Demon, and now it felt as if you were 19 all over again. The only difference now you knew the darkspawn blood was coming for you, you could feel it in your magic and bones. You wouldn't make it long past this war. So the least you could do is your duty as a grey warden and kill the Arch Demon one more time.

"Cullen, please Forgive me, I do not wish to get your hopes up yet again only to disappear." You whispered to yourself as you took a long sip out of a jug. But you didn't have a choice. You had to save your daughter no matter what.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for 15th Sun after Pentecost (Dominican rite)

Gal 5:25-26, 6:1-10; Luke 7:11-16

Here in the Rosary Shrine, I celebrate Mass both in the reformed Roman Rite, and also in the Dominican rite. Consequently, on most Sundays I would have a different set of Scripture readings to pray and think about, and so I would sometimes write two different sermons. Over the course of the year, as I’ve now read through the whole of the Lectionary in the older form of the Mass, I am frequently struck by the epistles that are appointed to be read during this time after Pentecost. The vast majority of the passages are from the pastoral epistles, which deal with relations among Christians. Hence the epistles read in the Mass are directed ad intra, instruction for the Christian assembled for divine worship, and they tell us how we are to treat one another, how we should behave within Christ’s holy Church, and thus the kind of virtues we should foster as disciples of Jesus Christ.

Consider, for example, this sentence from St Paul’s letter to the Galatians today: “Brethren, if a man is overtaken in any trespass, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness. Look to yourself, lest you too be tempted.” Just before this passage, St Paul has listed the fruits of the Spirit, among which is gentleness. So, here again, he exhorts us to be gentle with one another, particularly when someone has fallen into sin, presumably even serious sin. In the Greek text, the fruit of the spirit, translated as gentleness is prautes, which means mildness of disposition, meekness, just as Christ says in Matthew 11:29 that he is “meek [or gentle] and lowly in heart”; the same Greek word, prautes is used here. The Latin translation by St Jerome, interestingly, uses two different Latin words for prautes. In Galatians 5:23, when St Paul lists the gifts of the Holy Spirit, prautes is translated as mansuetudo, which means tameness, mildness, clemency. And then, when the same Greek word recurs in today’s epistle passage, in Galatians 6:1, the translation of prautes is lenitas, which means softness, tenderness, and leniency. So, how are we to treat a fellow Christian who has fallen into sin? St Paul says that one who has the gifts of the Holy Spirit would behave gently, with mildness just as Christ is mild and un-condemning with us, and with leniency.

Why is this? Because we have clay feet, we are fallible sinful people too, because we too might be tempted and fall into sin. Hence, he says: “look to yourself”, watch out, mind your own business! Hence Our Lord also warns us in St John’s Gospel: “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” (Jn 8:7). Or in St Matthew’s Gospel: “Judge not lest you be judged” (Mt 7:1), which is not a call for us to relinquish any discernment of right from wrong, but rather a warning not to presume to condemn another Christian. For, as St James says in his pastoral epistle: “He that… judges a brother… judges the law. But if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the Law but a judge. There is [but] one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy. But who are you that you judge your neighbour?” (Jm 4:11-12)

The Holy Spirit, therefore, gives us his gifts of wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord, so that we might bear fruit, including the fruit of meekness, gentleness, lowliness of heart. For it is with a spirit of gentleness that we shall be kept from falling into the grave sin of spiritual pride, of judging and condemning a brother or sister in Christ. St Jerome’s use of the word mansuetudo, tameness, suggests that the Holy Spirit is seen to be at work in our lives when he tames us, and so we are held back from harsh judgment of a fellow Christian, and so we exhibit that other fruit of the Holy Spirit, namely, self-control.

Among the gifts of the Holy Spirit are those that affect our knowledge–firstly, knowledge concerning God and the revelations of God and the means to salvation. But also true knowledge about ourselves. So St Paul enunciates a fundamental truth for us in today’s epistle passage: “If any one thinks he is something, when he is nothing, he deceives himself.” Those who are wise, who fear God and who have understanding will be able to say, without self-recrimination or self-effacement or without destroying one’s proper sense of self-esteem, that, in truth, “I am nothing”. The great Dominican mystic, St Catherine of Siena, told her confessor, Bl. Raymond of Capua that Jesus appeared to St Catherine in a vision and told her: “You are she who is not.” With these words, this wisdom and knowledge imparted by a supernatural grace to her soul, St Catherine was thus given a remedy for pride.

For as Blessed Raymond of Capua went on to say: “Here is a healing remedy, for what wound of pride can enter into a soul that knows itself to be nothing? Who can glory in anything he does? And thus, all vices are driven out by the words, “You are not”. Then, Bl. Raymond adds: “Here too are many anxieties diminished. For, [as Blessed Raymond says] “whenever I or any of the other friars was afraid of any danger, Catherine would say, “What have you to do with yourselves? Leave it to Divine Providence. However much afraid you are, Providence still has his eyes on you and is always aiming at your salvation.”

This, my friends, is saintly wisdom, given from on high by the Holy Spirit. For many in our age are rapt in pride, and they do not even know it. Many people, for example, appear anxious to save the world, or to save the planet and its environment, or to save the Church, and their anxieties arise not because these causes are not worthy of our attention and care, but because they vaingloriously think that the salvation of the Church, of the world, of other people depends on them and their particular action, and so they become activists and campaigners, and they anxiously can think that the outcome depends on them. But St Catherine and Holy Scripture suggests that this is precisely the dangerous hidden deception of pride: to think that I myself am a saviour. But I am he who is not. So, “look to yourself” says St Paul. “Leave it to Divine Providence” says St Catherine. Hence today’s epistle says: “Let us do good to all men, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.” Our spirit of meekness and gentleness towards our fellow Christians, therefore, overflows into benevolence for all people but especially for those who are also baptised into the true Faith, into the life of grace in Jesus Christ.

Sadly, many interactions among us Christians and particularly between Catholics on social media cannot be said by onlookers to be benevolent or gentle or meek in spirit, and this is true even when the comments are directed towards the Holy Father, the Vicar of Christ! Earlier in his letter to the Galatians, before he lists the fruits of the Holy Spirit, St Paul lists the “works of the flesh”. Among them are “anger… dissension, party spirit” (cf Gal 5:20) – a better translation for the latter might be something like tribalism – and I think one has to honestly and prayerfully reflect on how we behave online, how we speak to one another and about one another, and then ask ourselves: do I exhibit the works of the flesh or the fruits of the Holy Spirit. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control”, says St Paul (Gal 5:22-23).

Now, don’t get me wrong: sometimes we do need to fight for what is right, and to make a stand for the vulnerable as we did at the March for Life yesterday. Where sin abounds, we should do what we can in justice and in charity to stop it. However, we must do so in all humility, with gentleness and meekness, without judging and condemning the other, because we know that but for the grace of God, we too would and could and often do fall. For as Our Lord says: “Without me you can do nothing.” (Jn 15:5). Indeed, without God, we are nothing, and can do no good.

Therefore, St Paul declared to the Corinthians: “God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, whom God made our wisdom, our righteousness and sanctification and redemption; therefore, as it is written, ‘Let him who boasts, boast of the Lord.’” (1 Cor 1:28-31) So, let us always first look to ourselves in order that in all things we keep looking to the Lord!